That Dog Won't Hunt Read online

  “Home sweet home,” Gladys said. “Harvey Freedman down the road has a contract to plow. He’s been keeping her open all winter. Otherwise you’d need a backhoe.” Suddenly returned to life, Bucky was pawing at the back window. She let him out and he started to run. It was the first time I’d seen him in any kind of action.

  The house was a hundred yards through the forest. I heard a barred owl. “Who cooks for you?” the hoot asked. A good omen. I was looking forward to some rib-sticking meals. Living on fast food in California, I’d even dropped a couple of pounds.

  We pulled to a stop in front of the main house, she called it. It was like a superbig A-frame with two stories and two large wings. A motion-sensor light went on. Gladys got out and put her hand on her back. “Oooo. Stiff.” Then I heard a weird sound, like a mournful howl.

  “Bucky’s glad to be home,” she said. “But he probably thinks George is still here. Dogs’ minds work that way.”

  “I’ll call Harvey to say we’re back,” she added. “Bring the bags in. Then start a fire. It’s still damn cold here. Snow won’t be gone for another week.”

  My breath hung in the air. “Okey dokey.”

  The ceilings were low in the hall. Gladys went around flicking on the lights. Everything was paneled in tongue-and-groove pine. It was a nice place but needed some TLC. Kind of like her.

  The Great Room had huge windows reaching up twenty feet and a monster woodstove tucked in a fieldstone chimney. “How come no open fireplace?” I asked. Would have looked better with the log walls.

  “Have you ever been in minus forty? All the heat gets sucked up the chimney.” She turned. “God, I need a drink. Or five.”

  There was a box of kindling and newspaper along with the maple and birch splits. I got a roaring blaze fired up. Some of the chimney rocks had gold and silver glints.

  Gladys appeared in the doorway with a full glass in her hand.

  “Nice going. I turned on the hot-water heater for morning. Now come to bed and warm my toes.”

  “Yes, m…I mean Gladdie.” I tried to smile. She’d worn me out again last night. I wasn’t anywhere near her toes.

  “Sweet. George never was one for nicknames.” She assessed me with a turn of her head. “The sheets are musty. I’ll be ordering fresh linen this week.”

  The next morning I awoke under a big red blanket. Hudson’s Bay, she said. At first I thought I was in a hotel. Then I remembered. My nose prickled. Pancakes?

  I got up and pulled on the new jeans and tucked in the pearl-buttoned shirt. A pair of sheepskin slippers was laid out for me. Bucky was still asleep in a big armchair in the corner.

  The master suite, twenty by twenty, had log walls varnished to a shine. There was matching furniture with chests of drawers, a tall cabinet and a makeup table for Gladys. On top of a desk was a silver-framed portrait of a guy with thick white hair. Guess who? Seventies clothes and that mullet cut. Then a marriage shot of them somewhere with blue water and palms. Hawaii? George reminded me of my dad. That gave me a shiver. In the walk-in closet, one side held her clothes, the other his. I touched a charcoal suit. Custom-made in Toronto. Drawers of sweaters and rows of monogrammed shirts. Funny thing was, I was just his size, down to the shoes.

  “George, old man, I think I’m going to like it here,” I said.

  In the large marble bathroom, Gladys had laid out a shaving set. A bristle brush and a tube of some fancy cream. A razor and some Old Spice. I jumped into the weird shower. Controls, hoses and nozzles everywhere. I combed my hair and brushed my teeth. Clicked them together in the mirror. Even blew myself a kiss.

  “Come and get it, cowboy,” she called from below. A triangle dinged. Something she used for the guests. I felt like a movie star.

  I passed several bedrooms. Gladys had said that the overflow from the cabins sometimes stayed here. At higher rates, of course.

  In the kitchen she was loading a platter with eggs, sausages, pancakes and baked beans. “I keep my men well fed, Rick.” I dug in and noticed that she helped herself to a full plate.

  It was good, I told her. When I finished, I lit a cigarette. Gladys cleared the table.

  “Any gold or silver mining up here? Saw those glints in the rocks in the fireplace.”

  One corner of her mouth turned up.

