by Mary Logue
“What? Is it a secret that it’s my birthday? Is it a secret that you always make me a German Chocolate cake?” Meg walked up to the frosting bowl and stuck her finger into the coconutty goop. He swatted at her, but she just danced away and laughed. “Where’s my mom?”
“She hasn’t called, but I expect her any moment. She promised she’d be here by six. What about Curt?”
“He’s coming. He said he had to milk the cows first so he might be a little later than that.”
“I can’t believe you’re sixteen years old.”
Meg could easily believe she was sixteen. She had been waiting to be that age forever. Now she could finally get her driver’s license. Living out in the sticks, that meant freedom. “You know what, Rich?”
“What?”
“You’ve known me half my life.” What she didn’t add was—longer than my real dad knew me. Meg’s father had died when she was six. She met Rich two years later when he started dating her mother. She guessed he was still courting Claire since, although they all lived together, Rich and Claire had not married. Which was cool with her. But sometimes she did wish Rich was her father.
“And you’ve known me almost a fifth of my life.”
“Hey, what did you get me for my birthday?” Meg teased. “Maybe a car? That’s what most kids get.”
“Yup. You know the old pickup truck next to the barn?”
Meg knew the truck well. She had learned to drive the fields in that vehicle.
“That’s yours, if you want it.”
“Nice try. I know you’ve been trying to get someone to tow it away. That thing doesn’t go above twenty miles an hour.”
“Perfect. That’s why I’m giving it to you. No reason to go faster than that,” Rich said.
Meg gave him a gentle pummeling on his arm to show him she knew he was kidding. “Do you think Mom’s getting me a car, a real car?”
Rich started to pour the coconut frosting on the dark cake, then stopped mid-stream to answer her question. “I think the chances of that are slimmer than the lake freezing over this afternoon.”
“Right, Rich. Why don’t I ever get what I really want?”
“We all wonder that.” Rich chuckled.
A pounding sounded from the front door and both Meg and Rich turned to see who would walk in. Curt Hedberg nudged the door open with his foot, a huge bouquet of nodding sunflowers filling his arms. His dark hair fell over his face until he swung it back, then his smile bloomed and his eyes locked onto hers. Whenever she saw him, something opened in her heart. It just did. And then there he was—with more flowers than she knew what to do with.
“Happy sweet sixteen,” Curt said, presenting her with the bouquet. “I picked them myself.”
“Thank you, Curt. They’re fantastic,” Meg said, trying not
to get pricked by the raspy stems. She wished her mom was here to help her arrange the flowers. She put them carefully in the sink and filled it up with water to keep them wet while she found a vase.
Meg wanted her party to start right now, presents and all. “Where’s Mom? It’s way after six. Why isn’t she here?”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be here any minute.” Rich put the finishing touches on the frosting.
Meg was amazed at how Rich always thought the best of her mom, even if she was late a million times. “What if something comes up at work? As usual. Or what if she totally forgot?”
“Nothing would keep her from your sixteenth birthday party.” Just then Rich looked out the picture window toward the lake and saw the new water patrol boat from Lake City steaming downriver and wondered who they were rescuing.
* * *
“I hate water,” Bill Peterson said, sitting in a protective Gumby suit, scowling down at the murky surface.
Claire didn’t dare laugh at the sight he made in the flame-red rubber suit, which did not complement his pale-pink skin and startling blue-green eyes. He looked like a six-foot-tall lobster.
Nor was she going to remind him that he didn’t really need to wear the Gumby suit, which was more typically used in cold water. But it was the only way Bill would get in the water, especially with a dead man floating in it.
“So I’ve heard. I’ll tie you to the boat,” Claire said. “You won’t drown. It’ll be fine.”
None of the farm boys in the deputy sheriff’s office liked water. Knowing how much he disliked swimming, she had considered doing the job herself, but Bill was nearly twice as big as she was and certainly more than twice as strong. He would have to do most of the heavy lifting from the water.
Before Bill slid into the lake, Claire took a few photos, making herself look directly at the naked, severely bloated body.
