Chapter 22

Now that we're no longer under suspicion, we can get on with our lives. Koenig has gone back to Lansing to prepare a defense against charges of assault, kidnapping and rape. His dad has been in contact with Daddy.

They started out amicably ... but that soon turned sour. Attorneys from both sides met. Daddy refused to settle out of court.

"Why? ... our offer is better than the slight possibility you might win in a civil suit."

"It's evident you didn't really pay attention." Daddy was enjoying himself. He had always referred to his practice as the last honest law firm in the United States. "The criminal trial must come before any civil action. Since the criminal acts were committed in Oceania County the criminal trial must be held in that court ... away from any possible influence of the Legislature. I, sir, am licensed to practice in front of the Supreme Court of the United States and we have the money and time to see this through."

Koenig was suspended without pay until the case was resolved. It took years.

Charles B had disappeared. His prints were found on the five gallon gas can. The note he had written accusing David of setting the fire was finally reassembled at the FBI crime lab in Washington D.C. Those guys are magicians of the first water. The time and date was revealed to be the exact time that the Margrave was anchored off Bass Lake.

CharlesB had done everything he could think of. He wasn't expecting his mother to be angry more than a few hours. The boat did not return that night ... as he expected it would.

So ... where did Chuck go? A fat ... three hundred pound thirteen year old? He liked to eat far more than anything. Where would he go?

Mom no longer wanted the Burger 65; it had memories ... too recent ... of her folly.

"She's a beautiful boat ... you wouldn't think of selling her, would you?"

The asking man was a beautifully slender grey-headed older fella from Chicago ... something to do with meat packing and railroads ... old money ... as old as a midwesterner's money could get.

"She belongs to the boy," Mom said.

Wearing my summer whites and sailor cap, I was out on the foredeck, waxing. Grace was sunning and I waxed around her.

Mr. Bishop laughed, "In that uniform, I thought he was crew, and enamored of the girl. He treats her like a princess."

And it was true, I did treat Grace like royalty. Twice, while I was polishing she ran out of iced tea. I fetched ... and she never looked up from her reading ... just reached out her hand and picked up the glass that was in the exact spot she left it. If it had been empty ... she'd have to fetch it herself.

I was enamored of my twin ... we thought alike ... and knew what the other was thinking ... She blushed ... probably because I was thinking fourteen had done her, and the rest of the male population of the United States ... and a good portion of Canada ... a great service. She never grew a single millimeter up ... but out? Oh YES!!

The rag had only been out three years but Grace had become a staple page (the one in the middle) beauty. If she wasn't 14, I'm sure she would have been asked.

"David?" Mother called.

I looked up from my buffing.

She did that thing women do when they want you ... the crooked finger. I put up one finger ... no ... no, not that finger ... the wait one minute finger ... the pointer finger.

It wouldn't do the leave the buffer on deck unattended. The channel was NO WAKE ... the lake wasn't. I had made associates this summer ... not necessarily friends, but people my age I could hang with. Most of them had inboard speedboats and a weird sense of humor. 'Oh look. David is polishing ... let's get him wet.'

I polished my way to Grace and nudged her with my toe. She sat up ... I'm not sure she forgot or if it was a tease ... but her top was untied and it fell off. Ah, Yes ... Grace belonged to the unable to hold up a pencil group of nubile girls ... although I was surprised the top slipped off the erect nipples.

"Grace? What are you reading?"

"Playboy."

"Where did you get it?"

"Now that we're sleeping on the boat, it was under Daddy's bed."

"Well ... don't turn around ... your cups runneth over and the puppies have escaped."

She looked down, "Oops." She gently swayed.

"Mom is in the cockpit and don't turn around! She has company. Corral your runaways and tie them up. I need you to finish waxing. By the way ... should you be showing me those?"

What she did was shrug her shoulders into a little beach jacket and button a couple of buttons ... the shrugging was fine ... the buttoning? Not so much. She took over the polishing.

I walked back to the cockpit wishing my cock had a pit to fit.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Bishop has evinced an interest in the Margrave. Would you sell her?"

"She's your boat, mom. You hold title." I turned back to finish polishing. She stopped me.

"I don't want her ... before I do something stupid ... what is she worth?"

"Mr. Bishop, would you buy cattle with ticks?"