Fish Tales: The Guppy Anthology

by Budewitz, Leslie

  The three hour drive passed pleasantly as she shifted into daydream mode. Maybe this weekend would be a turning point. Now that the kids were almost grown, she and Jeff could slow down a little, spend more time together. Hadn’t he mentioned a possible promotion that would mean less travel? Maybe he was planning to tell her this weekend. She should stop to pick up a bottle of champagne.

  As she pulled off onto the snaking country road, it dawned on her that she’d meant to pick up groceries before she left the city. The sun would set soon, and she wanted to get to the cabin in daylight. She could go out for real groceries tomorrow. For now, all she wanted were milk, eggs, champagne, and a couple of steaks for the grill.

  She pulled into the parking lot of the old grocery store. Her grandparents had bought basic supplies there when she stayed with them as a child. The ramshackle place looked like it hadn’t had a coat of paint since then. Hoping they carried something besides bait, Dana ventured inside. A little snack counter had been added, and the back was stocked like a convenience store. She found milk but sighed at the meager selection of fresh food. At least they offered packaged cheeses and fresh eggs. An omelet wasn’t the kind of celebration fare she’d had in mind, but it would have to do. She gathered bread, inexpensive wine, and a few other items and brought them to the cash register. “Do you have any champagne or steaks?”

  “Sorry, hon.”

  While the woman rang up her purchases, a little boy seated at the counter said, “Hi! My name’s Jewemiah.”

  Dana said hello while a scrawny man looked on. She handed her credit card to the woman.

  The gaunt man leaned against the counter and appraised her. “You some kind of fancy cook or something?”

  “Something like that.” Catering hardly counted as fancy cooking but she didn’t want to go into details.

  The man prodded Jeremiah with a bony hand. “Tell her your favorite food.”

  Pink-cheeked Jeremiah couldn’t have been older than four. “Dead-eyed gwavy and bis-cuts.”

  From the way the couple beamed, Dana assumed they were his parents. “He’s adorable. I bet he keeps you busy.”

  The woman filled a paper bag with the groceries, her face lined and weary beyond her years. She’d probably been attractive once, but she already wore the haggard face of someone who worked hard every day. “Both my boys keep me busy.”

  Dana looked at the man—he couldn’t possibly be her son.

  “Gabe there is my husband, but you know how it is. The women hold down the fort, while the men go fishing and take money out of the till.”

  “Watch your mouth or Jeremiah and I’ll trade you in for a newer model.”

  Dana cringed.

  “I bet you make great Red-Eye Gravy and biscuits,” Gabe said.

  Truth be known, she had never made it in her life. She didn’t even have a clue what was in the gravy. “I’m afraid not.”

  “What kind of cook doesn’t make Red-Eye Gravy?”

  “I’ll have to try it sometime since Jeremiah recommends it so highly.” Nodding goodbye, Dana left in haste. She wasn’t going to be put down by some man she didn’t even know.

  Minutes later, she pulled up at the cabin. The setting sun turned the sky orange over the distant mountains, and reflected in the windows of the old cabin. Everyday stresses washed away as she drank in the scent of pine, even if it did mingle with a hint of fish egg stink. Cheerful from the freedom of a mini-vacation, she unlocked the door, anticipating the musty scent of an unused house, but it smelled fine. Something wasn’t right. She and Jeff had planned this weekend at the lake for months, anxious that the summer was slipping by while they were too busy to get away. The house had been closed up all winter and should smell funky.

  She walked through the little cabin opening windows. The only thing amiss was the faint smell of a cloying perfume in one of the bedrooms. She sniffed carefully, certain she wasn’t imagining the scent. Mark came to mind immediately. That stinker. She’d bet anything that he’d been bringing dates out to the cabin on weekends. Dana couldn’t help smiling. She and Jeff had used the cabin as a romantic hideaway when they were young, too.

