Fish Nets: The Second Guppy Anthology Read online

  He took two steps toward her, stationed at the back door like a bank guard, then turned, ready to sprint into the shop and out the front entrance.

  But he never made it.

  Jason pushed his chair backward, blocking the path, forcing Danny to veer around him. Robin grabbed the big landing net from beside the door, telescoped the handle with one swift twist and used her practiced swishing technique to drop the net over Danny’s head and shoulders.

  “Call the cops, Angie,” she ordered calmly.

  Trapped between Jason and Robin, the delivery man stood without struggling.

  “Why’d you do it, Danny?” Robin asked with genuine interest. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Danny smiled, teeth bright in his handsome face, and shrugged.

  “Hope springs eternal,” he said.

  THE LURE OF THE RAINBOW, by Gloria Alden

  The spring peepers fell silent at eleven thirty-five. Carl glanced at the windup alarm clock. Probably a raccoon prowling, he thought. His wife, Dotty, God rest her soul, had wanted a goldfish pool beside the house so they could hear water running over rocks. He smiled. It seemed silly since their cabin was on Red Fern Lake. Every year they stocked it with feeder goldfish and restocked it again the following year. Only a few fish survived the cold winters or the raccoons. Probably some spring peepers fell prey to raccoons, too. That’s all life is about in the end, he thought. Living and dying.

  He sighed, rolled over onto his back and put his hands behind his head. God, how he missed Dotty, even after ten years. Maybe he should sell the cabin. It’d be different if Abby would come, but she hadn’t come by since she got married. I thought when she married a fly fisherman they’d spend some time here, he thought. Hadn’t happened.

  He thought of those summers when the three of them enjoyed the lake, the woods and each other. As soon as school was out, they’d head for the cabin and stay all summer. Abby took to fly fishing like a natural. He’d started her out fishing for brookies in the creek that ran into the lake. They were easier to catch. Dotty didn’t fish, but she loved it here, too. He smiled remembering her excitement over every fish they caught—rainbow or brown trout, or sometimes bass or perch. But it was the rainbow trout they most liked to fish for. Great fighters they were. How delicious fresh fish tasted when Dotty fried them, but not anymore. Could be my cooking or more likely eating alone, he thought. Maybe I can coax Abby to come for a few days this summer. She could cook our catch the way her mom taught her.

  Car lights flashed through the window. Who’d be coming this late? He turned on the outside light then opened the door when he recognized the visitor.

  “What are you doing here this time of night?”

  “Sorry I’m so late. I had a few days off. Thought I’d do some fly fishing if you can put me up.”

  Carl shrugged. “Come in. You can have the spare room.” He nodded in that direction. “Helluva time for someone to come. If you want anything, get it yourself,” he grumbled. “I’m goin’ back to bed. See you in the morning.” Frowning, he went to his room and closed his door, leaving his visitor to settle in on his own.

  * * * *

  On her way to the cabin, Abby stopped at Red Fern General Store to fill her gas tank and pick up a few groceries. Few people remembered a time when the Gilberts didn’t manage the store. Mrs. Gilbert hasn’t changed much although her hair is whiter, Abby thought when she walked in and saw her behind the counter.

  “Hello, Abby,” Ida Gilbert greeted her. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  Abby nodded and swallowed. Tears were never far away since he’d died last week.

  “Everyone thought so highly of Carl. We’re all upset.”

  “Thank you. I just wish I’d come up here more often to be with him.”

  Ida reached across the counter and squeezed her hand. “It happens with young folks.

  They get busy. I see it all the time.”

  Abby nodded and wiped her eyes. Ida went on. “Your dad kept us up to date on what you were doing. Heard you’re a nurse now. He showed us pictures of your wedding. You were a pretty bride. He was happy you married a fly fisherman. Said you’d probably be up here a lot. Don’t think I ever met your husband. If he came in here, it had to be without you or your dad.

  Is he coming up later to be with you?”

