A Reel Catch

by Lorraine Bartlett

  “Bye, girls,” Tammy said and gave a cheerful wave.

  Tori and Kathy headed back to the front lot and got back in Tori’s truck, but Tori didn’t immediately start the engine.

  “Are you okay?” Kathy asked.

  Tori forced a smile. “My Gramps asked me the same question.”

  “And?” Kathy demanded.

  Tori shrugged. “Pretty much.”

  “Which doesn’t sound like a yes to me,” Kathy said.

  Tori clenched the truck’s steering wheel. “Tammy at least had a probable name for the dead guy.”

  “Which meant nothing to either of us.”

  “But it did to her, and maybe it will to others,” Tori pointed out.

  “It’s not really our business.”

  “How can you say that? We found the dead guy.”

  “Yes, but he has no connection to us.”

  “We may know other people who knew the guy.”

  “Such as?” Kathy demanded.

  “I don’t know. Maybe Paul and Noreen.”

  “A hermit doesn’t go to a bar.”

  “He might. Who says he has to go to a bar to associate with other people? Maybe he went to drown his sorrows.”

  “It’s a lot cheaper to buy your booze from the liquor store and drink alone,” Kathy pointed out.

  “You’re right,” Tori agreed. She turned the key in the ignition, stepped on the brake, and slid the gearshift to reverse, then steered the car westward. “I’m just surprised you aren’t more interested. I mean, we found him on your property.”

  “If I thought he’d been murdered, I might feel differently. The guy drowned. End of story. I have a bed and breakfast to get up and running and have less than two weeks to do it. That has to be my priority. I’m sorry if that sounds cold and unfeeling, but that’s where I am.”

  Tori kept her eyes on the road. Kathy knew she had a point. Still, she knew Tori couldn’t help but feel some kind of responsibility toward the guy. Officially, apparently no one had reported the dead guy as missing. If there was no DNA or dental match, he’d remain that way.

  Still, she hoped somebody had cared for the man.

  Nobody deserved to die without that.

  9

  Tori pulled the truck up to her usual parking spot in the Cannon lot, shifted to park and killed the engine.

  “I’m going to take the paint over to my house and get things set up so we can start work first thing in the morning,” Kathy said.

  “We can begin tonight if you want.”

  Kathy shook her head. “It’s been a long day. We both deserve a few hours off. Besides, the light will stink. It’ll be better if we can work in full daylight.”

  Tori nodded and the women exited the truck, with Kathy heading across the way to her house and Tori unlocking the door to her home and letting herself in. As she hung up her coat, her stomach growled. She switched on the kitchen light and headed for the fridge. There wasn’t much in there, and the cupboard was pretty much bare as well. Damn. They’d just returned from the village and had been only a few blocks from Tom’s Grocery; they should have gone inside and stocked up on a few items. It was edging toward six o’clock and she didn’t feel inclined to get back into the truck and make a return trip to Warton. It looked like supper was going to be scrambled eggs once again.

  Tori heard the sound of a vehicle pull up outside the house, looked out the window and saw Anissa get out of her truck. She opened the door. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself.”

  Tori retreated into the kitchen to lean against the counter as Anissa entered the house.

  “What a day,” Anissa said.

  “Did you have problems with your bathroom rehab?”

  “I worked my butt off and got the entire job finished in just one day.”

  “Didn’t you say you’d scheduled three days to do it?”

  “I like to give myself some leeway. I figured it would take two days, but to save a few bucks, my client did the demo herself and the job went as smooth as silk. Unless something else comes up, I’ll be able to help Kathy with her wrecked bedroom tomorrow.”

  “We stripped the wallpaper and it’s ready to paint.”

  Anissa shook her head. “I’ve still got drywall work to do. With all that dust, you might want to wait a day or two to start painting.”

  Tori frowned. Kathy wasn’t going to be happy about that.

  Speak of the devil; the door handle rattled and Kathy entered.

  “Hey, Kath,” Anissa greeted.

  “Hi.”