  Satisfied that nothing was wrong, she opened the fuse box and flipped on the appliances. She brought in the groceries, stashed the eggs and cheese in the fridge, and decided that it was more important to shed her pantyhose than put away the rest of the groceries. Once she wore a sleeveless top, shorts and flip flops, she returned to the kitchen and stashed the bread in the deep closet they used as a pantry.

  A spider had set up residence in the corner. She stepped inside for a roll of paper towels so she could get rid of him, and something crunched under her foot. She swiped at the web with a paper towel and looked at the bottom of her flip flop. Part of a pretzel nugget clung to it along with something that looked suspiciously like peanut butter. She pried it off and sniffed. Definitely peanut butter. Dana recoiled. She flushed the spider in the toilet and returned to the pantry. There weren’t any other pretzels, nor did she see a bag of them, only the remnants of the one she’d stepped on. Everyone in her family knew better than to bring anything with peanuts into the house. Someone had been using the cabin, but it wasn’t Mark. He would have had a fit if a girlfriend brought peanut butter-filled pretzel nuggets, and if she’d eaten any, he wouldn’t have gone near her.

  She scrubbed the pantry floor, now wondering if Jeff had loaned the cabin to one of his buddies.

  Although a glass of wine was tempting after the drive and the difficult day, Dana decided to wait for Jeff. She left the front door unlocked for him, turned down the inside lights and, sipping a glass of sparkling water, wandered out to the deck.

  The light of the moon danced on the water and a few fishing boats bobbed lazily. She yearned to go for a swim. She called Mark to be sure he’d made the trip without any ill effects and was happy to find he was already busy with friends. But where was Jeff? She was about to call him when her phone rang. He was on the way.

  When she hung up, she clenched her teeth. After all, she’d rushed to the cabin. But the glimmer of the moon on the water reminded her that life was too short to be annoyed about little things. She changed into a bathing suit and switched on a light. Enjoying the solitude, she walked down to the dock and eased into the warm water. It enveloped her in a way no soothing spa treatment could match. She floated on her back, away from the shore, her eyes closed. She made leisurely figure eights with her hands as little sunfish nibbled at her fingers and toes.

  She opened her eyes. The dark outline of the cabin stood on the hill, a few windows softly lighted. The rumble of a boat engine disturbed the glorious calm. Dana side-stroked as the roar grew louder. A fishing boat soared across the water toward her. What was wrong with those guys? Didn’t they know the rules of the water? No wakes permitted near docks. Unsure if they would see her in the dark, she swam faster to reach the safety of the old dock.

  The boat kept coming, far too fast. She expected them to cut the engine any second, and to swing the boat near the shore for fishing, but it continued on a path to the dock. It wasn’t unusual for fishermen to be out all night, but there weren’t many who would want to disturb the fish by roaring to shore. There was something menacing about the way it zoomed right at her, and she did something she hadn’t done since she was a child. She swam under water and came up underneath the dock.

  The boat finally slowed. Dana held her breath and tried not to hit her head on the lurching dock as the boat came alongside. She heard someone jump out, his feet heavy against the wood.

  “There’s a light on.”

  “She thinks Jeff’s coming. Probably left it on for him and went to bed.”

  Dana’s breath caught in her throat. They were talking about her! The second man’s voice sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it before?

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  “Heck, yeah. It’s easy money. Besides, he’s got a forty-two inch plasma TV that I’ve got a hankering for. If we tak
e it, the cops will think she got shot during a robbery.”

  “We’re gonna steal from him?”

  “Sure. What’s he gonna do? Call the cops?”

  “So what’s the deal? His old lady spending too much money?”

  “He’s trading up. He said the new one wants a diamond, so he’s ready to move things along. No big loss, the wife doesn’t even know how to make Red-Eye Gravy.”

  Dana clamped a hand over her mouth. Gabe from the little store. Her head reeled, but she forced herself to focus. This had been planned. That’s why Jeff hadn’t arrived. He’d called to be sure she would be at the cabin. She shivered in the warm water. There must be some mistake. Jeff would never hire anyone to kill her. But Gabe had said Jeff’s name, hadn’t he?

