Disrobed for Death (28 page)
Before they entered the bar, a man stepped up to a microphone, and the music stopped.
“I want to thank everyone who’s taking part in this tournament. No, we’re not the Bass Masters, more like the Bream Masters.” The crowd laughed. “We’re here for a good cause and a good time, but remember, safety comes first. When you hear the bell, that’ll be the signal to start your engines or, if you prefer, engage your trolling motors.” He glanced at his watch. “You have fifteen more minutes to register.”
Susan completed her form in a hurry and paid all the fees. While she waited for everyone to finish, she took a good look at her surroundings. The Rusty Nail was new to her, having been built while she was away, but it looked like it was doing a whale of a business. Thousands of business cards covered a bulletin board to the left of the front door, and all denominations of bills were pinned or stapled to the ceiling. Maybe it was a drunk’s interpretation of wallpaper. Susan watched as the bartender stood on a chair and tacked another bill up for a customer.
Morning or not, the bar was crammed with patrons, all slurping down a beer or two. The music and the great smells from the pits seemed to spur them on.
“You gotta’ wet your whistle before you wet your line,” someone shouted.
“I’m way ahead of you,” another one said.
Susan wondered why they called the place The Rusty Nail. She didn’t see anything to suggest that name. Guess whoever named it was kin to A. K.
“The Purple Pickle,” she muttered, and shook her head.
“All aboard,” Debbie shouted.
As she turned to go, Susan couldn’t believe her eyes. Myrtle Thigpen stood erect at the end of the bar. Talk about a fish out of water! This was the last place she would have expected to see her.
“Myrtle?” Susan said, getting her attention. “I don’t see a fishing rod in your hand, so I’m guessing you’re here just to donate to the cause.”
“Then you’d be wrong.”
Her sharp voice cut like a knife, and a scowl dug deep into her face. This was the old Myrtle, the one Susan had fought daily at the Bawdy Boutique. Whatever had riled her, Susan hoped she wouldn’t take out her anger on the boutique again. She had had enough of Myrtle and her pickets.
Debbie, Sheila and A. K. seemed equally surprised to see her.
“You guys go ahead,” Susan said. “I’ll be there in a minute. I want to have a word with Myrtle.”
Everyone nodded and exited the bar, everyone but Wesley.
“You seem so upset,” Susan said in a calm voice, hoping to break the tension.
“What’s the matter, Myrtle?” Wesley asked.
“It’s Lorraine. She didn’t come home last night.”
Susan breathed a sigh of relief, and Wesley responded in kind. It was obvious from the way Lorraine dressed and acted that she and Myrtle were opposites. Susan got the impression Lorraine had an eye for the men. Where better to find them than in a bar. And considering this was Palmetto, Lorraine had few establishments from which to choose. If Myrtle was to have any peace, the two were going to have to work through their differences.
Susan could see there was fear in Myrtle’s eyes, and Wesley must have noticed it, too.
“How long has it been since you two have lived together…eleven…twelve years?” he asked. “I know you’re concerned for her safety, but she’s a grown woman and not used to answering to anyone about her whereabouts. Did she say anything before she left?”
“Only that she was meeting someone for drinks at the Rusty Nail. Yes, my sister and I are not alike, and I don’t know that I can tolerate her lifestyle. I was so happy when she came home, so hoped she had changed. Well, it’s obvious she hasn’t.” Myrtle tossed her head back, showing her I’m-better-than-you attitude. “Well, when she decides to come home, she’s going to get an earful from me.”
With that, Myrtle turned and stormed out of the place.
Sheila stuck her head in the door. “Debbie said to hurry.”
“Sometimes the best fish are caught close to the landing,” Wesley said. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“We really should hurry.” Susan said.
They watched until Myrtle got in her car and drove away.
Wesley shook his head. “I’m afraid Myrtle is in for a rude awakening. Lorraine is about to shake up her sedentary lifestyle.”
“Whew, I wonder if Lorraine knows what’s waiting for her?”
Wesley chuckled.
The bell outside the bar rang…and rang…and rang.
“They’re underway,” Susan said. “We’d better hurry.”
He grabbed Susan’s hand and the two ran to the party barge.
“You really think she’s okay?” Susan asked.
“More than likely, but if her sister doesn’t show up tonight, I’ll look into it tomorrow.”
She squeezed his hand, and they hurried onboard.
Dylan untied the rope and signaled to James who backed the boat away from the bank. “’Bout time you got here. We’re letting all the good fish get away.”
“I don’t think so. The boats ahead of us are just lathering the water. Let ‘um go. The fish won’t bite till things settle down. We might as well take our time and find a good spot.”