  “Anissa has good news. Her job ended early and she can get back to work on your room.”

  “Great,” Kathy said, but there wasn’t much joy in her tone.

  “Only you can’t paint if I’m doing drywall work.”

  “Crap!” Kathy groused.

  “Are you ladies hungry?” Anissa asked.

  “Our cupboards are pretty bare,” Tori said.

  “Let’s head over to The Bay Bar and get something to eat,” Anissa suggested.

  The tense set to Kathy’s jaw telegraphed her reluctance to face the possibility of confronting Noreen. Logically, they all knew Noreen hadn’t been to blame for the trouble Kathy’s first guests had caused, but Tori suspected Kathy’s grief and anger was a little too raw to acknowledge it.

  “No, thanks,” she said, turning away.

  “Want us to bring you back something?” Anissa inquired.

  “No, thanks,” Kathy reiterated.

  Anissa turned to look at Tori. “How about you?”

  “Do you mind?” Tori asked Kathy.

  Kathy shook her head. “You go ahead. I have some work I need to get done on the computer.”

  “Okay,” Tori said, but she felt guilty just the same. She grabbed her coat from the peg. “Lock the door after us, just in case Amber shows up again.”

  “Will do,” Kathy said.

  The door closed behind them and Kathy locked and bolted it.

  “That’s a cold sound,” Anissa commented, and the women headed across the road to The Bay Bar.

  It was early, so the place wasn’t exactly full, and Tori and Anissa took seats at the bar.

  “Where’s your partner in crime?” Paul asked and laughed.

  The ladies didn’t.

  Paul frowned at their lack of enthusiasm. “The usual?”

  “Sure,” Anissa said.

  Paul looked toward the kitchen. “Noreen—the girls are here. At least two of them are.”

  “Coming!”

  Paul drew a beer for Anissa and made Tori’s Margarita, setting a couple of Genesee Beer coasters before them and plopping down their drinks.

  “Thanks,” Tori said.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Anissa echoed, but neither was quick to pick up their glasses.

  “Give me a holler if you need anything else,” Paul said and wandered down the bar to watch a rerun of a close-captioned basketball game.

  The jukebox belted out a Faith Hill tune that Tori vaguely recognized—not that she knew enough of the words to sing along—and she stared into the depths of her margarita.

  “Should we drink to something?” Anissa asked.

  “Kathy’s guest room, because boy does it need some goodwill.”

  They clinked glasses just as Noreen pushed through the saloon doors that separated the kitchen from the bar room.

  “Haven’t seen you girls in a couple of days. Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Swans Nest,” Tori said.

  “And where’s Kath?” Noreen asked, grabbing a glass, filled it with ice and, just like always, poured herself ginger ale from the well trigger.

  “She’s at home nursing a stomachache,” Tori said.

  “Aw, that’s too bad. Did she take something for it?”

  Tori shook her head.

  “Gee, and I wanted to ask how she made out with her first guests.”

  Tori and Anissa gave each other sideways glances.

  “Is somethin
g wrong?” Noreen asked.

  “Nothing a grand won’t take care of,” Anissa muttered and took a sip of her beer.

  Noreen’s eyebrows rose. “What happened?”

  “Well, we have no real proof it was them who trashed Kathy’s prettiest room—” Tori said.

  “Except for DNA evidence,” Anissa mumbled.

  “Since we tossed the bloodied towels, washcloths, and semen-stained sheets into the washer, I doubt we even have that, now,” Tori said and shrugged.

  “Blood and—and—?” Noreen stammered.

  “She did take pictures,” Tori volunteered, even though they were virtually useless.

  “I can fix the floor and the walls,” Anissa said.

  “Kath and I are going to paint what we can,” Tori added.

  “It might not be perfect in time for Kathy to open,” Anissa admitted, “but we’ll do our best.”

  “Will insurance pay for it?” Noreen asked, her voice rising just a bit.

  Tori shook her head. “Swans Nest wasn’t officially open.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me about this?” Noreen asked, obviously distressed.

