Free A Stolen Season by Steve Hamilton

they started talking about some box they were looking for.”
    “A floating lockbox,” Liz said.
    “Whatever the hell that is. They didn’t seem to believe we didn’t know anything about it.”
    “That sounds familiar,” I said.
    “We told them there was nothing else we could do. But they didn’t seem to like that. Eventually, we had to persuade them to leave the property.”
    “Okay, and how did you do that?” I was having a hard time picturing how these two could be so persuasive. Unless…
    “I brought out one of our shotguns,” Liz said. “I believe it was the Remington.”
    “Yeah, the over-and-under,” Tyler said. “You should have seen the look on their faces when she racked that thing. They changed their tune pretty fast.”
    They were both smiling at the memory now. God love them, I thought. Only in Michigan.
    “Well, I hope you guys are going to be careful,” I said. “They could come back.”
    “Let them come,” Liz said. “I’m a good shot.”
    I took out one of the cards Leon had made for us and gave it to them. I told them to call me if they ever saw the men again.
    “What’s this?” Tyler said. “You and Leon are private investigators?”
    “We were,” I said. “For about five minutes. Which reminds me…Oh no…”
    “What is it?”
    “If they came to see you, and they came to see me…”
    “You’re right, they probably stopped by Leon’s place,” Tyler said. “Is that a problem?”
    “That all depends,” I said, “on who was home.”
     
     
    From Brimley I kept heading east on Six Mile Road, past the old abandoned railroad car, through the last of the Hiawatha National Forest, and then out into the open hay fields. I didn’t know how this weather would affect the crop this year, but I didn’t imagine it would help any.
    I crossed the highway and drove through Sault Ste. Marie—“the Soo,” as the locals call it. Up to Three Mile Road, and into the parking lot for the Custom Motor Shop. That’s where Leon worked these days. It was a far cry from his dream job, but the man had a family to feed. The place looked pretty quiet today. No surprise given the miserable weather. When I went in, they told me that Leon had left early. In fact, he had received a phone call, and had left in a hurry without saying a word.
    Exactly what I was afraid of. I got back in the truck and headed south. The first small town down the road was Rosedale. That’s where Leon lived, in a little house on a dead-end road, with a tire swing hanging from the big oak tree in the front yard.
    I parked the car in the driveway, right behind Leon’s little crappy red Chevy Nova. I rang the front bell. Leon’s wife Eleanor opened the door, and her face told me everything I needed to know.
    “Before you say a word—,” I said.
    “Hello, Alex.” Eleanor Prudell was a large woman, to put it mildly. She was also probably the strongest woman I had ever met. I had seen her lift Leon right off the bed once, back when he had two broken ankles. And Leon had to go at least 240.
    Eleanor loved me. I knew that. She would have done anything in the world for me. But at the same time, she couldn’t help associating me with some very bad moments in her life. She knew all about Leon’s desire to be a private investigator. She tried to understand when he opened up that office in the Soo, even though she knew the business would almost certainly fail. She could have lived with all of that, but the real problems began whenever I was involved. Even though it was Leon’s idea that we be partners, even though I never bought into the private investigator thing to begin with, it was always me who somehow managed to find trouble. It was always me who came asking Leon for help. Which usually meant something dangerous. The time we got shot at out on the lake, that was probably the worst of it. Of course, Leon didn’t absolutely have to tell her everything. But he did.
    “I take it you got a visit today,” I