Fish Nets: The Second Guppy Anthology Read online

  Captain Billie also made hammocks. Margaret was arranging for him to deliver two in time for the church bazaar. Craft items were popular with the city people who came down to Wicomico Corners to eat country cooking and buy preserves, quilts and driftwood carvings.

  Tracy walked the length of the dock and looked back at the shore. Smoke from the captain’s chimney drifted westward on the breeze. Across the mouth of Hayden’s creek and up the steep bluff to the east rose the imposing facade of Cramleigh Hall. The great barn of a house had been fixed up—no, Tracy corrected herself—restored by the Montgomery family. More important, from Tracy’s point of view, they had added a stable.

  “Yoohoo, Tracy, we’re going,” Tracy’s mother called from Captain’s Billie’s porch.

  * * * *

  “Do you think he bought the bit about your nephews coming?” Franklin gunned the Pontiac after reaching the macadam road at the end of the dirt lane.

  “Hope so. He’s too proud for charity,” Margaret said. “I’ve got to come up with an argument for why he has to take money when I pick up the hammocks for the church.”

  Just tell him I’ve got enough of an income to need the tax right-off.” Franklin waved at the driver of a Cadillac that barreled past them, its fins sparkling in the sunlight. “Look, there goes Brandon.”

  “I don’t care how much he makes selling real estate. It’s obscene to buy a new car every year,” Margaret said. “Is he turning?”

  Tracy swiveled around and watched the big sedan slow and turn left onto the dirt road, sending a fishtail of dust in its wake. “Yep.”

  Franklin’s expression turned stern. “He should leave that old man alone. Captain Billie doesn’t want to sell. Just wants to be left alone to die in his own house.”

  “Brandon Holt simply can’t resist a drop-dead view. A city buyer could level that old cabin and build himself a pretty little summer place,” Margaret said. “Brandon would have it sold in a week.”

  Tracy frowned and leaned forward. “What would happen to Brick if the captain died?”

  “Don’t you worry, honey,” Franklin said. “The captain isn’t going to die anytime soon. Too tough.”

  * * * *

  The car wash was a fundraiser for the volunteer fire department. Tracy watched as two high school boys dried the Pontiac with chamois. Her father was talking to the fire chief.

  “Why would anybody want to own a British car down here?” Chief Burch asked. “Her insurance bill must be an eye-popper.”

  “Beats me. Nobody around who knows how to repair foreign makes,” Franklin said.

  As Tracy studied the long, low sedan with the jaguar hood ornament, its owner approached the boy lathering the top of the vehicle.

  “Young man, you take care not to make any scratches.” Mrs. Montgomery wagged a finger at the boy. A big woman to begin with, her jodhpurs and boots gave her a threatening appearance.

  “If Freddie Copsey weren’t such a hell-raiser, I’d go to his defense,” the chief said under his breath to Tracy’s dad.

  “She’s a force. Look, his jellyroll is actually quaking,” Franklin laughed.

  Freddie backed away, clutching his sponge as Selina Montgomery inspected her car’s forest green paint with a scowl.

  “You probably haven’t heard Selina’s latest.” The chief motioned to get Franklin to move farther away. Tracy followed as the men strolled behind the department’s sparkling red tanker. “Selina is trying to convince Captain Billie to move into the Veteran’s Home.”

  “Bet she’d love that. His cabin is right smack in the middle of the view from her tarted up manor house.”

  “Exactly,” the chief said. “She tried to place his name on the waiting list, but we explained he has to do it himself.”

  “I forgot you’re on the board. He’ll never do it, though.”

  “Correct. I mean, he has every right as a veteran of the Great War, but he’ll never leave that house of his.”

  “Here’s your key, Mr. Tilghman.” The taller of the boys who had washed the Pontiac handed Franklin his keys.

  Franklin waved goodbye to Chief Burch, slung his arm over Tracey’s shoulder and headed for his car.

  “Dad, why is Mrs. Montgomery meddling in the captain’s business?”

  “She’s family. Selina Huckabee Montgomery is Captain Billie’s niece.”

  Tracy stared at him, mouth open.

