In the House On Lakeside Drive Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  In the House on Lakeside Drive

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Acknowledgements

  In the House on Lakeside Drive

  Corie L. Calcutt

  Copyright 2016 by Corie L. Calcutt

  Cover Copyright 2016 by Untreed Reads Publishing

  Cover Design by Ginny Glass

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Also by Corie L. Calcutt and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Christmas, Past and Present

  Hostages at the Kitchen Table

  Taken

  www.untreedreads.com

  For all of my students:

  those past, present, and yet to come

  In the House on Lakeside Drive

  Corie L. Calcutt

  Chapter 1

  “Evan, you’re a miracle worker.”

  The younger man flushed. “Mr. Parker, it wasn’t that hard. You just needed someone to climb up the ladder and set that loose board for you.”

  “Still. My nephews, you think they would do such a thing? Hah!” The eighty-year-old veteran waved a dismissive hand in the air. “’Course, let them be in need of a few dollars…then they are all too willing to come ’round and see me…”

  Evan smiled softly. Francis Parker was at once the most unique and the most stubborn man he had ever met, outside of his own father. Mr. Parker valued honesty and hard work, and was happy to make use of Evan’s services when his arthritis and bad back kept him from doing the maintenance on the old Lumber Baronstyle house he prized. He was also a storyteller of the highest caliber, and Evan liked to hear the man reminisce about growing up in wartime England. “It was nothing.”

  “Ah. Without you, I could never keep this old place up and running like it should be. There’s a part of me that thinks I should sell it, just to spite my lazy nephews. Get myself a little apartment, or rent one of your young lady’s rooms…”

  The idea of the man living in even the best of the rooms in the house Rachel owned and they shared startled him. “I dunno,” he said. “We’ve got three kids with us now, you know.”

  “Yes, yes. Let me see…that blind chap, Davis’s son…”

  “Sam. Yep.”

  “Then the Lavelle boy…how’s he faring out there?”

  “Good. Really good. Sam recommended him, and he spent so much time at the place it was easy to move him in.”

  “Friends? Really? I wouldn’t have thought.”

  Evan led the older man to the covered porch, taking a seat in an old deck chair. Francis took a seat in a well-used rocking chair, swaying in time with the sharp breeze that caused the younger man to pull his paint-stained overcoat tightly around him. “Yeah. They all go to the school. That’s where they met.”

  “Little old for school, aren’t they? I mean, the Lavelle boy, he’s at least nineteen or twenty now…”

  “OLCB, Mr. Parker. Otter Lake Bridges Center.”

  “Oh! The special school! I almost forgot about that.” Francis’s eyes brightened at the mention. “My Lola, she taught there. Helped start the place up, some forty years back. First of its kind. She called them her ‘kids’ too, and I often wondered why until I went to visit her at the school once.” He chuckled. “Grown adults, some of them well into their twenties, and here they were, acting as though they were in middle school. ‘Childlike tendencies,’ Lola called it. Said that’s why they were still in school despite being fully grown adults—a lot of them needed guidance in making good decisions most of the time.”

  “I know what you mean. I work there sometimes too.”

  Mr. Parker scanned the tall skinny drink of water up and down, taking in the longish blonde hair and watery colored eyes. “As a teacher?”

  “Well, teacher’s assistant. But yeah, pretty much.”

  “I knew the Colosanto girl worked up there; started the year my Lola retired. Pity the girl didn’t get to know her better.” The elderly man thought fleetingly of his late wife, gone seven years now. “You would have liked her, Evan. Made me look tame.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Oh, hell, yes. Nephews called her Crazy Aunt Lola.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Sometimes, you said?”

  “I sub there. I work when I can.”

  “Ever thought of hiring in?”

  A wistful smile flashed across an angular face. “There’s reasons why I don’t.”

  “Not the kids…?” Mr. Parker began, stopping himself. “Now, see, there I go.” He shook his head. “I suppose we all do it. Lola said it meant we loved them, calling the students our ‘kids.’ I notice you’ve picked up the habit as well.”

  Evan smiled. “Yeah, I guess I have. You should hear Rachel. Way she talks, every tenant and student she’s had is one of her ‘kids.’” Then he shook his head. “But no. My reasons for not hiring in are personal ones. Maybe someday I will. Besides, if I gave up my business, who would patch up that roof of yours, or fix Ella Stevens’ washing machine?”

  Barks of laughter came from the old rocking chair. “True enough, true enough.” Mr. Parker pulled out a well-worn pipe and fished around inside a starched dress shirt pocket for the tobacco. “You want a cigarette?”

  “No, thanks. I finally quit.”