  “It’s not your fault,” Tori said. “Kathy doesn’t blame you.”

  Much.

  “But I sent those people to her,” Noreen said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Kathy tried to track them down, but they gave her bogus information. In fact, the credit card they used was … stolen,” Tori said.

  “Oh, no,” Noreen practically wailed.

  Tori looked away. She wanted to be angry—or at least annoyed with Noreen, but seeing how upset she was at learning Kathy’s troubles, she felt vexed at causing the poor woman’s angst.

  “I’ve got to make this right.” Without another word, Noreen plunked down her glass. “I’m going to call the guest who said they could vouch for those deadbeats and if they won’t come clean, then they will be banned from the bar forever.” And with that, she marched back into the kitchen.

  Tori turned to Anissa. “Do you think she can get them to cough up the vandals’ real names?”

  “Not a chance.”

  Tori took a sip from her salt-rimmed glass and hoped Anissa was wrong.

  Anissa looked toward the doors to the kitchen. “Um, seeing as how Noreen didn’t take the news all that well, do you think she’s up to cooking us a couple of burgers?”

  Tori frowned. “Maybe not.”

  Anissa’s stomach growled. “Think we can bum some pretzels off Paul until we find out?”

  “We can but ask.”

  Anissa raised a hand and got Paul’s attention. He sauntered back down the bar.

  “What can I get you, ladies?”

  “Got any pretzels or chips?”

  He shook his head. “Ran out last night. My distributor shows up on Thursday to restock.”

  Anissa shrugged, and her stomach growled loudly once more.

  “Where’s Noreen?” Paul asked.

  “I think she went to make a call,” Tori said innocently.

  Paul shrugged and meandered back down the bar to watch the tube.

  “Maybe we should drink up and go somewhere else.”

  “There’s always McDonald’s,” Tori agreed, and that’s where they ended up. They ate in and ordered a burger and fries to go for Kathy.

  When they returned to the Cannon Compound, a not-too-pleased Kathy was waiting for them in the kitchen and seemed itching for a fight.

  “After you left the bar, I got a call from Noreen. You told her?” she accused.

  “Well, she asked about you and—”

  “You lied, telling her I had a stomachache.”

  “Well, it wasn’t far from the truth. Here,” Tori said, brandishing the bag. “Peace offering?”

  Kathy grimaced but took the bag from her. She unwrapped the burger and placed it and the fries on a plate then set the microwave for thirty-five seconds.

  “What else did Noreen tell you?” Anissa asked.

  “That she wasn’t yet able to contact her guests to find out about the vandals, but said she wouldn’t rest until she made things right. I believe her.”

  “Does that mean Anissa and I are off the hook?” Tori asked.

  The microwave gave a beep, beep, beep, and Kathy retrieved her dinner. “Only because I’m starved.”

  Tori and Anissa exchanged guilty looks. It was Anissa who broke the quiet.

  “I need to go home and check my landline’s answering machine to see if anyone needs my services.” Since cell towers weren’t always nearby in rural New York, and coverage was spotty, Anissa didn’t use her cell phone as her main means of communication with her customers.

  “Okay,” Kathy said, taking out her dinner plate and then settling at her usual spot at the kitchen table. “Come on by for breakfast tomorrow and then we’ll all head over to my inn.”

  “Will do,” Anissa said. “See ya!”

  “Bye,” Tori said as their friend headed out the door. Kathy’s mouth was full so she merely waved.

  Tori locked and bolted the door after the contractor. She faced her friend. “I hope I get some gainful employment tomorrow, but if not—I’m at your beck and call.”

  Kathy swallowed before answering. “And I thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Kathy sprinkled a small pile of salt onto her plate and then dipped a French fry into it. “But if we can’t paint, I’m not sure I have anything for you to do.”

  “Then I’ll put out my Open flag and hope I get a few bait customers.”

  Kathy nodded and took another bite of her burger, chewing but obviously not enjoying the taste sensation.

