The Uninvited Guest Read Online Free PDF

and no sign it had been tampered with in any way. Only in a prison town, Stan thought. It was unlocked and the keys were as Louise had described them, under the passenger side of the front seat. There was a full tank of gas. Stan imagined Louise insisting on it and Jim begrudgingly paying for the fuel. How does one get to Winnipeg from Penetanguishene without a car, Stan wondered.
    The car had been sitting in the sun all morning, the air inside hot and stuffy. As he sat down on the driver’s side, Stan was overcome by the smell of his wife’s perfume. It was more than just the after-effect of her presence; it had been spilled into the upholstery somewhere on the back seat. He tried not to imagine how that had happened, and instead just opened all four windows before starting the car. He drove to the edge of town and found the highway south. In Barrie, he found Dunlop Street again and pulled to the curb beside the real estate office he’d walked past that morning. Shoreline Lots , the window said, Prime Wooded Property .
    â€œSomebody’s been having fun in this car,” the salesman laughed out loud and waved his hand in front of his nose. “Smells like Paris, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.”
    Stan was following the lakeshore roadway north out of town. Beside him sat Gino (Gene) Auden, sales agent for Simcoe Realty, specialist in vacation and cottage properties.
    â€œMy folks were the first Italian family in Barrie, so they say,” he boasted, shaking Stan’s hand in the office. “Changed all our names right away to try and fit in, but I like Gino, it’s more manly than Gene I think.”
    Gino Auden was a giant of a man, over six feet tall and easily more than 250 pounds. He kept his thinning hair shaved close to his head and sported a Clark Gable moustache on an otherwise perfectly groomed, perfectly round face. He had rings on four of his fingers, and his fingernails, Stan noticed, were perfectly manicured. He reminded Stan of many of the League higher-ups he’d met in his time. Men who took care of their appearance, who were certain of their power.
    â€œI think you’re going to like what I have to show you,” Gino said, for the third time. “Cottage country is moving, you know. Muskoka’s all well and good for those rich Toronto types, but ordinary schlubs like you and me deserve a place to relax as well, am I right?”
    He is right, Stan thought. He’d never imagined even wanting to own land in the country, let alone being able to afford it, but that morning the pictures in the office window on Dunlop Street had enticed him, and the prices were suddenly within reach. Gino directed Stan along a single- lane country road crowded in by trees. The road ran along a ridge above Kempenfelt Bay. Here and there, the water shone blue through a gap in the forest. They drove through Shanty Bay, a hamlet of a dozen or so houses and one small whitewashed church, and eventually turned down toward the lake on a dirt road rutted here and there with washouts from a recent downpour.
    â€œThere’s absolutely no development this far up yet,” Gino said, pointing out the open window to the thickly wooded land crowding the shoreline. “Only the old-timers, folks who’ve lived up here year-round for a century or so. And you want them types around in case anything goes wrong. It’s awfully quiet up here at night, and dark. Nice to know someone’s around even if they’re a mile away, am I right?”
    Again, there was no arguing with Gino. By his own count, his practised patter had sold fifteen lots along this stretch of Simcoe shoreline in the last five months.
    â€œRight here will do, sir.” Stan pulled the car to the edge of the road and stopped the engine.
    â€œAre you ready for paradise?” Gino smiled at him from the passenger seat. He’d turned to face Stan and his body blocked the entire view from the