A/N: I'm sure by now you're aware that "the Soo" is Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan. That's what everyone calls it up there. Hence also the "Soo Locks".

Long chapter, let me know in reviews whether you like short or long. I could have split this one up, but I'm down with 'the plague' right now, so I got a lot of writing done.

Hope y'all are enjoying the original poetry that KayCee1951 encouraged me to write for this story.

Chapter 25: Ghosts in the Machine

Warm as the drifting summer sand,
Hot as melting glass,
Petulant as the rushing sea
when spring has come and passed.

Cold as the biting blizzard wind
Fair as azure sky
Ardent as autumn's stormy blasts
and all her love is mine.

~the author, for Evergreen~

Friday, October 14th, 1988

The crisp bite of late fall filled the air and hoarfrost glittered in the weak morning sun as Enos closed the cabin's door quietly behind him. Birds twittered amongst the pines and somewhere on the lake, the low notes of a distant horn faded into the waves. These were the days when you started and ended with a coat and tried to squeeze as much time as you could out of the warmth of midday. He had finally fallen asleep sometime after 2:00am, and allowed himself an hour longer than his usual alarm of 5:00 before dragging himself back into the grind. Four hours seemed like a generous plenty, not to mention it was the first night he'd slept in a real bed in weeks.

The station was his first stop. He checked the work logs and followed up with Rick on a stop the young deputy had made the day before on a trailer with no tags. They had impounded it until its bad-tempered owner could cough up a fine and some paperwork. Enos was no Sheriff Rosco, but if some pompous downstater thought he could wander through his jurisdiction in order to skirt the law, he could think again. Unfortunately, big city people and their expectations of rural America held about the same for Tamarack as they had for Hazzard.

An hour later, he picked up Melinda and carted her to the museum since her truck had been parked there overnight. The five minute commute was quiet with little more than a routine greeting between them until he pulled into the parking lot and told her he needed to talk to her inside before he left. The gulls were already crying and circling the building, waiting for the tourists who would purchase bags of sunflower seeds at the front desk to feed them.

He followed her through the empty lot and waited while she relocked the door. The museum was dark and quiet, like the former resting place of all the artifacts dredged up from the depths of Superior. He imagined their ghosts lined up along the wall in the darkness, watching them. Then Melinda flipped on the lights and the spell was broken.

"What did you need to talk about?"

He turned back towards her and unclipped the extra holster from his belt carrying the revolver he had cleaned the night before. Its dark handle made a heavy sound against the laminate countertop as he lay it down and pushed it towards her.

"Have you ever shot one of these?" Even though she didn't own a gun, he was hoping that she had at least a passing acquaintance with them, but she shook her head.

"No, never." She moved to pick it up, then hesitated and drew her hand back.

"Take it, it's not loaded. I'd sure feel better if you had it, at least while you're here at the museum."

She unsnapped the strap holding it in place and took it out of the holster, pointing it out in front of her and, inadvertently, straight at Enos.

He moved it down and away from him. "The first lesson is don't ever point it at anyone unless you mean to use it, even if you think it's unloaded."

"Sorry!" The gun stayed where he had moved it at an unnatural angle for her position in a white-knuckled grip.

"Listen, I won't be around today, but Joy said she'd meet you at the gun range if you could get away. I can't give you any bullets until you learn how to shoot it."

She looked disappointed, but whether it was because Joy would be her teacher instead of him or that he wasn't giving her ammo, he wasn't sure.

"It's in the basement of the courthouse, isn't it?"

"Sure is," he said, "and there won't be anyone else there, so you won't have an audience while you're learning.""

The LAPD's indoor gun range had been his refuge when he worked at Central, so much so that they'd attempted to recruit him for SWAT. One snowy evening, over coffee and boring paperwork, Enos had admitted to Doc that it was the one thing he missed about working for a large police department. The former sheriff, bless his heart, insisted right then and there that Whitefish County have their own - he had even called the County Commissioner at supper time to start the planning. That was how little Tamarack ended up with a first class facility to rival even the LAPD's tucked away in the basement of their new courthouse.

"I guess I could probably go at lunch," she sighed. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, I told Daisy I'd take her to Soo to get her some winter clothes, but Rodney'll be patrolling around the Point today and he'll be here faster than fleas on a hound dog if you need him."