About twenty minutes down river, Wesley pointed to an area where the bank jutted out then made a sharp curve to the left.
“Let’s anchor off that point,” he shouted up to James. “I see lots of branches in the water. They usually hold fish.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Corks plopped into the water, and in an instant, everyone took on the air of serious fishermen.
“Look at those two,” Susan said, motioning toward A. K. and Jack. “It’s going to be interesting to see what happens between them.”
Susan listened while Jack showed A. K. how to cast the Zebco. It didn’t take long for her to get the hang of it. Then he put a tube jig on her hood and adjusted the cork to a depth of about two and a half feet.
“You’re using artificial bait,” he said, “so jerk your line every now and then. The sudden movement will make the fish think it’s something alive.”
A. K. made a cast and did as he suggested.
“Hey,” she shouted. “I got something.”
Her rod bent and her line tightened. “Awe heck, I’m hung on a branch.”
Jack laughed. “That’s what we call a limb bream. Hand me your rod.” He jiggled the line and eventually got her free and handed it back to her. “Try again. You never know what you might catch.”
“I hooked you, didn’t I?”
“Sure did. What I’d like to know is if you think I’m a keeper?”
Wesley nudged Susan. “At least something good came out of the attempt on his life. Say, I could use one of your sandwiches and a cold beer.”
Susan obliged, and they moved to the back of the pontoon boat where they settled into two lawn chairs.
“I hope this is the start of many more days with you,” Wesley said, scooting his chair close to hers and massaging the back of her neck.
“Hmm, that feels good.”
“I can make you feel even better,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “A fortune teller told me I was a masseuse in my former life.”
“Is that so?”
“If you help me break in my satin sheets, I can prove it.”
“Hot dog,” Susan shouted. “Oh, no, I thought I had one.”
“Hooked again?” Jack asked.
“Yea, but whatever it is, I’m reeling it in. I’m gonna chunk that sucker on the other side of the boat and get it out of my way.”
Everyone laughed and tossed out their lines again. As Susan continued to reel in whatever was snagged on her hook, a funny feeling crossed over her, like the one just before the car crossed in front of A. K. and her. She shook her head, not wanting to go there, not wanting to experience anything except the moment. She had waited a long time to spend time with Wesley, away from his work and hers. But she soon realized she had no control over what was happening.
“That’s not a limb. What’s on your hook?” Wesley asked.
A. K. voice took a somber tone. “Susan, you okay? Why did you stop reeling?”
Susan grabbed Wesley’s arm. “I don’t know if I want to reel it in.”
“Don’t even go there. If you had another of your Oooh-Oooh moments, I don’t want to know about it.”
“All I know is that I have a bad feeling about this.”
Susan and Wesley leaned over the railing as she lifted her line. Dangling from the hook was just a tangle of limbs.
“Thank you,” she said, looking to the heavens.
“More limbs,” Wesley said. “At least yours were bigger than A. K.’s.”
“I heard that,” A. K. shouted.
“Okay, keep fishing. I intend to win the pot. By the way, who’s going to volunteer to fry the fish?” He put his arm around Susan and turned away from the others. “I’m itching to break in those satin sheets,” he said in a low voice.
“Me, too.”
Susan picked up the wrapper from Wesley’s sandwich and his empty beer can. James had tied a plastic bag to one of the railings for garbage. After discarding the trash, she returned to the back of the boat.
“We’re going to be ordering out if someone doesn’t start catching fish,” James said.
A bevy of corks hit the water.
“Come on, Susan, throw out a line,” A. K. said.
“I will. Give me a minute.”
Susan couldn’t shake that strange feeling. Against her will, she was drawn to the side of the boat. She looked down into the black water and shivered. Why did she tell Myrtle not to worry? She really should. Something
was
terribly wrong.
From the depths of the river, fear wrapped its icy fingers around Susan’s heart as she leaned over the railing and saw what no one else did. Shimmering just beneath the surface was Lorraine’s face, her eyes riveted in pain, her mouth twisted in a silent cry.
“Help me!”
The End
A native of Louisiana, Sylvia lives in Hammond, a small college town east of Baton Rouge. There she’s close to her two sons and seven grandsons. She loves animals and currently shares her home with two cats, Lucky and R. J. Writing has always been a part of Sylvia’s life. Currently she has eight published novels, ranging from historical and inspirational to suspense and mystery, all with a touch of the paranormal. An adventurous spirit, Sylvia has held a variety of jobs, from NASA to the judicial system, and even a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ethiopia. When she’s not writing, she’s painting landscapes. Sylvia has a B.S. from L.S.U. and is an avid alumnus. Go, Tigers!
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