Spring Tide

by Robbi McCoy

“You call this a date?”

  “No, the crawdad thing. You were going to take her out to Disappointment Slough, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So how’d you get from you’re an asshole to let me show you my special fishing hole?”

  “As you might expect, it had to do with a dog.”

  Gail laughed shortly, then glanced back at Stef. “She seems okay to me.”

  “Today, yes,” Jackie said thoughtfully, “she does. She seems great.”

  She watched Stef carry Adam along the bank to a prime view of volunteers engaged in a vigorous wrestling match with a fish. Adam bounced up and down on her shoulders, squealing with delight. Jackie felt a sudden surge of fond feeling take her over as she watched Stef tilt her head back so she could look into Adam’s face and grin at him. Jackie had never seen Stef so carefree and playful. She was caught up in the moment, simply enjoying herself. She’d forgotten herself for a while, forgotten whatever it was that seemed to weigh so heavily on her mind most of the time.

  In that instant, amid the cries of fish wranglers and a young boy’s laughter, under a hot afternoon sun, sweaty, dirty, tired and hungry, Jackie fell in love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  As the last couple of fish were being rounded up in the overflow channel, Stef and another of the women volunteered to walk the bank in either direction to look for signs of any more pockets of stranded sturgeon.

  It had been a long day and everyone was tired, but Stef was invigorated by the change of pace. It felt good to be helping, to be active and involved in a community project, working alongside the others, especially Jackie. Though it was serious business, it was also fun. Maybe not so much for the fish. It had been even more fun when Jackie’s nephew Adam had shown up. He had been so thrilled with everything that was happening. She smiled, remembering how he’d begged to ride one of the fish. Cute kid.

  “Take some jerky with you,” insisted Ida Townsend, shoving a nearly empty jar under her nose.

  “Thanks,” Stef had said, taking a piece. She chewed on it as she walked on a dirt road past muddy flats where small puddles of water stood, looking for deeper pools where the big fish could have retreated.

  Ida Townsend was a funny woman. Intense and outgoing. She was also very short. It would be a surprise if she was even five feet tall. She had strong facial features—pointy nose and high forehead, a puckery mouth and narrow chin. Jackie didn’t resemble her much except in personality. Both women were friendly and unabashedly familiar in manner. Jackie seemed a little more reserved and serious, but neither of them would ever be hugging the shadows in any social situation. Jackie’s father, Rudy, Junior, was no wallflower either. Brash and opinionated, but likable. They both seemed like good-hearted people.

  The jerky was good. A little sweet. A little tangy. She finished it and looked back to see the party of volunteers in the distance.

  The Sacramento River lay to the north, edged by a tangled line of trees and bushes. To the south was farmland crisscrossed by streams and sloughs. She’d walked almost a mile when she decided to turn south on a dirt road, following a rivulet draining out of what looked to be a larger body of water further on, large enough to accommodate sturgeon.

  As she walked, her mind kept returning to Jackie. A remarkable woman, really. The more Stef got to know her, the more remarkable she seemed. She was so together. She seemed to know what she wanted in every facet of life.

  Stef briefly let herself consider the possibility of hanging around a while longer than planned. She had to move her boat by the end of July. That was the agreement, but she could rent a slip at the marina. She wondered if it would be possible to make a place for herself in Jackie’s life. Was that such a crazy idea?

  Maybe she could be a fish cop, she thought, amusing herself. But then she remembered the gun problem. Even a fish cop carried a gun and might have to use it once in a while. Just thinking about it made her go cold. Suddenly feeling frustrated, she shook the thought off and kept walking.

  As she neared the pond she had spied, she could see a young man in the water. He wore a cowboy hat, cargo shorts and no shirt, and moved slowly through the water away from her, carrying a long pole. The water hit him mid-thigh. He paused and raised his pole, then slammed it hard into the water in front of him. Whatever he was aiming at, he must have missed because he pulled the spear out empty and continued to peer into the water.