  Tori looked away, feeling dispirited. If the school district didn’t call and Kathy couldn’t use her, she would open the bait shop. But sitting in the barely warm concrete block building during April was not enticing. Tori still had work to do on Anissa’s website and she could play with that if she brought her laptop into the shop. She would rather play house at Kathy’s B and B than suffer chilblains in her toes. And the truth was, they needed the money from her substitute teaching to keep afloat.

  Until Swans Nest opened and until the weather warmed, and fishermen and women returned in droves, they needed the income.

  It felt awful to be so desperate.

  10

  The phone hadn’t rung before six, so when Tori awoke and looked at the red numerals on her bedside clock that read 6:02, she knew that she would not be gainfully employed for yet another day.

  Hauling herself out of bed, she shuffled into the kitchen to put the kettle on for a pot of tea. Kathy would be up soon, too, so she also got a pot of coffee going. And, of course, as soon as the cats heard her stir, they’d assembled in the kitchen near their food bowls, patiently waiting for their next handout, which often would not meet their demanding expectations.

  “You could at least try the food I give you every morning,” she said tersely. The cats merely looked at her with practiced disdain.

  Sure enough, all three cats sniffed the gourmet tuna and egg medley, turned up their noses, and walked away. And yet, by the time dinnertime rolled around—when it was Kathy’s turn to feed the pride—the bowls would be licked clean.

  The kitchen seemed barren and lonely on that cold spring day, so Tori hit the on switch on the battered old radio her grandfather had left behind when he’d moved to the Sunshine State. It was tuned to the local soft rock station in Rochester, which played a mix of contemporary tunes and oldies from the 1990s to present day. Except…they seemed to be in love with, and played on an almost excessive basis—a tune that was almost ready to collect Social Security—“Brown Eyed Girl.” Who even knew what the heck the mentioned transistor radio even was—and yet it was supposed to be a “contemporary” tune?

  The coffeemaker and kettle seemed to race to see which would finish first, and that day it was the hot water, so Tori made her pot of tea.

  With her pink bathrobe cord knotted at her waist, Kathy sta
ggered into the kitchen with classic bedhead, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Did they call?”

  “No,” Tori said wistfully. “I guess none of the Ward County teachers are under the weather today.”

  Kathy frowned, then looked in the direction of the radio with its crappy little speakers. “Not ‘Brown Eyed Girl’ again.”

  “I swear, they have it in rotation at least every two hours,” Tori declared. “What do you want for breakfast?”

  “I’ll find something in the freezer,” Kathy said. And why not? It was stocked full of her baking experiments. She’d been testing recipes for months. There was no way the two of them could eat all that bounty, so she’d been sharing her culinary efforts with Anissa and the Darcys, too. Available on any given day were muffins, scones, cupcakes, and cookies to choose from. On that morning, Kathy retrieved two plastic-bagged muffins. “Is lemon poppy seed okay with you?”

  “Always,” Tori said and poured coffee into Kathy’s favorite mug. She would wait a few minutes for the tea to steep before she poured it into a mug for herself.

  Kathy plunked down at the kitchen table and accepted her coffee with thanks. Tori picked her favorite mug—Johnson Brothers Rose Chintz—as a reporter from one of the local TV stations, who moonlighted mornings, came on to share the weather and road report. Sometimes they gave a recap of the latest local news, too. So, after finding out that the next few days would be fair, and that there was a slowdown on Route 590, the reporter turned to the news of the day.

  “And the body recovered last week on Lotus Bay has been positively identified as Charles Mark—a man who was reported missing almost twenty-five years ago. But in a bizarre twist, he was also known as Mark Charles, a Ward County resident who lived on Lotus Bay. It’s a strange turn of events. Why did this man disappear two and a half decades before, only to reappear with a similar name? The Ward County Sheriff’s Department hasn’t indicated his death was suspicious.”

  Tori turned down the sound. “Well, that’s good,” she said then frowned. “But doesn’t it seem odd that someone would leave the area under unusual circumstances, and reappear years later using a different, but similar name?”