  “Brilliant! Nasty habit, these things. Too old to quit, myself.” The scent of cherry vanilla wafted through the b
reeze. “So, the Lavelle boy and Davis’s son,” Mr. Parker ticked off on weathered fingers. “You say there’s a third?”

  “Josh Long. Mark and Penny’s son.”

  “Don’t know them.”

  “They live the other side of town, just before North Kingston. They haven’t been here long, no pun intended.”

  “You, my boy, haven’t been here long.”

  “No, that’s true. I’ve been here about five years.”

  “There’s an accent to your voice.” The Englishman stifled a chuckle at the younger man’s surprised look. “You hide it well, but I notice these things. Southern?”

  “Yeah. I…I don’t like to talk about it.”

  The older man suddenly became still in his chair. “Everyone’s got their secrets, Evan. But mind: eventually, they come back home to roost.”

  “Is that experience talking?”

  “It may be, son. It may be.” Then his eyes brightened. “But enough of that! How much do I owe you, this trip?”

  Evan made a mental tally. “Twenty minutes on a ladder, six nails and two new two-by-fours. Let’s say forty dollars.”

  A worn leather wallet appeared from a well-pressed back pocket. Three twenties emerged. “Take it,” Mr. Parker said, pressing the bills into Evan’s hand. “You’ve earned it.”

  “Mr. Parker…”

  “Frank, please. You’ve helped me patch and rebuild nearly half this house these last couple years, I see no reason not to be on more familiar terms.” The smile on the old man’s face could have beaten the chilly air into submission. “Take that young lady of yours out. Or the kids.”

  “I…thanks,” Evan said finally, tucking the money into his own worn and battered wallet.

  “Thank you, Evan. Now, better see to Ella’s washer. I know for a fact the woman’s been driving Teresa, down at the laundromat, completely insane. Poor thing. She tells me every time after the old gal leaves; she’s barmy enough to pull her hair out.”

  “I’d better hurry, then. Wouldn’t want Teresa going bald or anything,” the young man said with a chuckle.

  “Yes, do. And have fun tonight!”

  Chapter 2

  “Hey, Sam.”

  The nineteen-year-old turned his head toward the sound of the voice behind him. “Hey, Evan.” The electronic book reader clattered onto the butcher-block tabletop that sat in the center of a spacious kitchen. Mixing bowls of all sizes lay strewn along the surface, along with several containers of flour, sugar, and butter. Long fingers neatly tapped the tactile measuring spoon into the plastic container, adding salt to the mix. A sharp note screeched above them, and Sam held his ears and winced, trying to block out the offending assault on them.

  “Remy’s pissed again?”

  “Yeah. At least he’s not breaking out the heavy metal.” Sam hissed at another high note, shuddering at the thought. He set the bowl down and reached for the high-legged chair he knew was beside him. He heard Evan do the same.

  “Josh?”

  Sam shrugged. “What else?”

  Evan sighed. “They’re gonna have to learn to get along.”

  “It’s hard, Evan. There’s days even I wanna slap the kid upside the head. Josh…he’s nice, but…”

  “…but he can be a pain in the ass?”

  A smile crept across a slightly rounded but thin face. “I wasn’t gonna say it, but yeah.”

  The sound of weight shifting from the chair to the tabletop reached Sam’s sensitive ears. “Part of the reason he’s here, you know. He can’t help it.”

  “Tell that to Remy. Today it was an argument about what to put in a batch of cookies.”

  “Your cookies?”

  The smile on Sam’s face widened a little. “Kind of. Remy wanted chocolate chip; Josh wanted oatmeal raisin. Then it went to nuts or no nuts, and then it went to whose mom made better cookies. Finally Remy stormed off, and…” He waved a hand above him, indicating the racket wafting downstairs.

  “So where’s Josh?”

  “I’m not sure. I heard a door slam, and it’s been quiet ever since. For the record, I’m making peanut butter cookies.”

  “Where’s Rachel?”

  Sam thought a moment. “At the store,” he said finally. “We all got a text.”

  The chair across from Sam shifted outward, and the clatter of old worn shoes on rough wooden floor caught Sam’s ear. “Good thing I got home first, then. Let’s finish up these cookies, and then I’ll give you the good news.”

  Sam grinned. “We get the day off school tomorrow?”

  “Hah hah. No, but we are going out for dinner tonight. All of us.”

  “Brilliant!” Sam made his way toward the slightly winding staircase in the front hall, his foot brushing against the long white cane he had left underneath his seat. “Hey, Remy!” he called up the stairs. “Guess what?”

  The sounds of deep soulful din radiated from the first door Sam reached, just eight steps from the end of the steps. Throwing caution to the wind, he turned the doorknob. To his right he knew was a full-sized bed, and a quick search with his fingers told Sam there was room enough for him to sit down next to the sprawled-out form of his best friend. “Hey, guess what?” he called out, knowing full well Remy could hear him over the sound of his stereo blaring.

