Fish Nets: The Second Guppy Anthology Read online

“Did you or did you not break into a boat at this marina?”

  “Yes, but—“

  “Okay, I’ve heard enough. Let’s call that mother of yours.”

  “You know my mother?”

  “Heard about her.”

  If he’d heard about my mother, it was no wonder he thought I was a criminal. “I need to get out of here.”

  “Just try it. What boat did you break into?”

  “It was open.”

  “Don’t give me that. No one enters a boat without the captain’s permission. You ought to know that much.” The cop blocked my way, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “The Runaway,” I admitted.

  “The owner’s a friend of mine, Jim Cooper, and I got you dead to rights.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. How could I tell him now? The killer was his friend. Would he cover for him? Maybe he would try to pin the murder on me.

  “It means that Jim has digital cameras running inside his cabin in case anyone breaks in. Smile, you’re on candid camera.” The cop looked at me as if he’d made a joke or a pun. I didn’t get it, but I understood that if the killer played the disc, I probably wouldn’t live another day.

  Counting on surprise, I shoved him, enabling a quick retreat, and ran back to the Runaway. Finding the DVD recorder and destroying the disc was my only chance. Of course, the cop would finally catch me, but as long as the disc was destroyed, the killer wouldn’t know that I had witnessed the murder.

  “Hey, you’re adding resisting arrest to breaking and entering as well as violation of curfew,” the cop yelled.

  I jumped off the dock, landed on the aft deck and ripped open the cabin door. When I had previously entered a glimmer of daylight remained. Now, I saw the tiny green lights of the cameras in the dark. One was mounted above the galley, the other over the main berth where I had slept. But where was the recorder?

  A cushioned-lined bench ran along the inside of the cabin. If this boat was anything like my father’s boat, the base was hollow for storage. I threw the cushions aside and lifted the bench seat. Hinged, it rounded upward revealing a cavity beneath. Inside held the DVD hardware, recording my movements even now.

  The boat lurched as the cop jumped aboard. I punched the button on the DVD recorder, ejecting the disc. As the door flew open, I stuffed the disc down my pants. He looked down and noticed the empty carriage.

  “We’ll get the disc. I’ll take you down to the station and one of my female colleagues will search you. Come on.” Holding the door open, he grabbed me by the elbow and pushed me out of the cabin.

  Outside, I took hold of the disc like a Frisbee and pitched it into the bay. The cop shook his head. “You’re making it tougher on yourself. It’ll only piss us off and Jim when we dirty everything with fingerprint powder.”

  “I didn’t take anything.”

  “Charlie, what’s going on here?”

  I heard the killer’s voice as he walked down the walkway toward his boat. By the look on his face, I could tell he was shocked to find us on his boat.

  “Hey Jim, your boat was broken into by this girl, Frank Greely’s daughter.”

  “When?”

  “Ran into me going like fire about ten minutes ago.”

  The killer’s eyes blazed at me. Then he came aboard and stood aside Charlie. “It’s okay, I know her dad. I’m sure she didn’t steal anything, now did you?”

  His question sounded like a threat. He was vouching for me for only one reason. Now that Big Mouth Charlie revealed my presence on the Runaway, I had no choice but to trust him. I said a quick prayer and edged aside of the men. “No, I didn’t steal anything, but look in the fish box.” I looked at Charlie. “You’ll find something worth your time.”

  Jim grabbed a thick rope with both of his hands and snapped it as if he’d like to strangle me with it. “Charlie, maybe I was too lenient. She won’t learn anything if you don’t lock her up.”

  “You can’t prove I was on this boat,” I said. The killer almost spoke, but I cut him off. “I destroyed the disc. It’s at the bottom of the bay and the salt is degrading it.” I walked over to the fish box and flipped open the cover.

  “You can’t do that,” Jim said. He pounced on the cover and flipped it closed.

  “Jim, for cryin’ out loud. What’s in the box?” Charlie asked.

  “You can’t search my boat without a warrant.”

