fishing gear and set off for Doc Lake.
Fourteen
Fishing for Trouble
It took me fifteen minutes or more to walk there. I was just strolling along, taking my time and thinking about my investigation.
When I got to Doc Lake, I found a nice shady spot where I baited my hook and cast off. I hadn’t been fishing for ten minutes when I heard a car pull up in the gravel parking lot next to the lake. It was Mr. Clem, driving a yellow Cadillac convertible.
“So this is the famous Doc Lake,” he yelled in my direction as he got out of the car.
I suddenly felt embarrassed for my town and our sorry excuse for a lake.
“It’s not much to look at,” I hollered back. Then I turned my head and spit out the piece of grass I’dbeen chewing. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete hick.
“On the contrary,” said Clem, smiling widely. “I’d say it’s the perfect fishing spot.”
He was walking toward me, stepping carefully to avoid getting his dress shoes dirty. He held his hands in his pockets. I could hear coins jingling as he got closer.
“Hope you don’t mind me joining you,” he said. “I couldn’t resist driving out here after my noon-day meal.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “You want to, um, borrow my fishing pole?”
He laughed. “You’re generous to offer. Maybe another time. I really just wanted to see what the drive out here was like. Dare I tell you how easily I can imagine a horse-drawn carriage on Highway E, bringing you and a handful of friends out here to fish?”
“Or swim!” I added enthusiastically. I was getting in the spirit of this horse-and-buggy idea.
Clem’s eyes flashed. “Swim? Is there a lifeguard here? I don’t see a lifeguard stand.”
“There isn’t one,” I admitted. “We’re really not supposed to swim here. See?” I pointed with my pole to the wooden sign attached to a buoy in the lake. The faded letters said:
ABSOLUTELY NO SWIMMING ALLOWED NO EXCEPTIONS!
“Oh,” he said, squinting at the sign. “I’m assuming that’s strictly enforced.”
For some reason I couldn’t remember what the word enforced meant. My brain got tangled up when I was nervous. And here I was talking to a cremator!
“Most kids don’t swim here on account of it being so muddy,” I said. “But sometimes on really hot days, you can’t help yourself.”
Clem shook his head and sighed sadly. “More children die every year in swimming accidents than you can imagine. A lot of them at places just like this. If you’d seen what I’ve seen in my business, you’d think twice about swimming in a lake.”
My heart started thumping fast, like it did the night before when I saw him from my bedroom window. “Tell me,” I said. “About the stuff you’ve seen.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” he said, looking at the sky.
“No, really,” I insisted. “I can handle it. Practically my whole family died last fall. It wasn’t a swimming accident, but…it doesn’t matter. They’re dead. I can take it. Just tell me, please.”
Slowly and with what I interpreted as grave reluctance, he began a formal recitation.
“Necks broken after diving into shallow water. I had several of those in Illinois.”
“Go on,” I said softly.
“A girl trapped under a canoe. Her friends thought she was hiding from them when, in fact, she was drowning. They were teenagers, drinking beer and roughhousing.”
“More,” I whispered.
“A young boy swinging from a rope into a lake accidentally strangled himself.” He stopped. “I shouldn’t be telling you these things.”
“It’s fine,” I said. And I meant it. This was exactly the stuff I needed for my investigation. Plus, I’ll admit that it was strangely comforting to meet someone who knew more about death than I did. To me it was still a waxy mystery.
“I hope I haven’t upset you,” he said.
“Nah,” I said, acting cool as a cucumber. “Besides, I don’t really even like swimming here, anyway. My brother did, but I don’t.
Fourteen
Fishing for Trouble
It took me fifteen minutes or more to walk there. I was just strolling along, taking my time and thinking about my investigation.
When I got to Doc Lake, I found a nice shady spot where I baited my hook and cast off. I hadn’t been fishing for ten minutes when I heard a car pull up in the gravel parking lot next to the lake. It was Mr. Clem, driving a yellow Cadillac convertible.
“So this is the famous Doc Lake,” he yelled in my direction as he got out of the car.
I suddenly felt embarrassed for my town and our sorry excuse for a lake.
“It’s not much to look at,” I hollered back. Then I turned my head and spit out the piece of grass I’dbeen chewing. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete hick.
“On the contrary,” said Clem, smiling widely. “I’d say it’s the perfect fishing spot.”
He was walking toward me, stepping carefully to avoid getting his dress shoes dirty. He held his hands in his pockets. I could hear coins jingling as he got closer.
“Hope you don’t mind me joining you,” he said. “I couldn’t resist driving out here after my noon-day meal.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “You want to, um, borrow my fishing pole?”
He laughed. “You’re generous to offer. Maybe another time. I really just wanted to see what the drive out here was like. Dare I tell you how easily I can imagine a horse-drawn carriage on Highway E, bringing you and a handful of friends out here to fish?”
“Or swim!” I added enthusiastically. I was getting in the spirit of this horse-and-buggy idea.
Clem’s eyes flashed. “Swim? Is there a lifeguard here? I don’t see a lifeguard stand.”
“There isn’t one,” I admitted. “We’re really not supposed to swim here. See?” I pointed with my pole to the wooden sign attached to a buoy in the lake. The faded letters said:
ABSOLUTELY NO SWIMMING ALLOWED NO EXCEPTIONS!
“Oh,” he said, squinting at the sign. “I’m assuming that’s strictly enforced.”
For some reason I couldn’t remember what the word enforced meant. My brain got tangled up when I was nervous. And here I was talking to a cremator!
“Most kids don’t swim here on account of it being so muddy,” I said. “But sometimes on really hot days, you can’t help yourself.”
Clem shook his head and sighed sadly. “More children die every year in swimming accidents than you can imagine. A lot of them at places just like this. If you’d seen what I’ve seen in my business, you’d think twice about swimming in a lake.”
My heart started thumping fast, like it did the night before when I saw him from my bedroom window. “Tell me,” I said. “About the stuff you’ve seen.”
“Oh, I can’t do that,” he said, looking at the sky.
“No, really,” I insisted. “I can handle it. Practically my whole family died last fall. It wasn’t a swimming accident, but…it doesn’t matter. They’re dead. I can take it. Just tell me, please.”
Slowly and with what I interpreted as grave reluctance, he began a formal recitation.
“Necks broken after diving into shallow water. I had several of those in Illinois.”
“Go on,” I said softly.
“A girl trapped under a canoe. Her friends thought she was hiding from them when, in fact, she was drowning. They were teenagers, drinking beer and roughhousing.”
“More,” I whispered.
“A young boy swinging from a rope into a lake accidentally strangled himself.” He stopped. “I shouldn’t be telling you these things.”
“It’s fine,” I said. And I meant it. This was exactly the stuff I needed for my investigation. Plus, I’ll admit that it was strangely comforting to meet someone who knew more about death than I did. To me it was still a waxy mystery.
“I hope I haven’t upset you,” he said.
“Nah,” I said, acting cool as a cucumber. “Besides, I don’t really even like swimming here, anyway. My brother did, but I don’t.
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