  “Josh dropped off the face of the earth?” a voice intoned dully, belying a trace bit of Cajun accent that came from sixteen years of life with parents from New Orleans.

  “No. Better.”

  “Miss Rachel and Evan are throwing him out?”

  Sam shook his head. “Not so much.”

  “Then what do I care?”

  “Well, for starters, you don’t have to make dinner tonight.”

  Music-filled silence reigned for a moment before Sam felt his friend’s figure lift from the overstuffed mattress and snap off the stereo. “How’s that? You decided to take an extra night or something?”

  “No. Evan’s home. He said we’re all going out to dinner.”

  The mattress wobbled as Remy fell back onto it. “Meaning that idiot is coming too.”

  Sam sighed. “Remy, we know he’s a pain.”

  “He’s a moron. Takes up all the hot water in the morning, forgets to do his end of the chores, and he constantly has to pick some sort of stupid ass argument…”

  “I know. He drives me nuts too.”

  “I mean, why did Miss Rachel and Evan let him move in here? Things were great, before.” The loud report of a chest-deep sigh filled the room, and the sound of fabric rubbing over skin sailed through Sam’s sensitive ears.

  “Maybe they’re trying to teach us something?” Sam sat back on the mattress, dropping his stick to the floor.

  “That people are idiots?”

  “No,” Evan’s deep voice said, startling the young occupants of the room. The well-worn soles of old shoes came in a couple of steps, and wood creaked as the bedroom door opened inward and a weight leaned against the doorframe. “Josh driving you nuts again, Remy?” Evan asked.

  “I take it you heard?”

  “All the way up the stairs.”

  “Evan, he’s a pain in the ass.”

  “I hate to say it, but you can be a pain in the ass too, sometimes.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Okay, maybe not that bad. But he’s gotta learn how to live with other people—people maybe not as understanding as his folks. That’s one of the reasons he’s living here.”

  Remy snorted. “Is the other one to torment the rest of us?”

  “No, smartass,” Evan replied, though Sam detected no malice in his voice. “He also has to learn how to live by himself—and he needs a lot of help. He’s too advanced for a group home, but he’s not responsible enough for an apartment…”

  “Probably burn the place down, left to himself,” Remy muttered. Sam gave him a poke.

  “Maybe. I’d rather see him get something out of the experience other than ‘people suck and I’m an idiot,’ wouldn’t you?
”

  Another giant sigh. “I guess.”

  “See? You’re learning too.”

  “Sam said something about dinner?”

  Evan laughed. “Yeah. We’re going out. You can make up your dinner night on Saturday.”

  Sam spun at that. “Oh, no. We were planning on going to see that new movie…”

  “No one said you can’t go to the movie. Work it out. Put those problem-solving skills from class to work for you, and I’m sure you’ll come up with an answer.” The worn shoes started downstairs, and the two young men stared at each other—though Sam’s cloudy eyes veered slightly left of Remy’s face.

  “Well, great. What am I going to cook that will let us go out Saturday night?”

  Sam’s mind raced. Then he got an idea. “Here’s what we do…”

  * * *

  Rachel Colosanto hummed along with the radio in the old baby-blue minivan as she drove past the few houses standing along the lakeside. Otter Lake was considered a “giant” lake, even by Michigan standards, and it was hard to see the scattered summer cottages that sat on the other side of the water. Her own house was nestled in-between a sizable public beach area and a thick stand of pines and willows, and it made a perfect place to run what some in town considered a “boarding house for OLBC kids.” It was quiet, had few neighbors, and offered easy access to the center of town for the students that chose to take rooms. A bus line stopped at the beachfront, and it was only a little bit of a walk to the front door. A wooded area gave them a place to take a walk and “cool off” if tensions ran high. All in all, it worked as a central location for just a little bit of everything. As she drove, she spotted a familiar figure trudging along the side of the road, scowling and looking as though he was having a serious conversation with himself.

  Oh, no, she thought. He and Remy have been at it again…

  She slowed, pulling up alongside the sullen figure. “Hey, Josh.”

  The young man stopped. “Oh. Hi, Miss Rachel.”

  “What happened?” she said, putting on the flashers.

  “Remy and I got into a fight. Then he got mad. All I said was that my mom makes great cookies…”

  Rachel sighed. “Get in. Let’s talk about it.”

  Josh hesitated, but soon pulled open the passenger door and buckled his smallish frame into the worn fake leather seat. “So,” Rachel said once her charge got himself situated and she pulled back onto the road, “you and Remy got into a fight.”