  Her head throbbed and she needed air, but she forced herself to breathe slowly and tried to process it all. The Viagra, the lingering scent of perfume, the peanut butter. Jeff’s lover must not know about Mark’s allergy. Or maybe the peanut butter pretzels were part of Jeff’s rebellion, representative of the new life he coveted.

  How could Jeff do this to her? The man she slept next to, the one she built her life around, the father of her children—he wanted to murder her? Woozy and nauseous, she held onto a beam under the dock to steady herself.

  A heavy boot stepped on a loose board that thunked her on the head. A grunt escaped Dana’s lips and turned into a gurgle as she dipped under water.

  “You hear that?” asked Gabe.

  “Must be one of those lake otters. They make some weird noises if you get too close to a nest.”

  “It sounded like a person,” protested Gabe.

  “Are you kidding? Look around. You see anybody? Now, hurry up.”

  Afraid Gabe would recklessly shoot into the water, Dana remained still, resisting the temptation to rub her head. A chill engulfed her as the gravity of the situation sank in. They would kill her if they found her.

  Her hands shaking, she waited until their footsteps faded on the hill. Moving slowly, she ducked under the edge of the dock and emerged on the outside. The shadowy figures of the men headed toward the cabin. She clung to the weathered boards.

  That had been close. They would be back soon. She had to pull herself together. What would they do when they didn’t find her? She needed a phone.

  Trying not to make any noise, she pulled herself onto the dock, untied Gabe’s boat, and tossed the mooring lines into the water. As quietly as she could, she swam toward the middle of the lake, towing Gabe’s boat behind her. When it was infuriatingly far from the dock, she let go and turned to look up at the cabin. It went dark. They’d cut the electricity.

  Their voices grew louder. She didn’t have much time left. Swimming as fast as she could, she headed for a neighboring cabin. She knocked on the door. There was no answer, so she heaved a concrete flower urn at the glass door and cringed at the sound of glass shattering. They’d hear that. She’d have to hurry.

  She threw a doormat over tiny blocks of tempered glass to protect her bare feet, found the phone and called 911. Assured an officer would be on the way, she hurried back to the lake and aimed a rock at the light on her neighbor’s boathouse. It took her four tries to hit the light bulb. Then she slid into the water so they wouldn’t see her if they happened to look her way.

  They groaned and snapped at each other as they came into view, hauling the TV. And then they stopped. Dana sucked in a deep breath, ready to vanish underwater if necessary. She could still see the boat, but the current had carried it farther into the lake. They might try to escape in her car, but she hoped the police would arrive before they left.

  A squabble arose between Gabe and his friend. They cursed and blamed each other for their predicament. In the end, they picked up the TV and struggled to carry it back up the hill. Precious minutes ticked by. Dana swam closer to her own dock.

  Headlights streamed through the darkness and the two men stopped. Dana squinted. Why hadn’t the cops used the siren or flashing lights? A car door closed. Leaving the TV leaning precariously on the hill, the two men ran to the cabin. Dana did the breast stroke to her dock. Gabe and his friend would be caught red-handed, if not for attempted murder, then at least for burglary.

  A gunshot rang out, echoing over the water. She gasped and clutched the edge of the dock, ready to disappear underneath. As she watched the house, a car engine started. The driver didn’t turn on the headlights, and the sound died away as the car drove off.

  Wary and alert to every sound, Dana forced herself to wait. She counted one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi until at least five minutes had passed. She eased herself out of the water. There was no sign of Gabe or his friend. Keeping to the trees, she ran up the hill in spurts. When she reached the side of the cabin, she looked through the window. A body sprawled on the floor. She tiptoed around to the driveway and her heart sank. The police car remained, but her hybrid was gone.

  She quietly opened the front door and crept up behind the prone person. Her heart pounded when she saw a young woman wearing a police uniform on the floor. She slipped closer and a cloyingly sweet smell hit her. The same cheap perfume she’d smelled in the bedroom. Gabe or his friend had shot the wrong woman—they’d shot Dana’s replacement. She felt for a pulse. The officer was still alive. Dana retrieved her cell phone.