  Stef stopped walking, a chill running down her back. She pulled out her cell phone and called Jackie. “I may have found a poacher,” she reported.

  “Where?”

  “I’m about a mile and a quarter southeast. Straight down the weir for a mile, then south. I think we need a fish cop over here.”

  “Okay. I’ll send her right away. You stay away from him. Just wait for Gail.”

  Stef continued walking. She noticed as she neared that the man was large and well muscled. She dropped down next to the water as he turned her way, revealing a close-cropped full beard. He looked alarmed to see someone. She saw a sharp piece of metal tied to the end of his pole. Her gaze was diverted by the back ridge of a sturgeon breaking the surface a few yards away, the white body of a seven foot long fish gliding silently through the brown water. The thing is, Jackie, she thought, if I stay away from him, he’s going to kill a fish.

  “What’re you after?” she asked casually.

  “Frogs,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her. “Frog giggin’.”

  “Are there frogs in this mud puddle?” She approached the edge of the pond.

  “Biggest damned frogs you’ve ever seen,” he replied, laughing.

  “Catch any?” Stef asked.

  “One so far.”

  It was then she spotted a Ford pickup on a dirt road at the edge of a cornfield about a hundred feet farther south.

  “Is that your truck?” she asked.

  He pushed the brim of his hat higher to get a better look at her. “What’s it to ya?”

  “I thought I’d go take a peek at that frog. I’d like to see a giant frog.”

  She started walking toward the pickup, which prompted the man to wade quickly over to the shore to cut her off. She stopped, facing his resolute expression. Now that he was closer, she could see the cold insolence in his eyes. She was thoroughly accustomed to creeps like this. For the first time in a while, she felt like she was back on home turf.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business, lady,” he said, allowing the suggestion of a threat into his voice.

  “I’m beginning to think this is my business,” she said evenly. “I’d like to take a look at that frog.”

  She started to go around him and he grabbed her arm roughly and held her. “How do you figure my frog is your business?”

  “Frogs aren’t my business,” she said, yanking her arm free. “But at least for today, sturgeon are.”

  “Sturgeon? I told you I was giggin’ frogs.”

  She eyed his spear more closely, a butcher knife blade lashed to a wooden pole. “I’ve never seen a frog gig like that. They must be some gigantic frogs for a blade that big.”

  He sneered. “I told you they were.”

  She started toward the pickup again, but the poacher ran around in front of her and pointed his spear at her, causing her to stop abruptly.

  “Stop!” he warned.

  Stef raised her hands, but stood her ground defiantly. The blade of the spear was a foot away from her stomach.

  “You a game warden?” asked the man.

  “No. Just a concerned citizen worried about the safety of some very valuable fish.”

  “You should be more concerned about your own safety. I’ll be on my way now.”

  He backed away slowly, keeping his narrow eyes and the spear trained on her. When he’d gotten twenty feet away, he turned and ran toward his truck. Stef ran after him. When he reached the vehicle, he tossed the spear in the back of the pickup. She tackled him and they both fell to the ground. She could immediately tell she was over
powered. He was just too strong for her. All she could do was slow him down and hope help arrived in time. They struggled, rolling over in the dirt until she managed to kick him off, sending him onto his back with a thud. She rolled away and got up on all fours, attempting to stand, but he was on her before she could get her balance. He jerked her to her feet, then flung her against the side of the truck. She hit hard and dropped to the ground, momentarily stunned. She recovered her breath just as the truck’s engine started. She pulled out her knife and wedged it under the nearest tire, pushing the tip of the blade into the rubber, then rolled out of the way as the truck started to move. The tire blew and instantly went flat.

  The truck clunked along for a few feet before stopping. Stef got to her feet as the man jumped out of the cab and slammed his door. He came around to see the destroyed tire, then he turned toward her with unmistakable fury.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” he breathed between his teeth.

  She turned and ran down the center of the dirt road. He came after her. He was big and powerful, but he wasn’t fast. However, she’d had an exhausting day, so she was faltering. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw him closing in. A few seconds later, his fingers got a brief hold on her shirt. With his next attempt, he threw both arms around her and brought her to the ground. He landed heavily on top of her, knocking the wind out of her.