The man had red hair. Other than that, he was so swollen with decomposition gasses that she had no sense of what he might have looked like, or even what size he might have been before his watery immersion. He resembled a bleached and obese fish. His face was spongy and distended, the folds of the eyelids so puffy that the eyes disappeared completely. His nose looked as if it had been chewed on. His lips were maroon and enormous, like two leeches attached to his face.
She didn’t think he was anyone she knew. She sincerely hoped not. But in his present condition it was hard to tell.
A ragged hole had torn open his lower belly; the wound was now puckered around the edges. Claire saw a faded tattoo on his upper arm. That would be a huge help in identification. Especially since she could see no way the naked man could have any other form of identification on him. They’d take his fingerprints, but no guarantee they’d be on file.
Claire pointed out the wound. “Gunshot, wouldn’t you say?”
Bill shrugged, then stated, “Could have been a snapping turtle. There’s some really big ones, size of a garbage can lid.”
“Snapping turtles. That’s a good one. I guess the questions are what’s he doing in the water and why is his belly ripped open, however it happened?”
“Got me. He might have floated a long ways—maybe even from the Cities. Some dangerous things go on up there.”
“I wonder.” Claire chewed on her lip. “Seems too far. I’m guessing he was dumped in the lake not too much upstream from here. The current just isn’t that strong in this part of the lake. How many days dead do you think he is?”
“I skipped that class in forensics, but I’d guess a week at the most. He still looks human.”
“An inflated human,” Claire said. “Okay, Bill, enough stalling. Do you want me to give you a hand?”
With her gentle threat, Bill slowly lowered himself over the side of the boat. He clung to the edge, not wanting to let go, she guessed. She desperately wished that they had more help, but as Bill had said earlier, they’d just have to punt. There was no crime scene to protect so they might as well bring the body in themselves.
After the Pierce County deputies had realized it wasn’t their body, they made a quick getaway. Then an inopportune call had taken the Lake City water patrol boat away to rescue some fishermen who had capsized. That left just Claire and Bill to manage lifting the body into their boat.
Bill wrapped a rope around the body, then tied a couple knots in it. When a gentle wave came along, he got a splash of water in his face. Claire could tell by the tightness in his face how much he hated being in the lake.
She gently pulled on the rope attached to the floater and snugged him up next to the back of the boat. What they were about to attempt to do seemed impossible—the body was literally
dead weight and she wasn’t sure how they were going to leverage it into the boat without tipping the whole thing over.
The boat did waver once or twice, but the whole maneuver went much more smoothly than she could have hoped: She pulled, Bill pushed and the body slid over the gunwhale and flopped into the bottom of the launch between the motor and the next seat. The sight of the engorged body up close was bad but the smell was much worse, enveloping her in a rank odor that made her gag.
Bill got
to the ladder and clambered up it. “Holy Jesus! Let’s get moving so we leave that stench behind.”
Claire was staring at the end of the red-haired man’s legs. “Look at that, Bill. What the hell happened to his ankle? It looks like it’s been shredded or chewed on by something.”
After pulling off the red hood of his Gumby suit, Bill looked where she was pointing. He stared at the marking around the ankle of the floating man’s leg. “Really hungry snapping turtle?” he suggested.
Claire wasn’t sure if it was the second mention of the snapping turtle—one of the world’s ugliest creatures—the chewed-on leg, the intensely hot day, or the putrid smell, but all of sudden everything inside her was pushing out. She managed to get her head over the side of the boat before she threw up.
Bill watched her, then said just one word. “Chum.”
Read more of Point No Point
Tyrus Books, a division of F+W Media, publishes crime and dark literary fiction—offering books from exciting new voices and established, well-loved authors. Centering on deeply provocative and universal human experiences, Tyrus Books is a leader in its genre.
tyrusbooks.com
Published in Electronic Format by
TYRUS BOOKS
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
4700 East Galbraith Road
Cincinnati, Ohio 45236
www.tyrusbooks.com
Copyright © 2007 by Mary Logue
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction.
Any similarities to people or places, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-3251-6
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-3251-1
This work has been previously published in print format by:
Bleak House Books,
a division of Big Earth Publishing
Print ISBN: 978-1932557596
