Page 12 of The Wedding Twist

Forrest Halpern was the definition of a hack. Then again, clearly he was doing something right if people were employing his services. But this was the problem with the internet. It was too easy to buy five-star ratings on Google, to get eyes on your product, even when you were selling a load of crap. As long as Forrest could give travelers that Instagram shot, the quality didn’t seem to matter.

Bodie stopped to sniff at what first looked like a pine cone but at closer inspection was the droppings of some kind of animal. “Come on, Bodie,” Jack said. “We don’t put shit up our noses.”

Jack trudged down the path, mind whirling with how to pull his business out of the tank. He was skilled, he was knowledgeable, he knew how to read river conditions and wind patterns and just about any color sky and make a best guess about where to take his groups. Could Forrest do that? Was he really booking as many clients as he was letting on?

There was only one place to find out—where the gossip flew around faster than any hair salon or high school cafeteria.

Jack brought Bodie back to the house, got into his pickup truck, and drove into Keystone Ridge to Hank’s Tackle Shop, where all the local anglers sat out front drinking coffee and trading shit talk. It was time to figure out what the hell was going on.

*

“There he is,”a booming voice called from a yellow Muskoka chair outside of Hank’s. Jack had barely excited the truck but was happy to see Hank Dougherty, tackle shop owner and social convenor of a ragtag group of locals, four of whom were seated in the other Muskoka chairs that formed a circle outside of the shop. “Where ya been? That box of tippet you ordered came in over a week ago.”

Jack didn’t want to tell Hank that he hadn’t been by because his booking calendar was emptier than a dry well. “Caught a bug there for a bit,” he said. “Plus I’ve been teaching a class down at the college.”

“I heard that,” Hank said. “Good for you, Wallace.”

“If you don’t mind spreading the word, I’ve got a couple of spaces left in the class.”

“Will do,” said Hank.

“Hey, how’s business been for you guys? Spring season picking up?”

“It’s been steady,” Hank said. “Lot of these newer companies dropping by, asking for discounts like they’ve been buying from me for years now. Like you. I told them they can ask again after they show me some loyalty.” He took a sip from his coffee. “All I can say is that when I get a call for recommendations, yours is the first name I give ’em. But I don’t know. Everyone’s looking for a bargain these days, and some of these other guys are practically giving away their services. Not sure how much of a profit they’re pulling in.”

Jack considered. “Well, I appreciate that, Hank.” The truth was some of them, like Forrest, were probably pulling in profits in different ways, but he wasn’t going to be seen spreading rumors in a group like this. “Can I settle up?”

He followed Hank inside to the small tackle shop. The walls were lined with rods and reels, spools of line, apparel and every manner of hooks, weights, and tackle. Behind the counter was a wall full of photos of Hank and his staff members and customers holding trophy catches. The shop connected directly to Ronnie’s Diner, which was owned and operated by Hank’s wife, Veronica.

While Hank clicked on his computer, Jack glanced over to the diner’s busy space, which, as always, was full of a mix of locals and tourists.

The enticing aroma of coffee grinds and bacon no doubt lured many visitors from the tackle shop, and despite the fact that he’d already had two coffees, Jack was considering plopping down at a table for Veronica’s famous spinach-and-Monterey omelet.

He scanned the room for an empty table and stopped when his gaze settled right in the middle of the room, at a table with three women. Apparently someone had just said something very amusing because one of them was laughing so hard her head was buried in her hands, her shoulders convulsing in laughter.

When she looked up, Jack took a sharp breath in. It was Celeste McCarthy, with a wide grin on her face and tears of laughter in her eyes.

“That’ll be two-eighty-two forty-nine,” said Hank, sliding an invoice toward him. “I knocked 15 percent off.”

“You didn’t need to do that,” Jack said as he slid his credit card across the counter. The last thing he wanted was people’s charity. But still, he appreciated it. “Hey, uh, I’m just going to grab a quick bite. I’ll pick everything up in a few minutes.”

“I’ll leave it by the door for ya. Thanks, Jack.”

Jack tucked the receipt into his pocket and passed through the narrow doorway between the tackle shop and the diner. Celeste and the other two women appeared to be discussing something serious now. He almost turned around, not wanting to disrupt their conversation, but Celeste looked over and stopped midsentence, then sat up and smiled at him.

“Hey, Jack,” she said.

He approached the edge of their table and nodded at Celeste and the two other women who, he could tell now that he was closer up, must’ve been her sisters. “My star student,” he said. “Sorry you won’t be joining us again.”

“Actually,” Celeste said, tilting her head to the side slightly and flashing him another grin, “I changed my mind. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Jack tried to mask his surprise, but knowing Celeste was sticking around in his class was…unexpected. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he said. He looked at the two other women. “Jack Wallace.”

“Sorry—that was rude of me,” Celeste said. “These are my sisters, Elodie and Quinn.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack said.

They both had Celeste’s bright eyes, but Elodie’s hair was lighter and Quinn looked like she’d just stepped out of the 1960s, with a fringed leather vest and some kind of hippy-looking flower headband.

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