  Abby gave a weak smile, not about to tell her Brad had never come to the cabin. He said fly fishing in mountain streams out west was enjoyable, not some small lake in the east.

  “No, he had to work.” She wondered if he was really at some casino. “I’m on my way to the cabin and thought I’d pick up some food to tide me over a few days.”

  “Let me know if you need any help.”

  Abby wandered the aisles of the old store with wooden floors and shelves stocked exactly as she remembered them—not a lot of selections, but everything necessary. She’d loved coming here as a kid. It was always busy with campers, cabin owners or renters, and the permanent residents of Red Fern. She picked up a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, and a dozen eggs. With this and the food in her car, she’d have enough for several days.

  Ida totaled up Abby’s groceries. “You remind me so much of your mother with your black hair and blue eyes. Quite striking.”

  Abby gave her a polite smile. The pain of her mother’s death had softened over the years. Maybe because it had been a natural death, not like her dad’s.

  “That reminds me, I have some mail here for your dad. Let’s see. Ahh. Here it is.” The Gilberts maintained the post office for Red Fern in their store.

  Abby took the mail and thanked her.

  Ida’s eyes radiated sympathy. “Can’t be easy going up there alone. If you want, I can get Ed to take over while I go to the cabin with you.”

  Abby shook her head. “Thank you. I appreciate your offer, but .…” Her voice trailed off.

  “I know. Some things are best done alone. Here’s our number.” Ida handed her a card. “Call me if you need anything or just a friendly shoulder to cry on.”

  Giving a brief nod, Abby went out the screen door onto the front porch. She didn’t notice the man sitting in one of the rockers until he stood up and spoke.

  “Hi, Abby.”

  Startled, she turned his way. The man wore sunglasses and a deputy sheriff’s uniform. She gave a tenuous smile. “Greg? Greg Gearhart?”

  “Yes.” He took off his sunglasses and smiled. “It’s been quite a few years.”

  “You joined the army, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah. Then went to college, finished and eventually ended up back here.”

  “You’re with the sheriff’s department, I see.”

  He nodded and his face sobered. “Sorry about your dad. I liked him. When I had a few days off, I’d often spend it at his cabin fishing and shootin’ the breeze with him.”

  She searched his face. “I didn’t know. He never told me.”

  He was silent a moment before answering. “Maybe he didn’t want you to feel guilty. He talked a lot about you, you know.”

  Feeling her eyes well up again, Abby glanced away, biting her lip for control. Why had she put off coming here to visit these past few summers?

  They stood in silence then he said, “I’ll be up later to make sure everything’s okay.”

  She nodded and hurried to her car before he’d see her tears of regret over lost time not spent with someone she loved more than anyone else. A rumble signaled a storm approaching, and soon rain started pouring down. Abby switched on her wipers. Even with the rain sluicing off her windshield, every curve of the road was familiar and brought back memories. Half way up the drive to the cabin was the big rock she’d sit on waiting for her dad to return when he’d gone somewhere. He’d stop for her and let her steer the car and even drive when she got a little older.

  The cabin came into view as she pulled into a clearing—a simple cabin but enough for the three of them. She looked beyond the cabin to Red Fern Lake, the lake that had c
laimed her father’s life.

  Abby ran through the rain to the door and unlocked it. Once inside her eyes roamed over the room that took up half the cabin. An aerial view picture of the cabin hung over the stone fireplace. If one looked closely, a small person could be seen on the dock. She’d waited forever for the plane to fly over, her small arm growing tired from waving. A comfortable couch and chairs with reading lamps were in front of the fireplace.

  At the other end a table, chairs, stove and refrigerator made up the kitchen. Her heart seized when she spotted a solitary cup with a picture of a rainbow trout at the end of a line setting on the kitchen counter. His favorite cup. She picked it up, holding it against her heart for long moments before rinsing out moldy residue of unfinished coffee.