"They say it's going to snow tonight," she reminded him. "Are you sure it's a good day to go?"

"Shucks, I ain't such a southern boy anymore that I can't handle a little snow shower," he assured her. "Besides, I told Daisy I'd show her the Locks before they closed for winter."

As soon as he'd said it, he wished he hadn't. He'd given Melinda the run around every March 24th for two years now when she'd asked him to come with her to Opening Day to watch the ships.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy spending time with her. The stories she told of traveling the world and being a child in Russia and then New York before moving up to the UP, were a source of endless amazement to him. Often, in the darkness of the Ashbury's porch, he would listen to her talk and wonder why, out of all the men in the world, she had chosen him in which to confide. Within her joys and regrets, relayed in hushed (and at times painful and broken) tones, he found a kinship that he had never shared with anyone else. A faceless voice in the dark, and yet that was when he thought her the most beautiful.

But Opening Day lock-throughs began at 12:01 am, and that meant staying in Soo overnight. Though he pretended to be naive, he harbored little doubt as to what she was actually suggesting. He wasn't sure how to feel about her vaguely concealed propositions - not that he wasn't attracted to her, but...she knew less about him than he did about her. He supposed he should get around to asking her on a real date soon, instead of them grabbing a bite at Julie's because they happened to be in the same place at the same time.

Maybe he was just being an idiot. He didn't know how Bo and Luke managed to have a girl in every corner of the county and be so flippant about it. He could barely manage less than one.

"Helllooo?" Melinda was waving her hand in front of his face. "Did you stay up too late again or is the sign very interesting?" She tapped the large wooden plaque behind her that read Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.

"Sorry," he yawned, rubbing his eyes. "I got a few hours. I'll be fine in a little while." He tapped the gun that she had put back into the holster. "Keep that somewhere safe and let Joy know what time to meet you at the courthouse."

"Alright."

They stared at each in awkward silence until she walked out from behind the counter.

"Here, I'll let you out," she said, turning the key in the door.

"I coulda done that."

She spun back around and shot him a grin. "But then you couldn't hug me good-bye."

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. She clasped him tight, her head resting between his shoulder and his chin with her long hair falling loose over his hands in a subtle fragrance of oranges from the glass cleaner they used in the museum. Rarely did he think of how tall he was, often only reminded of it when he met someone taller and it struck him as unusual. But then there were times like these - so very, very few in his life - when another fit so completely and perfectly against him that he could tuck them beneath his chin.

Protector. That was all he had ever wanted to be. Someone who made others feel safe.

"Promise me you'll be careful," he told her. "I'll be back later tonight, but call the station if anything seems out of the ordinary. It's no trouble for Joy to call Rodney to stop by."

She took a step back, but held his eyes with hers as tightly as her arms had held him a moment before. "I promise. And you be careful. That warning was for you, too."

He nodded, not trusting what might roll off his tongue at that moment. Something stupidly personal, perhaps.

With a last wave, he went out the door but sat in his truck for a long time afterwards, staring out at the lake and wondering if he should have kissed her.

Three hours later, Daisy sat in the passenger seat of Enos' truck and watched the trees fly past with dizzying speed. Highway 123, which ran south along the perimeter of Whitefish Bay, was deserted and had been since they drove through the town of Ekerman (which turned out to be little more than a church, post office, and a bar). The black tar lines in the light concrete zipped beneath them and her eyes followed their squiggly patterns, wondering if it was the cracks which were uneven or if the road crew who filled them might have slipped down to the bar for a beer or two (or three) at lunchtime.

"How long did you say it takes to get to Soo?" Every mile seemed a little more boring than the last.

"I guess about an hour," he answered. "I never paid much attention before."

"Joy said it takes her an hour and a half."

"Joy drives like an old lady." He couldn't hide the grin pulling at the corner of his mouth,

Daisy craned her neck to peek at the truck's speedometer. "The speed limit here is 55, not 75."

"I could flip on my lights and sirens, if that'd make you feel better."

"We already passed the sign for Chippewa County," she reminded him. "You're out of your jurisdiction."

He shrugged. "If you're bored, you're welcome to turn on the radio."

There were probably two dozen black buttons on the dash, none clearly marked, and a regular CB along with a jumble of police radio equipment with two rows of buttons that glowed with a red light behind them. She fiddled with a few trying to figure out how to turn on the music, but all the red buttons did when she pushed them was turn green.

