Page 53 of The Woodcarver's Model
“Well,” Ricky started.
“What business is it of yours what we’re going to do over there?” Frank snarled back. “We don’t have time to play around. Give her the letter,” he snapped at Ricky.
Ricky fumbled at his vest pocket and pulled out the letter which he passed with shaky hands to Frances.
“This is an official letter from the government giving us permission to conduct our business on the island,” he stuttered out, adding, “Ma’am,” in the hopes it would help. He had no idea why they would need a letter from the government to get access to the island, or why anyone would care if they were there. They were only a survey crew, after all.
Frances took the letter and opened it. She then fussed, making a scene out of getting her glasses out of her overall pocket and sitting them on her face. Once in position she looked at Ricky, hoping he saw what an inconvenience he’d caused her. She glanced at the letter. It was on what appeared to be official government letterhead and dated the day before.
Francis approached the truck.
“Problem, Frances?” he asked.
“You tell me, Francis,” she replied, then read the letter out loud.
“Dear Mr and Mrs McKinnon,
“I hope this letter finds you well, and business brisk.
“I am writing to ensure that you offer this survey crew every possible assistance in their effort to gain access to Marsh Island. I would hate to think you might do anything to impede their efforts. The government does not want another incident such as that which befell the cellular telephone operations installers. One wouldn’t want such an incident to have a negative effect on your operations licence which, I believe, is coming up for renewal next spring.
“Sincerely,
“Hugh McCutcheon
“MLA for Salish-North Islands.”
Frances carefully removed her glasses and looked at her husband.
Francis looked concerned then indicated to her that she should let them board. She handed Ricky back the letter. Ricky had shifted the transmission into drive when Frances said, “Hundred an’ five dollars.”
“What?” Ricky replied.
“Hundred an’ five dollars for passage.”
“Oh,” he said, reaching for his wallet.
“Cash,” she said, pointing to a small, hand-written sign that readNo credit or debit cards.
“Cash?” Ricky looked at Frank. “I just have credit cards.” The other three men in the truck searched their wallets but only came up with seventy-six dollars among them.
“There’s a cash machine up at the bank back up the hill and to the right. We leave in fifteen minutes with or without you. Nothin’ stands in the way of the schedule. Not even McCutcheon.”
They made it with three minutes to spare. Ricky Daniels was a wreck. This was his first day on the job, first time out of a big city and first time in the wilderness. He’d survived the first test, but he wondered what more dangerous challenges he might come across.
* * * *
Kevin had just woken from a nap and was looking in the fridge for something to eat.
“Nothing but yogurt and vegetables. How the hell does Mitch stay alive?” he muttered to himself. He heard footsteps on gravel. They moved quickly. Feet hammered up the front porch steps. The front door opened as though it had been kicked in. His brother stood in the entrance, his face red with rage and streaked with tears. He was panting as if he had run a long distance in a short time.
“Why did you do it?” Mitch yelled.
“What the hell’s up with you? You look like shit.”
Mitch charged at him like a wild animal. For the first time, Kevin was terrified by his kid brother. He’d never seen him act this way. He swung around the kitchen island, keeping it between them.
“Why did you do it?” Mitch was weeping. “Why did you ruin my life?”