  “That’s fool’s gold. The tourists always try to pick it out with knives. Poor jerks. Adds to the atmosphere though.”

  She was looking at her watch and frowning. I pushed back my chair.

  “Come on outside,” she said. “There’s work to be done. We’re going to need three new cabins.”

  Now the idea hit me. She never exactly said I’d get any help, but…

  “Three? How can—?”

  She tossed an arm around my shoulders. “Sleeping cabins only. Simple framing and plywood sheets. Post and beam. No foundations needed. No running water or bathrooms either. Part of the charm. We can do the electric. You’ll be fine. George built our main lodge almost all by himself.”

  Not in a few months, I thought, scratching a lump on my ear. The first bug had awakened. Must have come out of the woodpile by the stove once things warmed up.

  Behind the lodge, she pointed at a grove of mature cedars.

  “Gas up the chainsaw. Cut down that stuff. Put it in twelve-foot lengths. We’ll have it milled next week and kiln dried. They can send out a skidder and a log truck. I’m not paying for wood when we have our own source.”

  I worked until lunch. Only May and three bites already. Might have been the aftershave. Finally she came out with a platter of sandwiches and some pop. “No beer?” I was bone tired. I’d rather have been riding Nufflo. Clean horse sweat and saddle leather.

  “No more than a six-pack a day. I don’t want you to cut your pretty head off with that saw.” She mimed a chainsaw bucking over her back. Guy I knew went that way.

  I cleared the lot by five. Someone with a backhoe would have to take the stumps. When I stopped the saw to add oil, a neighbor with silver hair got out of a Jeep and came over to admire the piles of logs. Over a heavy shirt and cords, he wore a fishing vest with a million pockets. “So you’re the new man. Looks like Gladys found herself a young one,” the guy said. His name was Harvey.

  “I’m the foreman. Rick Cooper.” I almost didn’t offer my hand. No use making enemies.

  “Sure you are, pal. And more power to you.” He made a broad gesture. “Leastways something’s happening again. She was hitting the bottle pretty hard after George died, poor little girl. Guess you’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer.”

  “Listen here,” I said. I stabbed a finger at his nose. “You’re a friend of Gladdie. I’ll forget about your bad manners.”

  In the next few weeks she sent me out on the property on the quad. It was rough country. A thin layer of peaty soil over the Cambrian rock shield. Enough hills to make it tricky. A hundred lakes in a hundred miles. Good for moose and bear though. There were places no one had ever been. Even in the winter with a snowmobile, you couldn’t get into some spots.

  Gladys told me how things worked. Counting the new ones, she’d have six cabins with double beds. Meals came with the plan. She made even more on liquor. There wasn’t any option out here, two hours from Elliot Lake.

  Gladys told me that before George died, they cleared eighty thousand a year. That included the spring bear hunt. We were too late for that.

  “Damn government in Toronto’s talking about canceling the spring hunt. Wusses. Us lodge owners oughta have as many rights as animals. How are we supposed to make a living?”

  “Know what you mean. They’re always trying to call the shots for us in Salt Lake City.”

  She shrugged. “Men have to hunt. That’s their nature. If we do well this fall, we’ll be back in business big-time. I’m placing ads in three outdoor magazines. That’s gonna cost, but it’ll bring the bucks.”

  I cleared my throat. “When’s payday?” I asked. My first month was nearly up.

  She g
ave me a steely look. “This is a seasonal job. When I start getting money, you will too.” Then she reached for her purse on the table. “Here’s fifty. Don’t know what you need it for. Everything’s provided. Nothing to spend it on anyway.”

  She seemed to know her business. I’d hang around for the time being. When that money came in, I’d get my share. She was giving Bucky another Milk-Bone when I went up to bed.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  B

  y mid-July the cabins were nearly finished. I sat on the front porch before supper, cleaning and oiling a twelve gauge. It had a carved stock. Nice piece.

  “Where’d you get that?” Gladys asked. One dark eyebrow arched into a question.

  “In the gun case in the den. It wasn’t locked.”

  She gave me a funny look.

  “That’s George’s best gun. I…” She paused and looked out across the woods. “Mind you take care of it.”