"What on earth are you doing?"

"Trying to find the radio."

He pushed a round knob hidden by the CB mic and the radio blared to life with static. "You can try and find something with this one -" he twisted another knob opposite the first, "but you probably ain't gonna have much luck. There's a Johnny Cash cassette in the tape player for when you give up." The green buttons on the lower panel caught his eye. "You turned on half my strobe lights," he grumbled, pushing the now green buttons back to the red 'off' position.

"Oops, sorry."

She turned the knob, but most of the stations were jumbled static or football. Finally, she came to one with a accordion playing nice and clear and stopped.

"Huh uh. No polka."

"What's wrong with polka?" she protested. "Don't you like bluegrass?"

"Well sure, bluegrass is just fine, but bluegrass and polka ain't hardly the same thing."

"Sure they are, you just switch out the fiddle for an accordion and the banjo for a clarinet."

He flipped off the radio, but she turned it back on. "Hey, I like that song!" Oddly, her musical memory had remained intact after her accident. She couldn't say how or when she had learned songs, but she could recognize them by their melody and lyrics.

"Alright," he groaned, "one song."

She turned back towards the window and sang along with the words. "Someday...we'll meet again my love. Someday...whenever the spring breaks through. You'll come to me...out of the long ago. Warm as the wind, soft as the kiss of snow...Till then my sweet, think of me now and then. Godspeed my love, 'til you are mine a-... Hey, it wasn't over!"

"Shoot, sorry Daisy, my hand must've slipped."

"You're a horrible liar, Enos Strate."

He shot her an annoyed glance. "If you can't be nice, I'm libel to take you to eat Chinese for lunch."

"Why...what's wrong with that?"

"You don't like Chinese food." She felt her face heat at the reminder that there were some things he knew better about herself than she did. He looked over at her again, and she thought about telling him to keep his eyes on the road. "Say, did you raid Joy's closet?" he continued. "I thought I saw her wearing that same sweatshirt last week."

She looked down at the light pink hooded sweatshirt and pushed the sleeves up to her elbows. "Her aunt from Kansas sent them a big box of clothes so she brought me more of her old ones." She tucked her feet up under her and picked at a hole that was forming in the knee of her jeans. "Do you think I should have worn something nicer?"

"Nicer? No, why? You look fine."

One of the biggest culture shocks of living in the UP had been to discover the only time anyone bothered to doll themselves up was for a wedding or a funeral, neither of which she had the pleasure or misfortune to attend, yet. In the south, simply going to get groceries was a reason to put on makeup and perfect your hair, but few women wore more than lipstick up here, and camouflage seemed to be the staple of northwoods fashion - for both men and women.

Gradually, she had reached the conclusion that no one in Tamarack cared if you dressed like Elizabeth Taylor or a bag lady, just so you were friendly. Today, she had brazenly thrown caution to the wind. The sweatshirt and jeans were cozy, and she'd braided her hair because she liked it that way, dang it, and who cared what anyone else thought.

"Just wondering. I'm not wearing any make-up," she declared, like she'd committed some horrible faux pas.

"So?" He shrugged. "You don't need any."

She grinned and turned towards the window so he couldn't see her blush, thinking his offhand compliment might be the nicest thing she could remember anyone saying to her. Since that night at the lighthouse (could it have only been the day before yesterday!?) and cleaning the chimney afterwards, they had slipped into an easy banter of half arguing, half teasing and she found herself at a loss trying to understand how it had happened. In fact, the more time she spent with him, the more she liked him - what with his quirky sense of humor and eyes that smiled even when he tried not to. She'd be sad to leave him come Christmas.

They came to the end of the highway and turned left onto State Road 28 where a sign read 'Sault Ste Marie, 37 miles'. Enos slowed down to the speed limit through the town of Clarke, which looked to be about the same size as Tamarack.

"How would you feel about driving?"

She turned back to him. "Who, me?"

"Don't reckon there's anyone else in here 'cept you," he said. "Unless you can't anymore? Sorry, I didn't think about that."

She sat up straighter, not quite sure what he was asking. ""No, I can still drive," she said. "You mean you'd let me drive your truck?"

"Just between here and I-75," he said. "There's a 'park and ride' lot about 30 miles yonder, just before we turn off. Sorry, I'm more tired than I thought I was."

