Chapter 34

Naturally, because I’m such a nice guy and all of that ... and since the boat was already loaded on the very nice eight wheel fully adjustable Magic Tilt commercial sailboat trailer featuring ten hull stands a side and four five thousand pound axles with Made in USA waterproof sealed Timken bearings, I put the title to the dredge on the dredge seat, hooked the Magic Tilt trailer to the Ford 450 six wheel drive toter, hung our OVERSIZE LOAD signs front and rear and drove off into the night.

66 North up the west side of the West Arm of Lake Charlevoix connected us to US31 just outside of town and 31 took us all the way to Pentwater. Sure we were illegal ... sure there’s a hell of a fine if you’re caught ... the gods were with us and all the bridges were open for motor traffic and all the State truck scales were closed. The Highway patrol had either just left the restaurant or were in shift change. The rumor of our passing became a state legend.

66 North to 31 is not necessarily the shortest route to 31, but the shorter route had the weakest bridges, the tightest turns and the nosiest local cops.

Not exactly known for making the smartest decisions, the successful trip puffed me up ... I so Proud.

Wait for it.

As morning rolled around to noon, we were sitting at the bar in the Antler when three Highway troopers walked in the door. One sat to our right, one sat to our left, and one stood behind me.

“Do you have title to that boat?”

“What boat?”

“The one on the four axle trailer down at the Marina.”

“What makes you think it’s mine?”

“Mr. Johns said it’s yours.”

I opened my wallet and presented paperwork for the boat, trailer and truck.

After inspecting the paperwork, the cop behind pressed the radio button on his collar, contacted headquarters and said, “Signed, notarized and dated.”

“Have them call the grandson,” squawked the speaker.

“Don’t know the grandson,” I said.

I was provided with the number and called. The cop snatched my phone and informed the voice on the other end that my paperwork was in order. He gave me back the phone.

“Where is the old lady?” like triplets the three cops asked.

“Ask the Little River indians,” I replied.

“Why would we do that?”

Wendy said, “She was gone when we went back in the morning.”

Annabelle said, “They were clearing the site.”

“Why did you go back to the site after the sale?”

“The ladies weren’t done shopping,” I said.

“Thank you. Don’t leave the state.”

???

“No one has seen her since Sunday.”

“We didn’t see her Sunday.” I thought about it. “So, who saw her Sunday?”

“Grandson. He’s very upset about the property.”

After lunch, we walked the three blocks to the Marina to watch Mr. Johns float our boat. Suspended in the cradle it looked huge. Floating next to the quay it looked smaller.

As the mast was stepped, Wendy complained, “That’s a small boat.”

Annabelle smiled