the drag of the water. Floating between his legs, four inches under the clear ice, was a manâs face, bloated, nibbled on, and staring up at him.
The cigarette fell from the corner of his mouth. âJesus, Mary, and Joseph.â
If they only had fishing contests classed by weight and werenât too picky about the catch having gills or fins, Wayne Clarke would have won that morning. He dropped his fishing pole and ran for shore.
So much for Our Lady of the Lake Sunday prayers.
Eleven
Megan woke to the smell of the automatic coffee maker, as well as a quick reminder of her late-night discovery when dog-with-no-name donkey kicked her in the back. He released an exasperating yawn and proceeded to climb over her to jump off the bed.
I wonder if the villa in Mexico is still available.
Two beeps from the kitchen signaled the brewing of the first of many morning coffee jolts was complete. She put on some warm clothes and poured her cup while calling the Macks to let them know about her newfound discovery in their yard. Much to her chagrin, they told her they were huge animal lovers and it wasnât a problem at all to shelter the dog for a while. They added that old dog food, leashes, and pet beds from their own pets still remained in the basement.
Of course they did.
Megan sat down on the couch with her cup of coffee. Dog, as she decided to generically call him, sat beside her on the floor. Megan loved dogs and usually had one growing up, but pet care wasnât high on her priority list right now. She was not going to get attached. Dog was definitely black Labrador mixed with something perhaps equine in nature, she thought to herself. He had a white chest with white-tipped paws and breath that reminded her of crime scenes featuring week-old bodies.
âYou hit the lottery, Dog, until I find your proper owners.â
His ears popped up and he bolted to the bay window. A slow deep growl emerged, and he began to paw at the glass. His snarl quickly turned into barking. âRight. Bathroom break.â Megan put on her coat and opened the sliding glass door. Dog bolted out now in full steam down the stairs into the fenced yard.
When Megan walked on to the deck, she saw a far too familiar scene. A few dozen yards away in the cove were policeman, New Jersey troopers, sirens, an ambulance, and a yellow tarp with police tape blowing in the wind.
She closed her eyes, but the images jabbed her memory like an ice pick, tearing her mind apart one more time. Her first scene she was green as a shamrock. Tough as nails on the outside, but terrified to see her first homicide case. It was a stabbing, and never in a million years did she think a human being could hold so much blood. It was obvious the man was dead, but she was told to check his pulse, and that was the first time sheâd touched a dead body. The memory haunted her. Sheâd walked through years of police tape since, not knowing what sheâd find on the other side, but she did it because it was not just her job but her calling. Sheâd thought nothing could be worse than her first case, but her last homicide topped it in every way.
Itâs not a good thing to have your worst fear topped by a bigger nightmare. It makes you want to escape, and Megan thought sheâd done that. Of course her detective brain knew what they were pulling out of the icy water, and it wasnât a bass.
Her coffee had grown as cold as her stomach. âDog! Come!â Much to her surprise, he did. Animals can sense when someone is serious, and there was zero lilt in Meganâs tone. They headed back indoors.
She gave Dog the canine equivalent of a breakfast protein bar: a slice of cold pizza. She went into the basement, found the supplies needed to walk him, and redressed as if she were planning to sign up for the Iditarod.
Before they stepped foot on the driveway, Megan took one last look over at the commotion on the ice in Great Cove. She shook her head.
The cigarette fell from the corner of his mouth. âJesus, Mary, and Joseph.â
If they only had fishing contests classed by weight and werenât too picky about the catch having gills or fins, Wayne Clarke would have won that morning. He dropped his fishing pole and ran for shore.
So much for Our Lady of the Lake Sunday prayers.
Eleven
Megan woke to the smell of the automatic coffee maker, as well as a quick reminder of her late-night discovery when dog-with-no-name donkey kicked her in the back. He released an exasperating yawn and proceeded to climb over her to jump off the bed.
I wonder if the villa in Mexico is still available.
Two beeps from the kitchen signaled the brewing of the first of many morning coffee jolts was complete. She put on some warm clothes and poured her cup while calling the Macks to let them know about her newfound discovery in their yard. Much to her chagrin, they told her they were huge animal lovers and it wasnât a problem at all to shelter the dog for a while. They added that old dog food, leashes, and pet beds from their own pets still remained in the basement.
Of course they did.
Megan sat down on the couch with her cup of coffee. Dog, as she decided to generically call him, sat beside her on the floor. Megan loved dogs and usually had one growing up, but pet care wasnât high on her priority list right now. She was not going to get attached. Dog was definitely black Labrador mixed with something perhaps equine in nature, she thought to herself. He had a white chest with white-tipped paws and breath that reminded her of crime scenes featuring week-old bodies.
âYou hit the lottery, Dog, until I find your proper owners.â
His ears popped up and he bolted to the bay window. A slow deep growl emerged, and he began to paw at the glass. His snarl quickly turned into barking. âRight. Bathroom break.â Megan put on her coat and opened the sliding glass door. Dog bolted out now in full steam down the stairs into the fenced yard.
When Megan walked on to the deck, she saw a far too familiar scene. A few dozen yards away in the cove were policeman, New Jersey troopers, sirens, an ambulance, and a yellow tarp with police tape blowing in the wind.
She closed her eyes, but the images jabbed her memory like an ice pick, tearing her mind apart one more time. Her first scene she was green as a shamrock. Tough as nails on the outside, but terrified to see her first homicide case. It was a stabbing, and never in a million years did she think a human being could hold so much blood. It was obvious the man was dead, but she was told to check his pulse, and that was the first time sheâd touched a dead body. The memory haunted her. Sheâd walked through years of police tape since, not knowing what sheâd find on the other side, but she did it because it was not just her job but her calling. Sheâd thought nothing could be worse than her first case, but her last homicide topped it in every way.
Itâs not a good thing to have your worst fear topped by a bigger nightmare. It makes you want to escape, and Megan thought sheâd done that. Of course her detective brain knew what they were pulling out of the icy water, and it wasnât a bass.
Her coffee had grown as cold as her stomach. âDog! Come!â Much to her surprise, he did. Animals can sense when someone is serious, and there was zero lilt in Meganâs tone. They headed back indoors.
She gave Dog the canine equivalent of a breakfast protein bar: a slice of cold pizza. She went into the basement, found the supplies needed to walk him, and redressed as if she were planning to sign up for the Iditarod.
Before they stepped foot on the driveway, Megan took one last look over at the commotion on the ice in Great Cove. She shook her head.
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