Her studied his face, noting the dark smudges beneath his eyes. "Sure, I don't mind."

He nodded and pulled over at the Marathon they were passing. They both got out, but instead of switching places he motioned at the gas station. "I've gotta get some coffee. Here," he handed her his keys.

Face to face, his exhaustion was evident, and Daisy wondered how much sleep he'd gotten, which reminded her of the gun he'd been cleaning the night before. Maybe now wasn't a good time to ask him about it since he clearly wasn't functioning on all cylinders. Couldn't be if he was letting her drive his prized possession.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I might take a nap while you're driving. You want anything?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

She climbed into the driver side of his truck and adjusted the seat and mirrors before turning the key. The engine roared to life with far more power than she had expected. The passenger door opened and Enos deposited himself on the other side, sliding a syrofoam cup of coffee into the cup holder before buckling his seatbelt.

"I sure do appreciate you taking over for a little while, Daisy," he said. "Now...when you start out, go easy on the gas. She's got the same supercharged V8 that the Michigan State Police put in their trucks and a lot more horsepower than a normal Bronco."

She disengaged the parking brake and tried to ease the truck out of the parking lot but squealed the tires as she pulled out onto the road.

"Bo called the other day," she told him as he settled in and leaned his head against the window. "He said the first crop of soybeans did real well. Not enough to pay a lot off, but enough to make it through the winter and plant next spring. Oh, and he was able to get a good tractor at auction instead of leasing one."

"I can't believe he decided to become a farmer," Enos mused. "After all the griping he did about chores growing up. We all thought he'd stick with racing until he made it on to the NASCAR or Busch circuit."

"Was he any good? I heard you and Luke raced a lot, but I didn't know about Bo." She stole a glance at Enos.

"Shoot, we practically grew up out at the Hazzard dirt track, all of us. Bo was tougher to beat than Luke, but only because Luke gets madder than a hornet if he's not winning and then he makes mistakes. Bo has more heart for it. Don't go telling them I said that, though."

Something about what he'd said made her wonder, "Did I ever race at the track?"

"Some," he said. "You were real good, too. In fact, you had a chance to train for the NASCAR circuit."

"What!?" Daisy felt like a 30 ton chunk of her life just fell into her lap. "Why didn't I? What happened?"

"Well, I was working for the LAPD at the time," he explained, "so I only heard the story when you came out to Los Angeles. I guess the lady who hired you had been in some trouble and was looking for a replacement. But you would've been away from Hazzard for years if you'd made it big, and you didn't want that."

"Wait...I went to visit you in California?" History sure had a funny way of repeating itself.

"You hardly came out to see me," he assured her. "After you turned down the NASCAR job, another company hired you to drive a stock car for some promotional stunts. You just happened to be in LA for the weekend." He was quiet a moment before he added, "You didn't tell Bo and Luke that you're staying with me up here, did you?"

"Why? I don't see what it matters."

"You really want your cousins calling me to check up on you? I thought you were tired of everyone poking into your business."

"Good point," she murmured. "No, they don't know where I am."

He stifled a yawn. "I'm gonna try to get some shut-eye," he said. "Wake me up when we get to the park and ride. There'll be a brown sign over on the right side of the road. You want music on?"

"Sure, Johnny can keep me company." He pushed 'play' on the cassette deck and lowered the volume as Johnny Cash warned his wayward lover that she was gonna cry, cry, cry, and then cry some more.

The miles clicked by with little variety, though the scenery was beautiful and vastly different from from Georgia. Everywhere she looked, the tamarack trees blazed with golden needles, in stark contrast to the true evergreens they had mimicked weeks earlier. The road stretched on and on.

Enos slept - or at least she thought he was sleeping. He looked peaceful enough, and he hadn't spoken a word in the last 12 miles. The poor guy was wearing himself ragged worrying over those murder cases. She understood solving them meant a lot to him, but his own health was more important than a couple of dead men. Between him and Joy, she'd ferreted out the details of both cases, and she worried that he had put a target on his back by talking to the crew of the Elcid Barrett.

She was starting to think Sheriff Enos Strate had a streak of stubborn pride a mile wide.

It was just past noon when Daisy pulled into the parking lot near I-75 and woke Enos to drive the rest of the way into Sault Ste Marie. To her consternation, he looked far more rested than he should after 40 minutes of sleeping with his head pillowed against a cold, hard window.

