A delighted squeal and a shout from the other end of the fishing boat: “I caught it. I caught—it’s mine.” Andrea’s voice: prideful and emphatic.
“Yours?” Max’s voice, a teenager’s not-quite-convincing baritone. “Yours? Excuse me, but who cast the line in the first place? Who baited the hook? I just asked you to hold on to the goddamn rod while I got some—”
“Language,” Linda interjected warningly. She went over to the squabbling pair.
“Language? What, English?” Max balked.
“Anyway, that fish is too small,” their mother went on. “You kids better throw it back.”
“You heard what Mom said,” Andrea said gleefully. “Throw your teensy-weensy fish back in the water.”
“Oh, so it’s my fish now?” Max’s voice broke in a squawk of indignation.
Ambler turned to Clay Caston. “They always like this?”
“Afraid so,” Caston said happily.
Caston sneaked a glance at his wife and kids across the deck, and Ambler could see the pride and devotion that pulsed through him, his lifeblood. But the auditor was not distracted for long. A few minutes later, when another gentle ripple moved through the craft, he plopped himself down on the canvas chair next to Ambler, readying himself for a serious entreaty.
“Listen, can we just turn the boat around and get back onshore?” Caston was almost pleading.
“Why would we want to do that? It’s a beautiful day, the water’s lovely, we’ve rented this incredible boat—how could we be doing better?”
“Yeah, but this was supposed to be a fishing trip, right? See, I think you’ll find that all the fish are lurking around the dock. In fact, I’m sure.”
“Come on, Clay,” Ambler said. “That doesn’t stand to reason.” He arched an eyebrow. “The most probable distribution of fish this time of the year—”
“Trust me,” Caston implored, cutting him off. “The dock’s the place to be. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
The Ambler Warning Page 49