  When the rain stopped, she carried her suitcase to her old bedroom. The bed was stripped of bedding. Only a bare mattress remained. Perplexed, she stared at it. Her parents always kept it made up for her or other guests. She felt a pang, wondering if her dad had given up all hope of her coming. She fell on the bed and sobbed. She’d come too late. Maybe she should have put the cabin up for sale without returning, but she knew she needed to be where he’d spent his last days.

  Finally, she went to the large wooden chest holding clean bedding. It still held a hint of the lavender her mother kept in there. There weren’t as many sheets or blankets as usual and only one set of twin sheets. Abby smiled when she took out the well worn sheets with Peanut cartoon characters. She hadn’t used them in years.

  After she made the bed, she fixed a cup of instant coffee, sat down at the table and picked up the mail. There was a letter from Uncle George dated several days before her dad died. She opened and read it. He wrote he’d be coming to visit this weekend, do some fly fishing. That would’ve been last weekend, she thought. Dad was found Saturday. I wonder if Uncle George came to the cabin or changed his mind. He didn’t mention it at the funeral. She read on. He expressed interest in buying the cabin, wrote he’d be willing to make a good offer for it. She put the letter down. Uncle George. Her father’s younger brother. They’d never been close. She’d never like how he bragged about his money, as if he was superior to her teacher parents. She didn’t like his wife, either. A snob. If I sell to him, she thought, he’ll probably tear it down to build a big fancy one. She tossed the letter in the pile of junk mail before going outside.

  Abby stood by the railing on the back deck and stared at the dock near where she’d heard his body was found. She couldn’t understand how her father could’ve drowned. The coroner ruled out a heart attack. He had contusions on his face and head so the coroner thought maybe he’d had a dizzy spell and fell, hitting his head on the dock before ending up in the lake. Was he getting ready to take the boat out? He liked to fish where the creek entered the lake and the water lilies grew. Looking out, she felt hatred for the lake he’d loved so much and had claimed his life. But then she heard her father’s voice in her mind, “The lake is a thing of beauty that brings peace if you let it.” How often she’d heard him say it, especially in the years following her mother’s death. She watched ducks swimming near the shore. An eagle soared over head. She caught her breath as it swooped and rose again with a fish in its talons.

  “Oh, Dad, I wish you were here to share that with me.”

  The sun parted the clouds, and she held her breath when she saw not just one, but a double rainbow. She felt peacefulness enter.

  “Maybe you are here with me,” she whispered. “Maybe you are.”

  She heard a car drive up, but was reluctant to see anyone, not wanting to destroy this moment. Maybe they’ll go away. When she heard someone coming around the corner, she turned and saw Greg Gearhart, a box of pizza in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other.

  “I looked in the door and didn’t see you so I figured you might be back here.”

  She smiled at him then turned back to the lake. “It’s peaceful in spite of what happened.” She took a deep breath and released it.

  “I love this place, this lake. It’s one of the reasons I returned to live here.”

  “And another reason?” she asked, not really caring that much.

  “A girl. I brought pizza. I figured you probably weren’t eating much. Beer, too.”

  She nodded at him then turned to continue staring at the lake. “Did you marry her?”

  “No. It was a long time ago. Old news. I’m hungry and didn’t want to eat alone, so I came here. Want some?”

  “Psychology.You’re feeling sorry for me and trying to get me to eat.”

  He gave a sheepish smile. “Was it that obvious?”

  She nodded. “I’ll have one piece and a beer.” She started to go inside.

  “Stay here. I’ll fix it.” Soon she heard him getting plates and glasses out of the cupboard.

  He didn’t open up several cupboards looking for things. He obviously knew his way around. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Grateful her father had a friend, or a little envious he’d taken her place, or guilty because she should’ve been here? Of course, she never had much time off. The drive was rather long, too, and Brad never wanted to come here or have her go without him.

  Greg brought out the pizza, paper plates, napkins and two tall glasses of beer and set everything on the table. He held a chair for her before sitting down.

  “Thank you. You seem to know your way around in the kitchen.”

