Panic River by Elliott Foster

Author:Elliott Foster [Foster, Elliott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Calumet Editions
Published: 2019-10-20T22:00:00+00:00

2

Wednesday Mid-Day

Corey walked toward the cabin, pulling a tarnished gold key from his pocket. After a strong push with his left shoulder, the door opened. What little light remained outside at two o’clock in the afternoon on the overcast November day was blocked by the blue and white, plaid-patterned curtains, one of the few remnant touches from his grandmother.

He turned to Nick who remained standing outside. “Why don’t I open things up in here while you unload our stuff and check out the shed?”

“Sure.”

Corey entered the three-room cabin and stood still in the entry. Spread across the entire front of the cabin was a great room including a kitchenette and Formica-topped dining table with four metal chairs. A scattering of random furniture filled the rest of the space—a mid-century sofa and two recliners from the 1970s. A pale green end table sat between the chairs, topped with a lava lamp that Corey remembered his father buying at a flea market somewhere nearby.

Hideous, he thought.

He then stepped deeper inside. He observed every detail with four of his five senses. The air smelled musty. Dust covered the countertops. Floorboards creaked with every step. Prints depicting random scenes from the forest hung on the walls. He winced at the amateur mattings and frames. Corey then did a double-take, walking closer to view the painting hanging above the TV. He hadn’t seen this particular work of art in over twenty years. He didn’t even know that it was hung here at the cabin, or why. The framed painting depicted a sandy-haired boy near the top of a hardwood in the middle of an island in the Mississippi River near Pepin. Corey smiled at seeing his own faint, cursive signature in the lower right-hand corner of the canvas. It was the same painting that had won him third prize at the Stockholm Art Fair in ninth grade. He had forgotten all about it. Corey shook his head, wondering about it hanging here at the cabin.

He entered the lone bedroom in the back. Knotty pine covered the ceiling, and a pair of twin beds and a dresser filled the room. The same old matching bedspreads lay untouched upon them. Corey’s father didn’t have a chance to sleep here before he died. Frank had apparently begun to unpack his bag, though. A pair of recent sport magazines sat on the nightstand. A weekend’s worth of shirts and underpants stuck out from an unclosed drawer. His wedding ring lay flat atop the dresser. Ginny had mentioned to Corey her suspicion about the ring’s absence from Frank’s hand when she first viewed him in the casket. Corey had called the Barron County EMTs to verify that it wasn’t misplaced or stolen. They assured him that they delivered Frank back to Pepin exactly as they had found him in the yard, positioned as though he were heading for his car.

Corey perused the four corners of the tight room, noticing the rustic construction and masculine décor. Though the cabin was built

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