  Charlie stepped back and cocked his head. They faced off. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. I’ll just make sure Shannon gets home safely.” Charlie stepped around Jim and headed toward the dock.

  “She broke into my boat.”

  “Sorry, no proof, and nothing was stolen.”

  “You can take prints.”

  “And waste the department’s money when nothing was stolen? Nah, don’t think so.”

  I walked toward the dock. Charlie followed me. As I put one foot onto the dock, the other foot still firmly on the stern, I swung back and opened the fish box. Shifting, Charlie saw the body, and quickly turned, but the killer’s punch landed squarely on his jaw.

  I launched myself onto the dock and ran for the gate. I grabbed my phone out of my coat pocket, and dialed 911. Was the killer following me? When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that the walkway was empty. The dispatcher answered. I concealed myself behind a piling, told what had happened and the access code for the gate.

  Slapping my phone shut against the instructions of the dispatcher, I stood, torn between leaving and helping the cop. When he’d come to my defense, I wondered if his earlier attitude toward me was some kind of “tough love” act. Like some of my teachers, they acted tough and threatened, but they really didn’t want to get kids in trouble. Besides, after seeing the body, he had tried to protect me. He seemed more like a grandfather than a fighter, and the killer was very efficient, a fact I’d witnessed.

  I turned toward the slips and snuck back to the Runaway. The two men were still engaged in combat. Engrossed in their fight, neither man noticed me. The killer’s back was toward me. Charlie faced me, but his eyes were focused on his opponent. With his back against the cabin door, he was penned in since the killer blocked his access to the dock. When the killer punched him in the gut, he doubled over, his energy spent.

  A grappling hook stood upright in a pole holder by the slip. I lifted it out, jumped on top of the fish box and hit the killer on the head with the grappling hook. He didn’t drop but turned, facing me. Horrified, I froze.

  Recovering from the punch, Charlie aimed a side-kick behind the killer’s knees. He collapsed. Charlie pushed his face to the deck and straddled him. I jumped down, grabbed an unattached line in the port corner and threw it to Charlie, who tied the killer’s wrists behind his back. The sound of a siren grew in volume as it approached the marina.

  Out of breath, Charlie asked, “You called it in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good girl.”

  An hour later, down at the station, Charlie wanted to call my house. “You’re a minor. I have to inform your mother.”

  “No, you don’t. At midnight, I turned eighteen.” I pointed to the wall clock.

  “Let me see your driver’s license.”

  I retrieved it from my backpack, and Charlie confirmed my age. “Happy birthday,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Shannon, we know about your mom. Urge her into treatment before it’s so obvious we have to arrest her or she causes a fatal accident. She’s been smart about keeping it at home, maybe not for you, but.…”

  Taken back by his knowledge, I asked, “How do you know?”

  “Small town—I hear everything.” He smiled sadly at me. “You should have told me what you saw when we met.”

  “I was scared.” And I hadn’t liked his attitude, assuming I was just like my mother, but I kept that thought to myself.

  “We found Jim’s jacket with the knife and gun in the trunk of his car.” Charlie sat at his desk, placed h
is elbows on its top and said, “Hey, you did real good tonight.”

  “Thanks. Hey, Charlie?”

  “What?”

  “Do they accept eighteen-year-olds at the police academy?”

  “No, you’ll have to wait a year and a half.”

  “Guess I could take some criminal justice courses and then go to the police academy. Having a cop in the house might deter Mom.”

  “Just might. Wait a minute. You’re an adult. You can write your own statement. Your first lesson as an adult.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t incriminate yourself,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You figured it out.”

  I smiled at Charlie, picked up a pen, and said, “I’ll always remember this birthday.”

  Charlie laughed.

  ROUTINE CHANGES, by Betsy Bitner

  I should have stayed home, Julie thought as she sat wedged on the sofa between happily chatting women, a glass of Cabernet and a glossy catalog balanced on her lap. The catalog’s cover matched the glossy invitation she’d received for tonight’s event. Both boasted the letters “TY” in large, flowing script and both had the same tagline: “True You Cosmetics. Because BeauTY is more than skin deep.”

