Abigail's Lake
by
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He at first didn’t hear the doorbell, even though Marie Allessandro had installed the loudest bell imaginable so she’d hear it from anywhere in the house. Quickly wiping his eyes, he nearly stumbled in his rush down the stairs. Several paces away from the door stood a boy of 17 or 18. He had a fair complexion and sandy hair, and seemed apprehensive, not sure whether to retreat to the edge of the porch. "Yes, is there something--?" Michael started to ask. The boy looked at Michael and then over his shoulder at his car parked at the curb with the door open and the motor running. "Are you Mr. Allessandro?" "Yes, I am, how can I help you, son?" "Mr. Allessandro, I--I--uh, I have a message from your brother." "I don’t understand--what are you saying?" The boy backed out of the range of the porch light. He had intended to deliver the message as promised and leave quickly, with no further conversation. Michael moved as the boy moved, keeping constant the distance between them. The boy again looked at his car, as though seeking reassurance that it was still there. Michael seized his arm and pulled him back into the circle of light. The boy struggled to free himself. "I have to go home now," he mumbled. Gripping the boy’s arm tighter, with his other hand Michael pressed him hard against the wall. "No way, kid. You just can’t walk away. Who the hell are you, and what is this nonsense about a message from my brother ... my brother is dead." "Your brother, he said to tell you," the boy’s voice quivered. "What did he want you to tell me?" Michael released his grip but kept the boy trapped against the wall. "He left something for you; he said you’d know where to find it. That’s all he said, I swear." "What did he leave, do you know?" "I don’t know. He didn’t tell me." Michael stepped back a pace, still ready to move should the boy attempt to run. "I don’t understand. Why you? Who are you? What was your relationship with my brother?" "I have to go now." The boy inched his way to the edge of the porch. Michael took a firm hold on his wrist. "No, you can’t leave it like this." "That’s all I know, Mr. Allessandro, please, please let me go." "Look, this is dumb. Let’s go in the house where it’s warm. We’ll talk. I promise not to keep you very long. I’m not out to hurt you, son, but you’ve just dropped a bomb." He started into the house pulling the boy along with him. Pretending at first to follow, the boy suddenly spun himself around, broke free, and made a dash for the car. Michael ran after him, waving his fist in the air. "You little sh--!" With the open door swinging freely on its hinges, the car sped down the street, turned the corner, its tires squealing, and was out of sight. For the better part of three hours, Michael turned out drawers and emptied closets, and found nothing unusual that James might have left for him. "I don’t even know what it is I’m looking for," he said aloud. Maybe James left whatever the hell it was with Dorothy. If it’s not in the house, she’d be the logical one to have it. If so, why didn’t she mention it at dinner? After all she’d gone through with the funeral, maybe she simply forgot. He reached for the phone. Impatient, he counted twelve rings before she answered. "Dorothy it’s me, I’m--" "Michael, are you drunk?" "Maybe a little." "Michael, I am entertaining--" "I’m sorry, but something weird just happened. I have to talk to you and it can’t wait until morning." Before she even had a chance to answer, he told her about the strange boy and the message he’d delivered. "Dorothy, did James leave anything with you to give me?" "No, Michael, nothing. Do you know the boy?" "I’ve never seen him before ... Jesus, Dorothy, that kid wasn’t even born when I moved to California. How in the hell am I supposed to know him?" She was uncomfortably apprehensive. Shortly before James’ death, she had heard talk from Annie Hammer regarding James and a student of his that at the time she dismissed out of hand. "Michael, there’s nothing we can do tonight. When we meet to see Richardson on James’ estate, we can talk about it then. Try to get some sleep, and please don’t drink any more." He slammed down the phone. She probably thinks I’m so drunk that this is all fiction. Fully clothed, he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. Tomorrow I’ll find that boy, he vowed. Hadleyville isn’t that big, and he’s obviously a student at Hadley Prep.