  “I know they seem about as far apart as two human beings can get. Fact is, though, she’s probably his only living relative. His son died at Guadalcanal. Selina was raised up in Washington, and only came down here during the summer.”

  “Then, if she’s kin, why does she want to put him in a home?”

  “Can you picture him up at the big house? I seem to recall your remark about his, ah, aroma. Besides, he’d be miserable.”

  “I know, but to throw him out of his home, because you want a better view…”

  “Let’s not repeat that observation, okay? We need to be fair. Selina might just believe her uncle is no longer safe living by himself at his age.” Franklin slid behind the wheel of the wagon and slammed his door.

  Tracy tore around the hood to the passenger side and got in. “He’s not alone. There’s Brick.”

  Franklin smiled and turned the key in the ignition. “Yes, Brick and memories.”

  * * * *

  Margaret and Tracy stood on the porch of Captain Billie’s cabin. They had come to collect the hammocks for the church bazaar, but there was no answer to their knock.

  “I wonder if he’s down at the dock.” Margaret clutched the handles of her purse.

  “Then Brick would be with him, not up here.” Tracy patted the dog who had been stretched out on the front porch when they arrived.

  “Look who’s coming.” Margaret pointed as the Montgomery’s foreign car pulled into the disheveled yard.

  “Mrs. Montgomery is driving Captain Billie!” Tracey blinked.

  Captain Billie sat in the back. Despite the chill April morning, both the front windows of the elegant sedan were all the way down. The car eased to a stop, the rear door opened, and with effort, Captain Billie got out and stood upright.

  He limped forward a few steps, and turned to wave. Without reciprocating the gesture, Selina pulled away, and the car’s windows returned to the closed position.

  “Well,” Margaret stammered. “It’s a lovely morning for a ride.”

  Tracy didn’t think Mrs. Montgomery was much on giving people rides. “Captain Billie, did you need the doctor?”

  The captain offered a gape-toothed smile. “Naw, been over to Cramleigh Hall doing a little consulting.”

  Margaret, Tracy and Brick followed the old man into his house. The captain shrugged out of his peacoat, hung it on the rack, shuffled across the room and lowered himself into his rocker before continuing.

  “Seems Selina has a muskrat problem.”

  “At Cramleigh?” Margaret pulled over a dining chair and sat.

  “Yes, you’d think the critters would show more respect.” Captain Billie winked. “She had that fancy reflecting pool dug, but to a muskrat, it’s just the same as a farm pond.”

  “Water’s water.” Tracy leaned against the stove.

  “Right, girl. Her front lawn looks like the trenches at Verdun.”

  “Holy-moly. Selina is due to host the Garden Club’s June gala.” Margaret’s hand flew to her chest.

  “That so? Didn’t mention it to me, but what do I know about shindigs?”

  “You can help her, though?”

  “I gave her an idea or two.” Captain Billie rose and walked to an old hope chest where a large parcel rested.

  He patted the package. “Here are your hammocks. I threw in a few string bags. Had time on my hands last week during that rain.”

  * * * *

  Aloysius Dennis pushed back from the table and patted either side of his stomach. “I shouldn’t have helped myself to seconds on the ham, but the All Saints Supper only
happens once a year.”

  “You’ll work it off pacing back and forth during your interminable summations,” his wife said. “I’m going upstairs to the crafts tables.”

  “Don’t buy any more watercolors. We’re out of wall space.” The lawyer stood and pulled his jacket together over his paunch.

  Tracy leaned around him to collect his empty plate and silverware.

  “Where’s your dad, young lady?’

  “In the kitchen carving hams,” Tracy said. “He’s just staying ahead of this mob.”

  “Great turnout. I’ll just have a word with him.” The lawyer sidled down the aisle.

  “Aloysius, I’d shake hands, but I’m all over grease.” Franklin finished filling a platter which was whisked away by a server.

  Aloysius waited for the server to recede before speaking. “Listen, Franklin, I need to bring you into the picture on something I got wind of down at the court.”

  “Something to do with me?” Franklin stopped carving.

  “No, with Billie Huckabee.” Aloysius lowered his voice. “Selina Montgomery plans to have him declared incompetent.”