  Well, I did try to stay home, Julie reminded herself, but Donna, her best friend and hostess, rarely took no for an answer.

  “It’s not that you can’t make it, it’s that you don’t want to,” Donna had said when Julie called to RSVP her regrets.

  “You’re right, I don’t want to. Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But I’m not exactly in the market for beauty products at the moment.”

  “You know you don’t have to buy anything. Just come and have a good time. I’m only hosting this thing as a favor to this woman I met at the gym. She just moved here and she kept asking if I would help her out. I hate these things as much as you do.”

  By “these things,” Donna meant sales pitches to captive audiences masquerading as parties. Every home party hostess always told her guests they didn’t have to buy anything, but who wouldn’t feel guilty about eating her friend’s food and drinking her wine without buying at least a little something? Julie had drawers full of candles, jewelry, and new-fangled kitchen gadgets to prove it.

  “I don’t know, Donna. I just don’t feel like being social these days.”

  “Which is exactly why you need to get out of that house. Have a glass of wine or two with friends.”

  Now as she sat waiting for the presentation to begin, Julie doubted even Donna’s well-stocked bar had enough wine to get her through the evening. Especially since she’d gotten a good look at the petite woman who would be pitching the True You products. Julie had seen her car parked in Donna’s driveway on the way in. At least she assumed it was the salesperson’s car. Donna had said she was new in town and the little red convertible with North Carolina plates screamed “clueless” about upstate New York winters.

  Likewise, her appearance seemed at odds with the way most women Julie knew looked by the end of February. For one thing, her long blond hair, full of bounce and without a trace of static, indicated she was unaccustomed to wearing a hat. The rest of her outfit—pink silk blouse, short black skirt and black boots that wouldn’t last ten seconds in a snow bank—was typical of someone who’d never considered the possibility of her car breaking down on a cold winter night. It was the fishnet stockings, though, peeking seductively between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boots that made Julie feel justified in her instant dislike of this woman.

  Julie shivered and took another sip of wine, regretting she hadn’t stayed home. Donna may have thought she was in a rut, but Julie liked the routine she’d recently taken to on Friday nights, a routine of sweatpants, the TV remote, and a pint of ice cream. Not the most exciting way to spend an evening, but one that she had found comforting for the last six weeks. She much preferred her old Friday night routine, the one she’d shared with her husband Rick for years: home-cooked, candlelight dinner for two while listening to Mahler, Donizetti, or Handel on the stereo. That routine came to an abrupt end seven Fridays ago when Rick announced he was leaving her.

  Julie realized her wine glass was in need of a refill just as the blond woman began her pitch.

  “Okay, ladies. Let’s get started. I’m Tina Mabry and I’m a sales representative for True You Cosmetics. First of all, I want to thank Donna for hosting the party tonight. This is the first party I’ve done since moving here about a month and a half ago. I’m so glad we met on the treadmills at the Sweat Shop, Donna.”

  Julie tuned out the rest of what Tiny Tina was saying and turned her attention to the catalog, determined to make an early exit so she could go home and watch the shows she was recording. Skimming past the anti-aging products—always too expensive—Julie looked for something small like a lipstick or a travel-sized hand cream. She stopped on a product line with different packaging than the rest, but that looked somehow familiar. It was the Sea-duction line: skin care products for men and women that combined aromatherapy with marine botanicals. Julie almost choked when she saw the men’s skin care products at the bottom of the page.

  The white packaging with turquoise lettering looked just like the jar she had found tucked in an inside pocket of Rick’s suitcase after one of his many business trips. She’d teased him when she found it, but was also flattered that he was making an effort.

  “They’re just some samples someone was handing out as a promotion in the hotel lobby,” Rick said as he grabbed the jar of moisturizer out of her hand. It had seemed too big to be a sample and Julie noticed that he never threw it out. She assumed he was embarrassed by her discovering evidence of his vanity and eventually forgot all about it.

