by Roxe Anne
FATAL CATCH
By Roxe Anne Peacock
Published by
ROXE ANNE PEACOCK
2012 Kelly Road
Caledonia, Il 61011
www.roxeannepeacock.com
Copyright @ 2011 by Roxe Anne Peacock
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of the copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.
No Part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover Artist: Heather G. Land
Editors: Heather G. Land and Cecile Kahr
Smashwords Edition
ROXE ANNE PEACOCK
www.roxeannepeacock.com
Contents
Dedication | Acknowledgments
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three
About the Author | Also from Roxe Anne Peacock: LEAVE NO TRACE
This book is in memory of my wonderful mother Dorothy, brother Maynard and Aunt Viola.
A special thanks to my sisters Kris and Nancy.
Acknowledgments
Endless appreciation goes to my talented, patient co-editors, Heather G. Land and Cecile Kahr.
A special thanks to my wonderful daughter and cover artist, Heather G. Land for the perfect book cover.
And a huge thanks to my friends, Eleonora di Liscia, Susie Curtiss, and Linda Bloom for their support in my writing.
Chapter One
On June 12, 1963 we are sitting in the living room waiting up for Daddy when someone knocks on our door at two in the morning. Mama peers out the door window to see who is at our door at this late hour. Daddy never knocks.
A police car is in our driveway and the Chief of Police, Riley Bennett is standing at our door. Mama opens the door a crack and she tells him she doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say; especially about Daddy who hasn’t returned home.
Chief Riley tells us kids we best go to our rooms so he can have a word alone with Mama, but we aren’t leaving her alone.
The Chief makes Mama sit in a chair and gently reaches for her hand. “Dot,” he says. Her real name is Dody Canfield, but everyone around these parts calls her Dot.
“Dot…Daniel’s car smashed into a telephone pole by the old swing bridge. He died instantly. There are skid marks, but no one seems to have witnessed the accident. I’m sorry.”
Mama stood to walk the Chief to the door. I guess her feet couldn’t hold her up under all the pressure. She just collapses into Chief Riley’s arms. It isn’t long before the Chief comes around to comfort Mama every day. She says we can just call the Chief, Uncle Riley.
Mama might be petite and only weigh 95 pounds soaking wet, but she can out-fish almost everyone around Grand Detour, Illinois. When Daddy mysteriously died in that car crash leaving her to raise us three kids by herself, fishing becomes a necessity.
Since Daddy’s death, my little brother Billie, who just turned nine, always looks sad. He had been Daddy’s little man. At first, Mama takes him fishing as much as she can to cheer him up, then she gets too busy with entertaining Uncle Riley.
Billie has short dishwater blond hair with a cowlick in the front. His ears stick out like Dumbo’s so Mama tapes them to his head. Billie does a lot of fussing about the tape. He says it pulls his hair. When Mama isn’t looking, he takes the tape off right quick. It doesn’t seem to help much anyway.
• • •
Today is July 10, 1964 and hotter than the blazes. We are too poor to have air conditioning. We only have one squeaky old fan and it is in Mama’s bedroom. She says it’s hotter in her bedroom than any of the other rooms, so she needs it more. Us kids’ bedrooms are upstairs, and it is hotter than the devil up there.
Uncle Riley hasn’t been coming around much anymore. Mama told him she needs some time alone with us. She really doesn’t spend much time alone; she spends it with another new uncle, Frank Billings. This time our new uncle looks a little older and the top of his head is as shiny as a new bowling ball. It looks like he doesn’t get much exercise either since his stomach hangs over his belt. His eyes bug out so much they make him look like a goldfish I once saw in a Dime store. And he has the biggest lips I ever did see. They remind me of the candy wax ones I purchase at Halloween. I don’t know what Mama sees in him. I liked Uncle Riley much better even if Mama spent more time with him than us kids.
“Missy, why don’t you take Billie to the river and let him fish?” Mama winks at our new uncle just before she gives him a big smooch on his big fat lips. “I won’t have time today. Katie can’t take him fishing; she has to babysit the neighbor’s kids.”
If Mama knew the real reason my sister Katie likes babysitting, she would put a stop to it right quick. Ever since Katie turned sixteen, Billie and I are the last people she wants to spend time with. She is too busy kissing her boyfriend, Charlie Goodman.
My name is Missy Canfield and at barely thirteen, I feel more like Billie’s Mama than his sister. Mama spends all her time on our new uncle’s lap; in Daddy’s favorite red velvet chair of all places. She just sits on his lap kissing him until their faces are as chapped as my hands after throwing snowballs in the wintertime.
“Missy, did you hear what I asked you?”
“I heard! You know I don’t like taking those fish off the hook by myself.”
“Take some pliers with or just cut the line. And, Missy, stay gone until supper.”
• • •
It seems like it is taking us forever to walk the eight blocks to the river in this heat. With Mama lecturing me, I forgot to pack some Kool-Aid to drink and we don’t dare go back home now.