  A car raced up the driveway. Gabe and his buddy were back. She ran for the window, raised it, and slid out. She stood with her back flat against the wall. The sliding glass door on the lake side of the cabin creaked open. She peeked in. A man stood in the open doorway, his dark shape outlined by the lighter darkness of the night.

  There was another shot and the man collapsed. The policewoman’s hand fell to the floor, still grasping her gun. An owl hooted ominously and the world fell silent.

  Dana’s pulse hammered in her head. Where was the other guy? She called 911 again and asked for an ambulance, covering her mouth and speaking softly, in case both Gabe and his buddy had returned. She told the police an officer was down. When she hung up, she hesitated. She wanted to help the people who’d been shot, but the policewoman might shoot her by mistake. Her back mashed against the cabin, she strained to see in the dark and feared the sound of a twig snapping underfoot.

  It seemed an eternity passed before she heard the faint peal of a siren. The light atop a vehicle strobed, eerily flashing through the branches as it approached. Would the second man run away?

  She edged along the wall, and peered around the corner of the house toward the driveway, relieved to see emergency technicians, as well as a cop. She glanced around and darted to the front door to warn them that one killer might be hiding in the woods. After she explained the situation, they allowed her to enter the house for her own safety, but asked that she remain by the front door.

  Flashlights blazing, cops strode through her beloved cabin, assessing the situation. The policewoman was still alive, but she had killed the man in the doorway. As the emergency technicians stabilized the woman, the cop called out, “Ma’am, can you identify this guy as one of the hired killers?”

  Still shaking, Dana crept toward the officer. Even though she knew he couldn’t harm her now, she stepped gingerly, as though he might suddenly revive to finish his mission. She hoped it would be Gabe, since she didn’t know if she could identify the second man, whom she’d only seen from a distance.

  She focused on his feet as she neared. Gabe and his friend had worn boots, but the dead man wore elegant loafers and chinos. Her throat constricted the way her son’s did when he inhaled peanuts, and she knew the truth even before the orb of the flashlight reached the victim’s face. It was Jeff.

  __________

  Nationally bestselling author Krista Davis writes the Domestic Diva Mystery series. Her first book, The Diva Runs Out of Thyme, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Krista lives on a lake and ducked under the dock many times as a child. Visit Krista at divamysteries.com.

  THE PROFESSOR’S BOOKS, by Gloria Alden


  William Faulkner gave Tilly the idea. Well, not the author himself, but a book of his. Not that Tilly had read the book. She didn’t read much more than the obituaries or the advice columns in the newspaper. Sometimes she read Dr. Donohue’s column if it wasn’t about men’s problems like prostate cancer. No, Tilly got the idea when she was dusting the Professor’s books, something she spent a part of every day doing after she’d finished her other chores.

  The book was As I Lay Dying, but because the capital “I” was so close to the capital “L,” she thought it was As He Lay Dying, and that got Tilly to thinking about the Professor dying. Of course, ever since he’d casually mentioned to her that she would be remembered in his will since she’d been such a faithful housekeeper for so many years, she had started picturing the little house she would buy. She’d live there quietly with a cat and a canary. The Professor didn’t care much for animals so she couldn’t have any here. Those thoughts had just been daydreams of sometime in the future, but when he’d had his heart attack six months ago, Tilly thought maybe that time had come so she started reading the real estate ads in the newspaper, too. But in spite of his advanced age, he had rallied, and although he wasn’t as spry as he once was, he didn’t seem ready for death any time soon.

  And so life went along in its usual rhythm with Tilly cooking for the Professor, doing household chores, and dusting the thousands of books the Professor had not only in his library, but also the piles of books found in every nook and cranny throughout his house. It wasn’t a difficult life. The Professor was agreeable enough, and her work wasn’t hard, so Tilly was reasonably content until the day before, when the Professor had announced that a book appraiser would be coming to catalogue his collection of special editions and re-evaluate their worth. He had given her a key to the locked bookcase and asked her to make sure the books were well dusted.