Envy the Night by Michael Koryta Read Free Book Online

He’d gone too far, though; the car was hidden from the logging road, but he’d driven it right up to the edge of the tree line, so the sun caught it and reflected the glare of glass and metal across the lake. Hard to see unless you were on the water. Hard to see unless you were Ezra.
    Ezra had been on the Willow for most of forty years now, taking fish out of the lake’s waters and deer and bear out of its surrounding woods. Best guide in Oneida County, that was what people said. The people were right, too. At least when it came to hunting. Out in the woods with a rifle in hand, there wasn’t anybody better than Ezra. Thing was, he preferred fishing. He was good at it, sure, but not the natural he seemed to be when it came to stalking prey with a gun.
    This was about to become a busy time of year, too. The season opened for walleye, pike, bass, and the other game fish on the first Saturday of May, which was in one week. From that point on, Ezra had a full calendar. It was no time to worry about a cabin that hadn’t been used in years. But there sat that damn car, shining against the blanket of trees, inviting everybody and their brother to slow a boat and stare at it and wonder if someone was using the Matteson island. Questions would be headed his way, and maybe he should have some answers ready when they did. Problem was, this gray-haired guy clearly wanted that car hidden, and of the men Ezra had known who hid cars, exactly zero of them were guys he wanted to deal with.
     
    It being Friday, and a full workload arriving out of the blue like that, Nora was in a good mood as the afternoon wore down. Good enough mood that after she’d towed the Jeep in, she picked up lunch for Jerry, one of those Angus burgers he favored. An obvious peace offering, and one that seemed to make Jerry feel awkward, shuffling around and trying to stay mad at her for that oh-so-demanding request to do his job correctly. They didn’t talk much for the rest of the day, but there were no blowups, either.
    She spent the afternoon with the computer, going over finances. It was her own laptop, and she’d devoted countless hours to slowly transferring all of the paper files Bud Stafford had used. Tedious work, yes, but now they were more organized, more efficient—and lacking enough jobs to make it pay off.
    Jerry had given her his damage assessment on the Lexus. “Uh, you got your quarter-panel issues, you know, and you gotta get down in there, too, plus there’s the light and your, uh, you know the bumper issues, plus there’s the airbag and your, uh . . .”
    From that she managed to cull an actual estimate, printed it out, nice and official. She was reviewing it when someone pulled into the front parking lot, got out of the car without shutting the engine off, and opened the office door. Four o’clock on Friday afternoon was an unusual time for business.
    The visitor came through the door and stopped, ignoring Nora to look around the room with open curiosity, as if he were on a museum tour. Big guy, too, a fancy knit T-shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders, loose jacket over that.
    “Can I help you?” she said.
    He had a bizarre silver belt buckle, a sort of rippled pattern, like latticework. Not ridiculously large like some of those western things, but ornate, flashy. Nora had always found that a man who believed a belt buckle should be a fashion statement was not her kind of man.
    “I hope I’m in the right place,” the guy said. “Friend of mine called and asked me to grab some things out of his car. I think he left it here . . .”
    “What’s his name?”
    The guy just smiled at her. Patient, as if she’d asked a worthless question but he was willing to ignore it.
    “The car’s a Lexus SUV.”
    “I didn’t ask for the car’s description. I asked for the guy’s name.”
    “Vaughn,” the guy said. There was a hitch in his voice, though, like a game show contestant who second-guessed his answer at the last