Soo turned out to be a lot smaller than she expected. There were no tall skyscrapers or fancy mansions, just regular houses that looked like any small town in Georgia might have, only more of them. The difference was instead of ending at a forest, the city ended at the St. Marys River where the freighters were already lined up in a queue on their way to Lake Huron.

Enos drove slowly along the river, passing what she assumed must be the Locks, to a group of docks where two immense ships were anchored. As they passed the second, she saw that it was in fact partially grounded with a sign in front which read 'Museum Ship Valley Camp'. Enos pulled around it to the parking lot on the other side.

"There's a restaurant inside the museum," he explained. "I hope you don't mind. They've got something here you should see."

They walked up the ramp and into a jumble of cramped corridors with so many twists and turns that she would have been nervous they were lost if there hadn't been signs pointing the way. Every nook and cranny of the ship was open for visitors to explore, and she and Enos wandered up stairs and through more passages with rooms filled with narrow bunks or machinery.

"I can't believe people live for months on ships like these," she told him. "I feel like a cat in a box."

He leaned closer to her so the tourists behind them couldn't hear, and said. "You think that's bad. Imagine being stuck in here while it's sinking and not being able to get out. I think I'd go crazy first before I drowned."

"That didn't make me feel better."

"Go that way." He pointed to a staircase with an arrow directing them to the 'mess hall'.

She followed the stairway up, and it opened into a small cafeteria. Here, windows stretching the length of both sides of the room let in light and alleviated much of the claustrophobic atmosphere from below. Several groups of not-quite-elderly retirees were eating at two long tables. The food was simple northern fare; butter-burgers, brats, fries, and cheese curds. And beer. There was always beer. She and Enos ordered burgers and fries and sodas and sat down at the end of a table next to the window - though being several stories off the ground, there wasn't much to see other than clouds.

They ate in silence, until Daisy noticed that Enos was finished when she was only halfway through her burger. "You don't slow down, someday you're gonna choke or spill something on yourself."

"Sorry, Daisy," he said. "Old habit of having to grab a bite to eat between calls at the LAPD. We were lucky if we had five minutes. Sometimes, we didn't eat at all on a twelve hour shift."

She shook her head. "I don't know how you worked in a place with so much crime," she said. "I imagine it was pretty dangerous for y'all cops, too." She didn't really expect an answer, and none was given, but when she looked up from her plate at him, he looked like he felt sick. "Are you alright? You look kind of pale."

He snapped back to life and plastered that too-bright fake smile on his face. "Fit as a fiddle," he answered, and gestured to her tray. "Are you about done?"

"Yep, I'm full," she said, dropping the subject and gathering her trash. "You said there was something you wanted me to see?"

The Valley Camp was a pretty remarkable museum. Retired from her shipping duties in the 1970's, she had been hollowed out and her cargo hold dedicated to the history of Lake Superior and the Locks. Though Daisy had spent so much free time studying exhibits at Whitefish Point that shipwrecks had lost some of their fascination, this museum had an 1200 gallon aquarium which stretched its full length where sturgeon, yellow perch, and whitefish zipped around a couple of huge muskies. She and Enos skipped most of the other exhibits; artifacts from sunken ships, some so worn by the tide that their purpose was vague, stopping only at the lighthouse display.

"Oh! These are like miniature versions of the lens at St. Genevieve." A row of Fresnel lenses, some as small as a kerosene lantern, and others one to two feet tall sat against the backdrop of a lighthouse schematic.

"These are 4th and 3rd Order Fresnels," he said, "used in smaller lighthouses or harbor lights. Makes St. G's seem pretty special." He gestured towards the end of the museum where a small boat sat. "We'd better move faster if we're gonna get you some winter garb. It's supposed to snow later on, and I want you to see the boats down there."

She followed him until they stood in front of the small boat which he had pointed out. Lifeboat #2 from the Edmund Fitzgerald was in bad shape, having run aground on rocks on the shores of Ontario. Its steel hull had a two foot wide hole in its side and its mangled front had been split wide open like a zipper with busted rivets for teeth.

"It's crazy to think that there might've been men in there," she said. "They would've been killed just as they got to land!"