  She tried to wriggle free, but it was no use. He rolled her over and pushed her shoulders to the ground so she was flat on her back under him, then he clamped one of his huge hands over her throat and tightened it.

  I’m going to die, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut as her windpipe was closed off.

  A gunshot rang out. The brute on top of her released her throat. They both looked down the road to see a white van careening toward them, Gail hanging out the passenger window with her handgun drawn. The poacher got to his feet as the van slid to a halt. Gail jumped out, and the guy took off running back the way they’d come, back to his truck.

  “Halt!” Gail commanded. “Fish and Game!”

  The man kept running. Gail fired again, hitting the ground beside his feet. He skidded to a stop and put up his hands.

  Jackie dashed over to Stef and helped her to her feet. “You okay?” she asked, her voice panicked, her face full of concern.

  She really cares about me, Stef realized.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, brushing dirt from her shirt. “You showed up just in time.”

  Down the road, Gail had handcuffed the poacher, who stood quietly resigned to his fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Gail dropped a large combination pizza on the table, then took her chair. Pat poured from a pitcher of beer, filling their glasses. The four of them sat in a noisy restaurant, the one pizza place in Stillwater Bay, all of them exhausted, dirty, smelling like fish, sunburned and, in Stef’s case, bruised up by both fish and man. It had been a difficult but satisfying day. Jackie wrapped her fingers around the cold beer glass, waiting for the foam to subside before taking a drink.

  Pat raised her glass and said, “To the sturgeon!”

  They touched glasses.

  “To Stef,” Gail proposed, raising her glass again, “the sturgeon champion.”

  Stef glanced at Jackie who smiled proudly at her. There was a scrape on Stef’s chin where she’d contacted the dirt road, but she seemed in good spirits and mostly unharmed.

  “That guy had a box full of ice in his pickup bed,” Gail said. “Already had one in there. He had to chop it in half to fit it in. Green one, so he’s in big trouble.” She picked up a slice of pizza. “There were three more in the pond there. Thanks to Stef, they’re safe and sound swimming upriver tonight.”

  “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” Stef said. “I swear that guy was going to kill me.”

  Gail nodded emphatically. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have put yourself in that position. There’s a lot of money involved for these guys. If they’ll shove an ice pick through a magnificent fish like that, they’re capable of doing the same to you.”

  Jackie put her hand on Stef’s shoulder. “Why did you do that, Stef?”

  “Risk my life for a fish?” she asked with a short laugh.

  Jackie remained serious. “Yes.”

  Stef gazed at her, then gave a small shrug and turned her attention to her pizza. As usual, Jackie was frustrated with Stef’s reticence. But in this case, maybe there was no obvious answer. Maybe she had acted without giving it much thought. The alternative, that she didn’t value her life, was too cynical to believe.

  “Especially without a weapon,” Gail remarked.

  “I had a weapon,” Stef countered. “My knife. I could have taken him out with that, but I didn’t want to kill the guy.”

  “And believe me,” Jackie said, “I can vouch for her ability to do that.”

  Gail reached down to her bag on the floor, extracting the knife, which she laid on the table in two pieces. The blade was broken cleanly from the handle “One of the guys picked this up on the road. It did its job, but won’t be of much use after this.”

  Stef touched the broken blade as Jackie leaned up against her and said, “Sorry.”

  “Well,” Gail sighed, “some hundred-year-old fish can thank you for another hundred or so. Damn, I’m glad this day is over. Working on Saturday puts a dent in a girl’s routine.”

  “What are you complaining about?” Pat groused. “This is my first Saturday off in three months and look how I spent it.”

  “We’ve still got tomorrow morning,” Gail said. She put her hand on Pat’s arm. “You can sleep late. I might even bring you breakfast in bed.”

  Pat’s expression softened into a grateful smile. “Now you’re talking.”