  “You mean become his conservator?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s a little eccentric, but he’s as sane as I am.” Franklin wiped his hands on a towel.

  “Yes, but she could set him up. She might not have even told him about the hearing. She could dump him in the middle of a courtroom in his fishing duds. He’d look foolish and be confused. Have no time to prepare.”

  “Anybody would look bad. Doesn’t the court have to notify him?”

  “How often do you think the Captain picks up his mail?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Aloysius. I’ll go over after church tomorrow, and when the hearing happens, Margaret and I will drive him.”

  “It will be in about two weeks. I’ll call you with the date and time.” Aloysius sneaked a small slice of ham, downed it and exited the kitchen, licking his fingers.

  * * * *

  A week later, Tracy leaned her bike against Captain Billie’s porch, happy to see he was outside. She could avoid the odor of the cabin’s interior. She had delivered her mother’s Easter cookies to the Widow Morgan, the shut-in Marla Thompson and now the captain. She had a ham bone for Brick.

  Captain Billie was hauling gill nets down to his pier. A boat waited, not a wooden skiff like his or her father’s, but a modern shell with a center console. Selina Montgomery’s commanding voice boomed up as Tracy approached. “Why do you want me to stand?”

  “Because that way you won’t tangle them.” Captain Billie settled a coiled net over her right shoulder. Her other shoulder was already engulfed in another.

  “They’re heavier than they look.” Selina steadied herself, resting a hand on the console.

  “Yes, one more should be all you need.” The captain draped the last gill net around Selina’s neck. “Garner’ll help you out of these when you reach the Cramleigh dock.”

  Garner Montgomery reversed the engine and backed away from the wharf.

  Tracey reached the captain’s side. “What’s Mrs. Montgomery going to do with all those nets?”

  “Told her she might discourage her muskrats from tunneling by draping nets on the bank.” Captain Billie limped down the dock toward the shoreline.

  Garner put his engine in forward and headed for the channel, his acceleration carving a deep wake in the quiet river.

  “His motor sure is noisy.”

  “Too much horsepower for a boat that size.” Captain Billie stepped onto the path. “But you can’t tell city folk anything.”

  Tracy looked over her shoulder at the receding boat. Mr. Montgomery had steered the craft in a wide arc and was aimed up Hayden’s Creek. His brisk speed pushed the prow of his boat out of the water. Cramleigh’s large wharf gleamed in the late morning sun.

  When their bow reached the eddy that marked the mouth of the creek, the stern of the boat shuttered and dipped, and the bow jerked upward. Garner Montgomery pitched forward over the helm. His chest bashed the port side of the skiff as he flipped head first over the side.

  “Captain, look!” Tracey screamed.

  Teetering under her burden of nets, Selina tried to get a firmer grip on the console. The boat slid back in reaction to the loss of Garner’s weight, but surged forward again, struggling to free itself from something beneath the water.

  Selina was thrown aft, then forward with the thrust of the engine. Losing her battle to stay upright, she disappeared over the starboard side.

  “Run, child, run to Widow Morgan’s and use the phone.” Captain Billie tugged at the rope to his skiff. “I’ll go to them.”

  As Tracy tore up the path, she saw Garner Montgomery thrashing in the tide next to the foundering boat.

  * * * *

  Assisted by an usher, Garner Montgomery sidled into the front pew of All Saints church. His black coat was draped over his shoulders because he couldn’t get it on. He was wearing a brace for his broken collarbone.

  Tracy watched from the rear of the nave as mourners filed in. A noise attracted her attention to the open church door. The hearse was backing toward the end of the brick walk, so the casket could be removed and carried in for the service.

  Spotting her father standing with Chief Burch on the porch, she dodged past an undertaker carrying a mammoth floral tribute, and reached his side.

  “Couldn’t bring her up. Had to call for Navy divers.” The chief shook his head.

  Her father looked confused. “I know she was a big woman, but…”

  ‘Wasn’t her, it was the damn nets. Weighed all hell, wet like that.” Chief Burch cringed and blessed himself. “Sorry for the cuss word. The nets pushed her down deep in the bottom mud.”

  “Garner was lucky,” Franklin said. “He could have passed out before Captain Billie got to him.”