"I think they said all the men went down with the ship," he told her, "but yeah. This ain't really the boat I wanted you to see, though. The other lifeboat is in that room back there."

Away from the other artifacts, beneath a spotlight in its own dark and somber room, sat lifeboat #1. At first, she wasn't sure what the big deal was - the front was scratched and scuffed, but otherwise intact.

"Go around the backside yonder," he told her, "and look at the end of the boat."

The front sat at a higher angle than the back, four feet off the floor, so the end wasn't visible from her perspective. She walked around the boat, her footsteps echoing in the darkness.

It took a long minute to understand what she was seeing- or not seeing. Half of the boat was missing, and the ragged edges that remained were twisted and torn as though its steel was as delicate as tin foil.

The plaque in front stated that it had been recovered by the Arthur M. Anderson after the storm, floating upside down nine miles from the other wreckage. It hadn't hit rocks or washed up on shore, and yet its hull was privy to even greater destruction than the first boat.

"I don't understand how a storm could do this," she wondered. "It's just water and wind."

"It's not just the water and waves that can tear up a ship during a storm," he said. "There's sharp ridges of rock in the lake that might only be five or six feet under the water. If you lose your bearings in a storm, you're apt to go over one of them and slice a hole right through your ship. That's why the lighthouses are so important."

She ran her hand across the warped and misshapen metal. Over the last month, Daisy had heard plenty of stories of mighty Lake Superior - each more incredible than the last. Tales of 700 foot steel freighters being ripped in half by a pounding waves or smaller boats going out and never being seen again, but wasn't until now that she truly understood its terrible power.

"Now I know why everyone's so afraid of storms on the lake."

"Well, they say to never underestimate the power of nature, but I reckon Superior is a little more murderous than some."

After walking down to the observation deck at the Locks and watching a couple of freighters be lowered into Lake Huron, their last stop in Soo was a repurposed strip mall with a garish 20ft yellow sign proclaiming it to be 'Ned's Northwoods Warehouse'.

"There's a big mall across the bridge on the Canada side," explained Enos, as they walked through the automatic doors, "but that's for city folk and tourists. Them flashy duds ain't what you need for a UP winter. Real Yoopers shop here at Ned's."

"Kinda like how Uncle Jesse always bought copper tubing in back of Rhuebottom's instead of the hardware store in Capital City."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, the hardware store was apt to call the Feds if he went in and asked for 25ft of copper tubing and 50lbs of sugar. Here now, get a cart and we'll just start at the front and get what you need."

True to his word, Enos was bound and determined for her to keep warm over the winter. He tossed in things as they passed that she wouldn't have thought she needed, explaining that it was important to dress in layers. Long sleeved fleece shirts that went over long underwear; flannel shirts; then a pair of nylon, insulated, waterproof overalls Enos called "snow bibs"; a thin down jacket and then a 'ski jacket' over that.

"Here now, Daisy," he said, standing in the middle of a sea of coats. "Pick yourself one of these Columbia jackets."

She looked around at the plethora of colors, most with some sort of florescent on them. "I wouldn't know where to start, Enos. There's so many!"

"I'll give you some advice. A good coat might last you for twenty years, so pick something you won't get tired of."

"That cuts any of these out," she said, frowning at the rack of brightly colored ones. She moved over to a round rack of more 'normal' colors and pointed to a dark teal one. "What about this one?"

"It looks good," he said. "try it on and make sure it fits."

She unzipped it, took it off the hanger, and shrugged it on, but as she was doing so, her eyes caught the price tag. "Enos, this coat is $150! I can't let you buy me something like this!" She tried to take it off, but he pulled it back onto her shoulders.

"Shoot, Daisy, you need a good coat, and you get what you pay for. Columbia's a good brand that'll last. Besides, who knows where you'll gallivant off to after you leave Tamarack. Siberia, maybe," he smirked.

"Siberia's a little far," she countered. "Enos, I just don't feel right about you spending that much on me. It's awfully sweet of you, though."

He glanced around before turning back to her. "Daisy," he murmured, "do you know how much they pay me to live up in the middle of nowhere and be Sheriff of Whitefish County?"

She shook her head.

"Let's just say I ain't gonna go broke buying you a coat. Plus you need good boots and wool socks, and Joy made me promise to get you some other stuff, too."