  “Damn straight. I’m going after a few birds tomorrow,” I said. “I got the shingles on the new cabins. Tight as a tick. We’re nearly good to go.” Did she expect me to work seven days a week?

  She nodded. “I suppose you earned a day off. Take Buck with you. He loves to hunt. Bit of a lard ass lately with all this winter rest. That’s bad for his arthritis.”

  The ancient animal lay on the porch, tail switching at flies. Nothing made him move fast. Not since that first time we arrived. I was no babysitter.

  “Are you kidding? That dog won’t hunt.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “He was George’s pal. You should have seen him in his youth. A soft mouth. Never put tooth on a partridge or a duck. That’s a thousand-dollar dog.”

  “Maybe so. But he’s stiffer than hell. Can’t hardly get up some mornings.”

  Her voice took on an edge. “You’ll be old like him someday, Rick. If you’re lucky.”

  The next morning, Bucky ambled after me sort of senile like. I let him come as far as the creek, then told him to go lay down. He stood there, that sappy golden retriever smile on his face. Not even enough brains to take offense. Then he circled twice and flopped down under a spreading maple.

  Half an hour later, on an old path in the thick cedars, I leaned on a big-daddy yellow birch. Good hunters were patient. I enjoyed the clear air and the stuttery motoring of a ruffed grouse looking for a mate. Something caught my eye in the next spruce. I aimed up, slowly, ready to lead it if it moved. Then I fired. Got the head clean off. No shot in my meat.

  And I got four more soon after that. All in all a good hunt. And they were fat too. I stood on the wings and pulled the feet. The skin came off and the gut bag with it. Good as chicken any day. When I got back to the creek, Bucky raised his head at the smell of the birds in my bag.

  “Want to grab one now, don’t you, old bugger?” I said and shoved him aside with my leg. That same loopy smile followed me.

  I brought the birds into the kitchen.

  “Not bad, mighty hunter,” Gladys said, topping up her drink. “I’m making fried potatoes and grouse fingers. Bucky gets a share too.”

  I started laughing as I popped a beer.

  “I told you that dog won’t hunt. He slept the whole time.”

  Her face got hard and her chin stuck out.

  “That’s not the point. Take him out with you when you go. I mean it, Rick.”

  I kept quiet. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

  A week later, Gladys called me over to one of the cabins. I was finishing the drywall, hustling around those big sheets. Cheaper in twelve-foot lengths but a bitch to move. My face was covered with dust and sweat.

  “I need a Shop-Vac from the hardware. This stuff will blow your canister set all to hell.”

  “All right. Get one.” She held a level on the framing. The bubble dipped up same as my Adam’s apple. “These lines aren’t true. Measure twice, cut once.”

  I hadn’t stopped since seven. It was nearly dinnertime.

  “Oh hell, it’s good enough. Let it settle a bit. What do you think this is? Palm Springs?” I had a drywall knife in my hand. With the other, I wormed a blackfly from my ear. The bloody crust came away. Sneaky. I hate them worst.

  “I have pride in my place. George wouldn’t have paid you. A good workman is worth his hire.” She folded her arms.

  “A workman? Thought I was more than that to you.” I scuffed a piece of drywall across the floor. “So get me some more help. Even a gofer. A kid would do.”

  She turned those cold blue eyes on me. Like a little robot.

  “I picked you up on the road, bud. You owe me.”

  The money was coming. I couldn’t bail out now.

  “Sorry, babe. I’m just tired.” I hung my head like a good boy and waited.

  Her voice softened. “Take the weekend off. Harvey brought over some moose steaks. You have been working pretty hard. And guess what?” She pulled a paper from her jacket pocket. “I have bookings for four straight weeks already. What do you know about taking people on a bear hunt?”

  I shrugged. “Hunting is hunting, I guess.”

  “George used to hire a man from Chapleau, but now you’re it. I’ve ordered some new equipment from Cabela’s.” She pulled out a catalog and thumbed it. “These new tree perches are way more comfortable for our soft city friends. You’ll be replacing the old wood ones. And there’s a game trike too. Saves on manpower.”

  “I better get back to work, Gladys.”