  “Right. We might have had two funerals today.” The chief stepped back as the undertakers brought Selina Montgomery’s coffin up on the porch.

  Tracy saw her reflection in the polished mahogany as the men bore the casket into the church.

  * * * *

  “If they identify the owner, he will be fined under the ordinance. Untethered gill nets are a hazard to navigation.” Tracy’s father set the newspaper aside and reached for another biscuit.

  “So the propeller got tangled in a drifting fish net?” Tracy put her fork down, her breakfast plate empty. “Why couldn’t they see the corks bobbing?”

  “Garner Montgomery is a weekend sailor, not skilled in looking for hazards,” Franklin said. “Besides, a strong current can pull a net under, corks or not.”

  Margaret returned to the table with the coffeepot. “So, the verdict is negligence, not murder?”

  “Murder? Don’t be silly.”

  “Why?” Margaret said. “Half the Garden Club wanted to kill her. Most of the library committee, too.”

  Franklin held his cup for Margaret to fill. “Seriously, the sad thing is it was a handmade net. Probably one of Captain Billie’s. Most of the ones still in use are his.”

  “That is sad.” Margaret set the pot on a hot pad.

  Tracy frowned. “Isn’t Mom’s idea at least possible? Couldn’t somebody put out a net and let the tide carry it into the mouth of the creek? Only wharf up there is Cramleigh Hall’s.”

  Margaret considered her daughter’s idea as she slid into her seat. “A working waterman would know the tidal flows like the creases in his palms.”

  “What’s the motive? Selina refused to buy somebody’s bluegills for one of her fancy parties?” Franklin said.

  “I just thought…” Margaret’s voice trailed off, her fingers worrying the edge of her doily.

  “Way too farfetched. Like those television shows you watch. How could you orchestrate the collision of the boat and the net? Only Fate and a careless fisherman could do that.” Franklin popped the last of the biscuit in his mouth.

  * * * *

  Tracy waited at
the entrance to Captain Billie’s lane as Brandon Holt backed the big Cadillac out of the rutted road. She saw Mr. Holt grimace when the car’s underside scraped the rocky surface. He straightened the car and shot forward, leaving Tracy in a cloud of grit. She rubbed her eyes, spat and guided her bike up the lane.

  Captain Billie was cleaning fish when she rounded the house, and settled on an old crate in the middle of the yard. His gnarled, expert fingers flew along a limp torso, sending scales dancing in the air where they sparkled in the afternoon sun.

  “Captain, I’ve been thinking,” Tracy said.

  “’Bout what?” The captain placed a fillet in a nearly full enamel pan.

  “About Mrs. Montgomery’s death.”

  “Child your age shouldn’t dwell on death. Time enough for that when you get old, like me.”

  “It isn’t that.”

  “What, then?”

  “It’s her muskrats.”

  Captain Billie stopped scaling, put his tool down and looked hard at Tracy. “Doubt she thought of them as hers. Now, you’ve put it that way, though, she did like to control things.”

  “But you can’t control muskrats, sir.” Tracy stood and walked closer. “I mean, you can’t tell ’em what to do, and not to do, like people.”

  “You can’t, and that’s a fact.” Captain Billie’s lip curled slightly, revealing a hint of the gape-toothed smile.

  “Muskrats can chew underwater.”

  “Always said you were a bright one.”

  “And you know what else?”

  The captain rose, took the pan and headed for the porch. “No, what?”

  “They don’t have any respect for gill nets.”

  Captain Billie disappeared into the shadow of the porch, laughing. “You sure have a way with words, young lady, but that’s the thing.”

  “What is, sir?”

  “No matter what words are at hand, there are just some things you don’t bother telling city folks.”

  Tracy could barely make out the silhouette of the captain as he stood in the door of his kitchen, in the shabby cabin that despoiled the view from Cramleigh Hall.

  LAWN BALLERINAS, by Beth Hinshaw

  I’m at the cabin. It feels different now, serene and warm. The wood stove is new, made of beautiful gray soapstone. I look at the tableau above the mantelpiece, then my eyes shift to the mantelpiece itself. I know what I will find.