"What kind of 'other' stuff?" Joy, Daisy had learned, could be just as sneaky as her cousins when it came to taking care of her. Enos had been right, she was very motherly, despite being younger than both of them.

"Hockey stuff."

She rummaged through her memory to come up with a game played with skates and sticks on ice. "Haha...sure she did."

"No, it's true," he assured her. "Everyone plays hockey up here. The park puts up barriers around the basketball court and turns it into an outdoor hockey rink. Besides you'll want something to do for fun when everything gets snowed in."

"Y'all are crazy," she told him, taking off the coat and folding it into the cart. "Both of you. I'd break my leg, and then wouldn't I be in a pickle?"

He leaned his elbows on the cart and laughed at her. "You look plum put out, Daisy," he said. "Shucks, you wear so much equipment playing hockey, you could skate face first into a brick wall and not get hurt."

"You say that like you mean it."

"It might have been a personal experience of mine."

"You skate?" she grinned. "That I've gotta see."

By the time they were back on the road, slate clouds had darkened the sky and the wind had turned and was blowing from the north. There was a smell in the air she couldn't define, not the Lake and not the scent of rain; akin to wood smoke from a freshly lit fireplace, yet not quite that, either. They were on the outskirts of the city, nearly to I-75, when Enos put his turn signal on and took a right instead of continuing straight.

"I plum forgot I needed to talk to you about what happened yesterday," he said. "There's a park down here that's usually empty." He looked over at her. "You think you'll be warm enough to sit outside? If I wait until we get back to Tamarack, I'm libel to get called out to an accident after the snow starts and forget."

The temperature in Soo was still in the high 40's, too warm for the coat, but she had zipped up the down jacket over her sweatshirt and jammed a ski cap on her head.

"I was pretty toasty when we left the place with the used sports equipment." The prices there had been much more reasonable and she ended up with hockey skates, helmet, and pads for the paltry sum of $25. Not that she was sold on trying hockey, yet.

It wasn't much of a park, only a derelict picnic table sitting beside a broken grill in a gravel clearing, but the view of the St. Mary's River was spectacular and a lonely dock stretched out over the water. Just before they stepped out onto the wooden planks, Enos reached down and scooped up a handful of pebbles. Instinctively, she held out her hand, and he dropped half of them into her palm.

And the world stood still.

"Daisy?"

... She looked up from her hand to see a worried Enos standing over her, and realized he must have asked her something and she hadn't responded.

"Daisy? Are you okay?"

"I remember this." With tears in her eyes, she held up the rocks her had given her. "I don't remember you, but I remember the rocks. At Hazzard pond."

He listened as she told him about the day she had come home from the hospital, how Luke hadn't understood.

"This was something we did, wasn't it? Not me and Luke."

He studied her with a look she couldn't interpret, then steered her towards the dock. "Come sit a spell with me."

The wood was old and gray, not quite dry rotted, although another five years would probably be all it could withstand. She followed him to the end where bits of broken shells covered the tops of worn pylons, and sat down beside him, swinging her legs over the edge. In her hand, the rocks were smooth and cold and wet, and she closed her fist around them tightly, wanting so badly to hold onto this moment.

"Close your eyes." His voice was as soft as a touch or a whisper.

She closed them and felt the wind ruffle her hair. Beside her, she could feel Enos' warmth where their arms brushed against each other.

"I know it's a lot colder," he said, speaking slowly, "but imagine you're sitting out at the dock on Hazzard Pond. It's summer, but there's a cool breeze blowing. It smells like fish and worms, grass, and rotten wood. The old oak tree is behind you, and on the bank down by the cattails, Luke is fishing and Bo is sleeping. Can you see it?"

She nodded, her throat to tight with emotion to speak.

"And there's pebbles in your hand, and someone's sitting beside you."

"Yeah."

"Then you remember me."

A piece of herself, long missing, slipped softly into place. The tears burst out, and she sat and cried as he patted her awkwardly on the back, and the wind grew colder and made her shiver. At last, she wiped her face, and looked up into eyes that watched her carefully.

"I don't think you understand what you've done," she whispered. Through the dark years that stretched between what she remembered and when she woke up, he had brought something she thought dead to life. "You just gave me a memory back."

He grinned at her. "Those were good days." Then his face clouded and he sighed. "Unfortunately, what I've got to talk to you about ain't so great."

She swiped at her eyes again. "Sorry, what happened yesterday?"