The heat never seems to bother Billie. He just keeps on skipping down the road; picking up a few rocks here and there to throw.
I like to fish, but I hate putting those darn worms on the hook. They smell awful and just keep on wiggling off the hook as fast as I get them on.
Mama got a staph infection once from getting stuck by a catfish fin. She couldn’t work for a week. The doctor said, “Dot, if you aren’t careful with them fish, the next time you might lose your hand.” I’ve been afraid of getting horned by those fish ever since.
• • •
The Rock River looks like an oil painting today. It gives me such a peaceful feeling hearing the river current rushing against the dock, frogs croaking, and meadow larks warbling in the distance. I’m glad this is one of Billie’s favorite places to fish, if I have to take him fishing.
“Missy, can we fish by the boats tied to the dock?” he asks, pointing down the hill.
“I suppose,” I reply.
“Oh boy…thanks!”
“Promise me you won’t fall in, Mama will kill us if we come home all muddy and wet.” Mumbling, I continue. “She should be taking you fishing instead of sitting in Daddy’s chair kissing Uncle Frank.”
“Did you say something, Missy?”
“Forget i
t. It wasn’t important.”
The water looks inviting. Sweat is dripping off my blonde hair forming ringlets and seeping under my blue, pointy rimmed frames causing my eyes to sting. Mama says my eyes are the color of Daddy’s. I’m happy about my eyes, but I sure wish I hadn’t inherited Daddy’s pale skin. The rest of my family is sure lucky. They are as tan as the new rawhide purse Uncle Frank purchased for Mama.
I set Billie’s pole and tackle box down on the steaming hot dock. I can’t get my shoes off fast enough. The gentle waves smacking my feet in the cool, murky river water is sure going to feel good. I just hope nothing nibbles on my toes thinking they are bait. Crabs, minnows, and bluegill hang out around the dock and boats. And since someone left their boat tied to this dock, there might be more than usual.
It’s fun sitting on the dock, but I’d rather be sitting in the shade under a weeping willow tree reading a good book instead of baiting Billie’s hook every five minutes. He can’t seem to keep his pole in the water long enough to catch a nibble.
I bait Billie’s hook with a big, fat, slimy night crawler. It sure wiggles as I push it further on the hook. Something smells real bad, too. It smells like someone left a bunch of dead fish on the river bank to smolder in the hot sun for days. The flies seem to be biting worse than normal, and there seems to be twice as many.
“Missy, how come I haven’t had any nibbles? We’ve been here a real long time. Do you have any vanilla to put on my worm? Mama says vanilla is her secret for catching a lot of fish. She says fish can smell the vanilla a mile away.”
“No, Billie, I think the only person in the world who carries vanilla while fishing is Mama. For goodness sake, don’t keep reeling your pole in and throwing it back out. You’re never going to catch a fish! Be patient for once and stop rocking this dock, you’re making me dizzy. The fish can hear everything going on and you are going to scare their tails right off of them. The fish are probably half baked by now. I know I am.”
Not a sound can be heard except for Billie’s complaining. Our town doesn’t have much traffic, and there isn’t anyone else around except for the occasional boat passing by. I begin fanning myself with my hands in hopes of catching some of the breeze which occasionally blows our way. It is too hot today for a fire-breathing dragon.
Billie reels his pole in just as a pontoon boat passes by on the opposite side of the river bank.
“Missy, Missy, I’ve got a fish. It’s a big one. It must be a whale! Please help me reel it in. I don’t think I can get it in by myself. It’s too big. It doesn’t seem to be moving at all. I don’t want to lose my fish. It is the biggest fish anyone’s probably caught in their whole life!” Billie shouts with excitement. “It’s Old Moe, the granddaddy of all fish! Won’t Mama be surprised if I catch her Old Moe?”
Old Moe is a legend around these parts of the country. Everyone has seen Old Moe at one time or another. The person who catches Old Moe is going to be the luckiest person in the world. Old Moe is actually a twenty or twenty-five pound carp that almost everyone in our county has provided a snack to. He just takes a small bite off your bait, and then jumps out of the water to see who is teasing him. Some of the old-time fishermen are going to be really disappointed if Billie does have him on his hook and lands him. Mama, of course, will be real proud of her little man. Daddy would be proud if he were alive, too. Mama will be able to go to the bars and brag about Billie outdoing fishermen around these parts for miles. She might even give them her special grin and wink like she always does. I’ve seen her give it to our new uncles enough.
“Billie, hand me your pole fast, and keep reeling in as you do! We don’t want to lose this fish now, do we?” I am secretly hoping to land Old Moe myself.
Billie hands me his pole just as I instructed. I can tell he has something really big on the end of his line. If it isn’t Old Moe, it might just be an old log under the mud. I can feel whatever it is move once in a while, but I can’t see it. I’ve been trying to land Billie’s fish for at least twenty minutes. Bubbles are beginning to come up from the bottom of the river. Sweat is dripping down my face once again causing my eyes to sting. The heat must be causing me to hallucinate. I have to be brave for my little brother’s sake. My legs buckle. From the look on Billie’s face; he must see what is in the water, too.