  “They’ll cancel classes over crawdad festival weekend, right?” Jackie asked. “So there’s another weekend off.”

  Pat looked askance, her smile fading. “Working the festival for twelve hours a day. You call that a weekend off?”

  “You work the festival?” Stef asked.

  “We all do,” Jackie answered.

  “I volunteered to work security,” Gail said, “but Hartley says they’ve got that covered. So I’m going to be Crusty the Crawdad this year, believe it or not.”

  Jackie laughed shortly. “Oh, my God!” She turned to Stef to explain. “The festival mascot.”

  Gail nodded. “I hope it isn’t too hot. That costume is liable to bake me alive.”

  “What will you be doing?” Stef asked Jackie.

  “Our little bluegrass band will be providing entertainment. Pat’s our bass. My sister is guitar and my grandmother is fiddle.”

  “Your grandmother’s in your band?”

  “Yes. It started out as a family thing. We can all play something.”

  “Rehearsal tomorrow afternoon,” Pat reminded Jackie. “Your house at two.”

  “Stef plays guitar,” Jackie said.

  “We should get together sometime to play,” suggested Pat.

  “Hey,” said Jackie, “why not tomorrow? Bring your guitar and jam with us a little bit. Then we can go set that crawdad trap after rehearsal.”

  “Sure,” added Pat encouragingly.

  “I don’t want to interfere,” Stef said. “If you’re rehearsing.”

  Stef’s guarded expression confused Jackie. She had shut down again. Jackie’s invitation seemed to make her uncomfortable.

  “Come on,” Jackie urged, taking hold of her arm. “It’s just some friends having a good time. You can come after rehearsal, then, if you’re more comfortable. It’ll be just you and me.”

  Stef nodded and noticeably relaxed.

  “I hope you’ll come out to the festival too,” Jackie said. “It’s our big event, and it gives you a good feel for what this town’s about. Not just crawdads.”

  “No, not just crawdads,” Gail laughed. “But there’s no denying fishing is the backbone of this community.”

  “Which puts you right in the heart of thin
gs,” Stef noted.

  “Exactly.”

  Pat raised her beer glass. “To fish cops everywhere!”

  Gail smiled gratefully as they toasted.

  “Speaking of cops,” Pat said, jerking her head toward the pickup window.

  Jackie looked to see Don Hartley, in uniform, collecting a take-out box. A divorced forty-four year old, Hartley was going home to a springer spaniel named Lady, a sweet dog who suffered from chronic ear infections. His pale, lined face set in its usual stern expression, Hartley passed near their table with a pizza box held in both hands.

  “Hi, Don,” Jackie called.

  He looked their way, his eyes registering recognition. “Evening, ladies.” He nodded, continuing toward the door.

  “One of your local force?” Stef asked casually.

  “Not really one of,” said Jackie. “Just one. We have only one.”

  Stef stared unbelievingly. “One cop?”

  “It’s a small town,” Gail said. “Can’t afford more than one. We have a police chief too, but he’s old and doesn’t go out on patrol.”

  “He should retire,” Pat muttered.

  Stef looked blown away. “One cop,” she repeated quietly. “Do you have a one-room schoolhouse too?”

  “No,” Jackie replied. “But when my dad went to school, they had two grades in every class. Even when I went, classes were very small. As far as I know, I was the only lesbian in my high school class. Pat was a year ahead of me, but she wasn’t out yet. Nobody knew about me. I kept it to myself.”

  “Sounds lonely,” Stef remarked, picking up an errant piece of sausage from her plate.

  Jackie shrugged. “Yes, it was lonely. But college was a whole different story. The world opened up for me there. Veterinary school…as you can imagine, classes full of lesbians. I think I went a little crazy during those few years.”

  “Sowed some wild oats?” Stef asked.

  “Acres and acres of them!” Jackie laughed. “But that’s all way behind me. I’m not into fun and games anymore. Now I’m just looking for that one woman, you know. Somebody to be serious about.” Jackie smiled uncertainly, avoiding looking at Stef.