"First, did you see anyone lurking around the Ashbury on Friday night? Anyone who seemed out of place?"

She blushed, having been caught. Not that she was spying on him, per se, but boredom and curiosity made troublesome bedfellows. "Friday?"

"Melinda said she saw you riding your bike around town while we were on the porch."

"No, I didn't see anyone. And for your information, I was going to the Quik-Trip for a soda."

He shrugged and looked back out over the river. "It ain't none of my business what you were doing," he said. "Anyway, last week someone sent what we think is a death threat to the station."

"Oh my gosh!" Her worst fears had been realized, now they were after him. "To you?"

"I reckon it was more to Joy and Melinda since they've been helping on the case. If you come by the station tomorrow, I'll show you what they sent. It's awful hard to explain without seeing it."

Daisy thought back to what he was doing the night before. "The gun you were cleaning?"

"I gave it to Melinda to keep at the museum," he explained, "but she's never shot one before, so she'll have to practice at the shooting range first." He paused and she noticed that he was fidgeting, running his thumb over the rocks he still held in his hand. "Just in case, there's a gun in the nightstand by my bed. It's loaded."

"I thought you said to stay out of your room."

He swung his head around to stare at her. "Nice try," he grinned. "You made it more than a month, though. Shucks, I figured you'd go through my stuff at least two weeks ago."

She opened her mouth, but found she was speechless.

"My closet smelled like your apple shampoo."

"I was looking for a hanger for your uniform," she sputtered, and hung her head in embarrassment.

"Yeah, I know. You left my uniform on the bed."

Better and better. "Wow."

Enos tossed a pebble out into the river, and Daisy followed suit. They sat like that as the sky turned darker and the streetlights flashed on across the river, throwing rocks, while Daisy tried to fit more of her puzzle together. The greatest enigma was what had happened between Enos and herself. Had they just drifted apart over time, as she had originally thought? Or had they had a falling out of sorts? She couldn't bear to ask him, worried that it might be the latter.

And, why, if Enos knew her so well and cared for her like family, hadn't he talked her out of marrying L.D.? Where had he been? It was too bad he thought of her as just another cousin because she was beginning to understand why she seemed so smitten with him in her journal. She closed her eyes again and felt him sitting beside her, but now it was as though every contact point had a slight electrical charge. Maybe he felt it too, because he chose that moment to scoot over so they weren't touching.

"Enos, have you ever been married?" She hadn't meant to think that out loud, but oh well.

It was his turn to aim for her rock in the river, but he dropped it instead, and he took so long to speak that she figured she'd chosen a bad subject.

"No," he said, at last.

"Not even almost?"

Again, he hesitated before finally saying, "I was engaged once...at least I thought I was."

This novel turn of events piqued her interest, and she couldn't help pressing him for just a little bit more. "What happened?"

"She left me for another guy."

My gosh, thought Daisy. "What a bitch!" His only reaction was him raising his eyebrows in surprise at her language. "Sorry. That's why you left Hazzard, wasn't it?"

She felt him shrug beside her, and knew she'd figured out his secret. That malarky about wanting a good paying job in a big city was just a distraction to keep her from prying. Poor, poor Enos. She tried to imagine the kind of woman who would cast him off, and decided she was probably not worth his while in the first place.

"I guess she was kind of like one of them tamarack trees, huh? You thought your love was like an evergreen, but then it turned dead and lost its needles. Did you know L.D.?"

"No," he said, still gazing off across the water. "I left before you got married."

"I wish you hadn't," she sighed. "Maybe you coulda talked me out of it."

Enos chucked the rest of his pebbles into the water and got up. "We oughta get going," he told her. "It's gonna snow soon."

They made it back to the cabin just as the first heavy flakes were beginning to fall. Daisy, enthralled with the first snow fall of the North, dressed in all her new garb and went outside.

From the darkened picture window, Enos watched her standing beneath the golden glow of the cabin's motion lights, her arms outstretched and head tilted up to Heaven. The snow was in her hair, on her cheeks, tangled with her lashes.

He'd tried very hard to treat her like family today, like the bothersome little sister she used to be when they were kids. They'd had a good day, fun even, and then she'd gone and brought up things she had no idea about.

He had twelve weeks to go before she waltzed out of his life again, and he was determined to keep her away from his heart.