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About the Book
A former, high-powered advertising executive in Los Angeles, Michael Allessandro makes a trip back east to Hadleyville to attend his estranged brother’s funeral. Contemplating his return home after more than a decade, he visualizes Hadleyville as an escape to a carefully guarded personal sanctuary, but Hadleyville is not the same town he left years ago as a young man. Almost before he has time to hoist a beer for old times sake at Thompson’s Bar, he is plunged into a web of deceit and double-dealing. How did his brother James really die? Suicide or ... something else? If his death is ruled a suicide, Michael and James’ ex-wife Dorothy stand to lose a million dollars each in insurance money. The taped message James left for Michael only compounds the problem of discovering the truth. For Michael, the haunting question persists ... not about James’ death, but about his life. What kind of man had his brother become? A caring and dedicated teacher? A victim of his own good intentions? Or a man full of despair for actions he could no longer control? The doubts and uncertainties bedevil Michael, casting a large and oppressive shadow over the self-image he has so carefully crafted out of his own life. It is to exorcise those forebodings that Michael makes a fateful decision: to remain in Hadleyville long enough to unmask the forces that threaten Hadleyville’s richest and most powerful citizens. Perhaps his first instinct ...to flee this ever-widening circle of disaster ... is the sane one. No matter. The decision he cannot avoid changes the face of Hadleyville completely. The old hometown has undergone radical changes. Even his old drinking buddy Fred Thompson, owner and proprietor of Thompson’s, is affected. And young Joey Atkins, Fred’s nephew, seems to have a penchant for trouble. Whatever had happened between Joey and James is a powder keg that threatens to blow up an entire town. This is why Michael must break through Joey’s half-truths and evasions to find out if photographs, taken shortly before his brother’s death, represent a last ditch attempt to control James or if they indeed are evidence of the ugly truth. The lives Michael disrupts and the inevitable consequences of his mounting obsession with his dead brother’s reputation propel the action to a gut-wrenching climax. The result: an action tale of good intentions perverted in the name of expediency as political ambition fuels the final confrontation in which three young people die and one is left paralyzed. On one level Abigail’s Lake is a stylish thriller with enough twists and turns to satisfy even the most demanding mystery reader. Looked at through a different lens, the novel is both a story of unmitigated tragedy and loss, and a modern allegory of redemption and forgiveness. The age-old conflict between politics and personal morality, the sins of one generation coming back to destroy another, and the consequence of youthful recklessness pursuing its own seemingly unstoppable deadly course ... these are the themes that propel Abigail’s Lake to its final horrific conclusion. Along the way, the most inveterate mystery buffs will find their plates full of taut and gripping action, accompanied by characters that embody the entire gamut of human emotions ... love, hate, treachery, even murder. Yet as rage and desolation sweep through Hadleyville, threatening everything in their path, the healing and redemptive power of love cannot be completely extinguished. Michael and his childhood sweetheart, Annie; Mrs. DeLuca, his father’s long-ago mistress; Holland and James’ ex-wife Dorothy; and Fred Thompson and his steadfast girlfriend Charlotte are the survivors. Their stories function as sidebars to the main plot, but give the novel its richly textured nuances and finely-honed emotional complexity. Right up to the last twist of this throbbing plot, Abigail’s Lake is a riveting and rewarding read. It is also a singular story of a man on a quest to regain what the loss of innocence stole from him. At the point where the mystery novel and psychological drama intersect lies the real genius of Abigail’s Lake.
About the Author
New York graphic designer Anthony Maccarrone has made time for writing in his busy life for the past 20 years. He rises at dawn and writes every morning before heading out to Bennett Communications, Inc. where he is creative director for varied projects, such as brochures, magazines, advertisements, booklets, and catalogs. Maccarrone was born and raised in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn, New York. After serving four years in the United States Navy, he studied fine arts at Pratt and received a BFA degree. He worked for years as art director for several publishing companies, and then as direct mail art director for a leading department store. Maccarrone is married to a transplanted southerner from Louisiana. They have one son, Joseph, who is married and living in Seattle, Washington.