Billie points to the end of his line and screams. “Missy, that’s no fish. It looks like a…a…don’t reel it in. I want to go home! Let’s run, Missy. Please?”
“No, Billie, we have to see what is at the other end of this hook.”
The bubbles steadily are getting larger. The more I reel in, I can see something coming to the surface of the murky water. “Maybe it’s our reflection,” I tell Billie.
“Uh, I don’t think it looks like me.”
The closer the object comes to the surface, I see what resembles a man’s face; his eyes wide open and staring at us. It looks like a night crawler someone left on their hook for days and kept in the water for just as long; all swollen, no color, and pure white. My stomach is churning, and my mouth is producing way too much saliva. I hope I don’t throw up all over this dock and in the water with the corpse.
“Missy, what are we going to do? We’re going to go to jail. We killed him! We killed him right here at this very dock. Just like the bird you killed last year fishing!” Billie says matter of fact.
“Billie, calm down. We didn’t kill anyone! Let me think for a minute.” I sit on the dock holding Billie’s fishing line tight. “Maybe he isn’t dead. Maybe he’s just hurt. And if we get help real fast, he’ll be okay. We have to tell someone. We aren’t going to jail. I promise!
“I’m not sure who we are going to tell.” I suspect Mama wants more alone time with Uncle Frank. Katie is babysitting. It wouldn’t be good for little kids to see the gruesome face in the river. Everyone we know with a telephone lives too far. I don’t know who I’m afraid of more, the lifeless body in the water or Mama.
“I’m scared!”
“I know…I know!”
Our small town doesn’t have a real fire station. The nearest police station is over in Dixon. The little grocery store, Candy’s General Store, is about a mile away from where we are fishing. It has the only pay phone in town except for the bars, and we aren’t allowed in them anyway except with Mama. And we don’t have any money with us.
“Billie, run to the fire station and tell the firemen to come to the dock down the hill by the willow tree. And, Billie, tell them a man is drowning in the river!”
“What if they don’t believe me? I’m just a little kid,” he cries.
“Just tell them I’m at the dock waiting.”
I watch him run as fast as his little feet can take him. I sure hope he watches for cars if any come down the road. I am supposed to be babysitting him and not let him out of my sight. I hope Mama understands.
• • •
My arms are getting tired from holding on to Billie’s fishing pole so tightly in fear of losing the man forever. It seems like a lifetime since Billie went for help. Finally, I can hear sirens coming from all directions. I have never heard a better sound.
A fireman runs down the hill to the dock toward me. He quickly looks the situation over. “Young lady, show me what you and your brother have found.”
“I’m Missy, sir, and Billie and I were just fishing on the dock when he thought he had the biggest fish ever on his line. I tried helping him reel his fish in. The more I reeled and tugged on the line, the more we could tell we didn’t have a fish. We saw an outline of what seems to be a man’s face. He is out there at the end of this fishing line, sir!” I proceed to pull the fishing line even tighter so the fireman can see exactly what is under the water.
Billie begins crying hysterically. “We didn’t do anything, sir. Please don’t arrest us. We didn’t kill anyone. Honest!”
In our town, if sirens are heard, everyone tries to figure out where it is going to see who might be injured or deceased. Everyone except Mama, she i
s usually too busy entertaining our new uncle.
The fireman wades in the water looking the situation over. I think he is trying to see if the man might still be alive. Police and firemen keep running down the hill to the river with a stretcher and other medical equipment. I don’t think it’s going to help the man.
A fireman came and told us to go up the hill and wait until someone questions us. We did as we were told. We didn’t want to see the man’s ghastly face ever again. I know I am going to have nightmares. There won’t be enough covers to hide my head under.
Billie and I wait for what seems like hours before they bring the body up from the river. One of the man’s hands looks all swollen and white. He has a ring on his left hand. The ring looks so tight it looks like it might cut the dead man’s finger right off. The coroner, Ned Baily, covers the body with a white sheet. Thank goodness!
The police tell everyone to stay back. They are treating the area as a crime scene until an autopsy can be performed.
Billie and I inch closer to hear what the coroner whispers to Uncle Riley. He doesn’t do a very good job. He sounds like Billie when he tells secrets.
“Riley, it looks like someone struck the corpse with something hard on his right temple as he was preparing his boat for fishing. This oar has blood on it, and the dead man’s boat has dried up bait lying on the bottom by his fishing poles. Nothing seems to be missing. We can rule out robbery.”
“Ned, a woman reported her fiancé missing three days ago. The corpse fits the woman’s description. If this is the same person, his name is Henry McDougall, a forty-two year-old who owns a hardware store in Dixon. Mr. McDougall looks to be the approximate age and had been wearing the exact gold Celtic ring as the deceased has on.”