  “I meant it when I said I liked your dad. He was one of those special guys willing to listen and not pass judgment. I miss him, but not as much as you do, of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t make the funeral. I couldn’t get the time off. We’ve been short handed lately.”

  “I’m glad you were here for him, especially since I wasn’t.” She swallowed.

  “It was easier for me because I live in Red Fern, and I’m single. No encumbrances. Now eat your pizza while it’s still warm.”

  She picked up a piece and took a bite. She was hungrier than she realized.

  “Is your husband coming to join you?”

  “No,” she said without explanation. Greg saying no encumbrances resonated with her. Is that what Brad is? Not for the first time she realized what a failure her marriage was. They argued over everything. She glanced at Greg. He was staring at the lake. The sun had dropped behind the pines, leaving a reddish glow on the lake.

  “Were you here when they found him?” She wanted to know but dreaded his answer, too.

  “I answered the call about someone floating. I called for backup and raced straight here.”

  “And?” she prodded when he didn’t go on.

  He closed his eyes. “I pulled him in.”

  Abby heard the pain in his voice and started to cry. Had she ever stopped crying? It didn’t seem so. He took her hand, held it tightly and let her cry. When she finally stopped and freed her hand to mop her face with the tail of her shirt, she glanced at him and saw tears on his face, too.

  “He really did mean a lot to you, didn’t he?”

  “He did. I don’t think it was an accident.” There was anger in his voice.

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “No. I think someone killed him. He wasn’t some doddering old man. He was healthy and spry.”

  Abby took a deep breath as pain shot through her. “No, that can’t be true. No one would want to harm him. The coroner’s report said he drowned.”

  “There was a bruise on the back of his head. He could’ve been knocked out first.”

  “But it could have been an accident, couldn’t it?” She wanted that to be true. An accidental death was bad enough, but she couldn’t bear the thought of someone deliberately killing him. “Did you tell the sheriff about your suspicious? What did he say?”

  He shook his head. “He didn’t believe it was murder.”

  “He won’t consider it at all?”

  “You have to realize he’s retiring and heading for Florida at the end of this season.” Greg’s face sho
wed his frustration.

  Abby felt anger wash over her. If he was murdered, would the murderer get away with it just because the sheriff didn’t want to be bothered? It was hard to believe. She thought about the bare bed and wondered if the murderer had slept there, and shuddered.

  “I wondered about the bare bed and missing bedding.”

  He looked at her, waiting.

  “Dad always kept the spare bed made up in case someone came. There’s only a bare mattress now. It made me wonder if he’d given up on me,” she said in a small voice.

  He reached for her hand again. “No, he always thought you’d come. And the bed was always made up and waiting, even the times I showed up late at night.”

  “Late at night?” She looked at him with a question in her eyes.

  He shook his head and didn’t look at her. “Not for a long time, but when I first came back I had a bit of a drinking problem.”

  Briefly she wondered about the girl he didn’t marry and thought about what he’d said about her father being non-judgmental. Then she closed her eyes in pain as the thought of her dad’s possible murder washed over her again. “The only sheets for the bed were some old ones with Peanut characters.”

  He stared at her with narrowed eyes. “That can’t be. I can’t remember what the sheets looked like, but they sure as hell weren’t cartoon characters. I’d remember that.”

  “Could someone have taken the sheets because of DNA?”

  He nodded. “If someone slept on them, they might’ve worried about DNA. I can’t think of any other reason someone would take the bedding.”

  “There was only one used coffee cup on the counter.”

  “I noticed. It was your dad’s favorite cup. If someone was here, they washed whatever else they used.”

  “There was a letter from my Uncle George. He wrote he was coming for the weekend. Wrote about wanting to buy the cabin. Was he here when they found Dad? He didn’t say anything about it at the funeral.”

  “Not that I know of. I recognized most here that day except for a few curious boaters. No one mentioned being related to him. Do you think your uncle is capable of something like that?”