  Now a sickening thought crossed her mind. Julie got up from the sofa and worked her way to where Donna stood in the doorway to the dining room.

  “Where did Tina move from?” Julie whispered.

  “I don’t know. Some town in North Carolina. Near Charlotte, I think.”

  Oh, God, Julie thought. Rick traveled for his consulting business and one of his biggest clients was in Charlotte. Julie gripped the doorframe as if it would keep her from jumping to conclusions. Maybe they really were free samples, she told herself, trying to push out the thought that Tina’s arrival in town coincided with Rick’s announcement that he was moving out. Julie stared at Tina as she wrapped up her presentation. She was attractive and confident, which Rick would certainly find appealing. But the fishnet stockings seemed vaguely trashy. Julie was surprised she would be his type, but then again, Rick had been full of surprises lately.

  Julie was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of her name. Looking up, she saw Tina holding a basket in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. “Julie Sullivan,” Tina repeated, looking right at her. “You’ve won. So come on up.” There was a smattering of applause as Julie did as she was told even though she didn’t remember putting her name in the basket and she couldn’t figure out how Tina knew her name was Julie.

  Tina was babbling—something about a free facial—but Julie wasn’t listening because she was focused on the display of Sea-duction for Men products on the coffee table. Finally Tina stopped talking and followed Julie’s gaze.

  “Oh, these are great products,” Tina said, picking up one of the white and turquoise containers. “They’re only available from True You consultants. And men really love them. Is there someone special you’re buying for? Your father, or a brother?”

  Julie looked at Tina and thought she detected a hint of smugness behind the smile. “No. I’m not buying anything.”

  “Well, take a catalog just in case. And you’re still entitled to the free facial. All my contact information is right here on the back.”

  Tina shoved one of the slick booklets into Julie’s hand. Her name and phone number were stamped at the bottom. Along with her address—which Julie realized she’d seen before.

  * * * *

  J
ulie didn’t care that it was too early on a Saturday morning to be considered a respectable hour. She couldn’t wait any longer so she let herself in through Donna’s kitchen door and started a pot of coffee while she waited for her friend to wake up. When Donna finally shuffled into the kitchen looking like hell, Julie realized she probably didn’t look much better herself. And they both had good reasons for their haggard appearances—Donna was hung-over and Julie had spent the night tossing and turning.

  “It was all a set up.” Julie handed Donna a cup of coffee. “Tina wanted you to host that party as a way to get to me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Julie smacked the True You catalog onto the kitchen table, making Donna wince, then she jabbed her finger at Tina’s contact information at the bottom of the cover. “Look where she lives.”

  It was the same address that had blindsided Julie when she saw it in the newspaper’s Property Transactions section several weeks ago: “Richard M. Sullivan purchased property at 142 Felicity Drive, Woodmere Estates from Vincent Cardone and Premiere Homes, LLC.” For some reason, she’d taken comfort in picturing Rick living in a sun-baked townhome with a parking spot for one car in front and a rusted hibachi on a cement slab in back, separated from identically outfitted cement slabs on either side by a section of stockade fencing that gave the illusion of privacy. Instead, her husband had decided to treat himself to new construction in a wooded development just past the Pine Ridge Shopping Center, where one of the area’s top builders was constructing luxury homes on winding streets named after his granddaughters. And to top it off, he wasn’t living there alone.

  Donna was still a little fuzzy and didn’t make the connection. Unlike Julie, Donna hadn’t had the benefit of a sleepless night to think this through.

  “Tina engineered the whole thing—the party, my winning the facial, everything. Just so she could make sure I knew who she was. She has my husband, but that’s not enough for her. She has to rub my face in it, too.”

  It was hard to believe that Tina would go to such lengths, but how else could Julie explain winning the facial in a raffle she never entered or the slight smirk on Tina’s face when she showed Julie her address. Tina must be pretty satisfied with herself to expose Rick to the financial implications his affair would have on the divorce settlement just to prove to Julie that she’d won.