  Omitting her pet name struck a blow.

  “I do have expenses, you know. I’m still paying off a loan when they brought in the hydro from the main road. I can give you a couple hundred next week. But what the hell you need it for out here, I haven’t a clue,” she said as she walked out.

  A couple of days later Gladys was napping on the couch after dinner. She’d be good until the late news started. Time to find out exactly where I stood. She kept the accounts in her little office. I stood near her and clapped my hands. Nada. Out like a light.

  I turned the TV off so’s I could hear if she got up. Then I went around upstairs to her office. Those wooden stairs were fierce for a creak. I started with the files. It was pretty clear that she hadn’t done any business in the last five years. Then I tackled the checkbook and a couple of bankbooks. Finances don’t mean much to me, but I knew enough to see that she had a potful. I sat down and felt my fists bunch up. Then a dark haze came over my eyes. I shook myself and pounded a fist into my palm. Cool off, boy.

  Couldn’t touch anything in the bank, that’s for sure. For a crazy minute I wondered if she would marry me. All’s I had to do was pretend I didn’t know about this. Turn up the sweetness machine. What’s that thing called community property? My head started to ache. The humid climate was doing a number on me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  T

  he first of August Gladys sent me to Elliot Lake to buy some paint. The place was almost ready for our visitors. “First impressions are important for return trade,” she said. “Word-of-mouth is critical. These business guys have a network you wouldn’t believe. And take Bucky with you. George always did. Put him in the cab, not the truck bed. And you might give him a brush sometime to keep down the dog hair.”

  With the dog padding after me, I went to the shed for the old GMC pickup. Next to a 50cc kiddie motorcycle and a riding mower was the Mustang in all its candy-apple glory. “Sure wish you and me was driving down a desert highway, sweetheart,” I said, rubbing off some dust. It hadn’t left the building since we returned. What a waste of muscle. Not that there was anywhere to drive to up here.

  As I chugged the two hours to town, Bucky stinking like a dozen rotten eggs, I took stock. I saved everything she’d given me, but all I had was five hundred dollars in a bag in a drawer. And some small change in my jeans. Everything at the hardware was charged. No way to fudge on that.

  At the cash, where I made my order, the most beautiful babe in the world gave me a twenty-carat smile. I was always a sucker for curly red hair. Means ther
e’s fire inside. Her green eyes were sparkly and welcoming. I was glad I had shaved that morning.

  “Hello, there,” she said. “I’ve seen you before. Got a big project, eh?”

  We passed the time of day. Place was kind of empty. Under her smock, I could see her flat tummy. Legs to heaven and back. No ring. Women usually wore them. With working men, they got in the way. For a lot of reasons.

  “What’s to do around this here town?” I asked. Gladys had started drinking at noon. Something about George’s birthday. If she asked me what took so long, I’d say I had a flat tire.

  Shelley said she was getting off at three, so we made a date.

  “Ever been to LA?” I asked. “Just got back myself.”

  A dimple opened on one cheek. “Gosh, I haven’t even been across the border. What’s it like out west? I thought I heard something in your voice. You don’t sound like you’re from around here.” She looked at me like I was ten feet tall. I felt my chest get bigger.

  We met at the Dairy Queen down the block. I’d let the air mostly out of one tire and taken the truck to a service station. The receipt made a good excuse. Bucky was still snoring in the cab.

  Shelley ordered a Peanut Buster Parfait, and I had a Blizzard with Skor-bar pieces. We talked about our favorite old music. We both liked the B-52’s. Jon Bon Jovi was Shelley’s heartthrob.

  “You look like Charlie Sheen.” Her eyes were clear and flirty. “He was so cute in Young Guns.”

  “You can take the cowboy out of the West, but you can’t—”

  We completed the sentence at the same time. I almost laughed, but she put out her little pinky and linked mine. I felt a familiar flicker.

  “Did you make a wish?” she asked.

  I caught on to the game and nodded. If she read minds, she’d know.

  “How about you, Shelley? Got a boyfriend, I bet. Gal as pretty as you.”

  She waved her hand. “They’re all just silly boys around here. Sweet, but real losers.”