the color of wheat and as tall as a man. An experienced caster would wade far out from the shore to avoid snagging his line among them on the back-swing. I wondered if that was possible, or if the bottom dropped out too steeply for anything but a boat. I tried to remember if I’d passed a marina; and then I remembered I hadn’t come up there to wet a line.
I blew some air, set down my bag on an Indian rug, grabbed the plastic ice bucket from the bathroom, and went back out. The same three vehicles were sharing the lot. I wondered if the new units had managed to pay for themselves in twenty-five years.
A scoop was attached to the zinc bin by a bicycle chain. I filled the bucket, turned left instead of right, and stuck my key into the lock of the new cabin in front of which the pickup was parked. The New York plate wasn’t promising. The key went only partway in. I rattled it for effect, then tried the knob.
The knob pulled out of my hand and I looked at a man my height, but built more slightly in a denim shirt and tan Dockers, cordovan loafers on his feet. He had a New York Yankees cap pulled down to his eyes and green sunglasses. The lower half of his face was slim, tanned, shaved, fortyish, forgettable. He had a red cotton Windbreaker draped over his left forearm. That wasn’t worth noting, except it was covering his hand too, in the way you carry a jacket when you don’t want anyone to see what you have in your hand. From the length of the overhang it was one of the larger magnums, if not a .22 target pistol with a silencer.
The face below the glasses formed a friendly smile. He had nice teeth, capped and bonded. “Wrong cabin, sport?”
“Long drive,” I said. “I’m punchy. I thought a little ice water would help. Sorry to disturb.” I started to turn.
He put a loafer on the threshold and brought the jacket forward a couple of inches. “No hurry, sport. Here for the bass?” He spoke huskily, from the back of his throat.
I stopped. “No bass around here. Trout’s my fish. They put up a better fight.”
“Trouble is you got to have a frying pan all heated up on shore and clean and cook it right there. Every minute it’s out of the water you lose some flavor. That’s what my old man told me, anyway. I’m not a fisherman myself. I’m just here for the quiet.”
“Well, you found plenty.”
“Not so’s you’d notice. The frogs are driving me nuts. Whoever said it’s peaceful out in the country must’ve been deaf.”
“City boy.” I grinned.
His smile flickered, then stayed. “Sin to waste good ice on just water. I got a bottle of bourbon that’s too big for me. I was expecting friends but I guess they aren’t showing up.” He hesitated half a beat before the
aren’t.
Somewhere under that tanned plastic finish was an
ain’t
screaming to get out.
“Thanks. I’m cutting back. A friend told me today she thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
“Your friend cares about you. You’re a rich man, sport. Good luck on the water.” He moved his foot out of the way and pushed the door shut in my face. The deadbolt snapped.
I went back to my cabin. I’d intended to pull the same gag on cabins Three and Four, just to get a look at my other neighbor in case he was in after all, but I wasn’t sure how much the Yankees fan could see from his window. I decided to be true to my word. I left the bottle I’d brought in my bag, unwrapped a plastic glass from the bathroom, threw a handful of ice into it, and filled it from the tap. Sitting in the armchair sipping water I thought about the man in Cabin Five. I was pretty sure his voice wasn’t that husky in real life, that he was disguising it in the same way he was covering his face with the cap and dark glasses and his gun with his jacket. I was even more sure we’d never met. That made no sense, because his smile was as familiar as my own.
11
W ith the sun dyeing the lake pink my skin started to jump. I’d been in the cabin almost two hours,
I blew some air, set down my bag on an Indian rug, grabbed the plastic ice bucket from the bathroom, and went back out. The same three vehicles were sharing the lot. I wondered if the new units had managed to pay for themselves in twenty-five years.
A scoop was attached to the zinc bin by a bicycle chain. I filled the bucket, turned left instead of right, and stuck my key into the lock of the new cabin in front of which the pickup was parked. The New York plate wasn’t promising. The key went only partway in. I rattled it for effect, then tried the knob.
The knob pulled out of my hand and I looked at a man my height, but built more slightly in a denim shirt and tan Dockers, cordovan loafers on his feet. He had a New York Yankees cap pulled down to his eyes and green sunglasses. The lower half of his face was slim, tanned, shaved, fortyish, forgettable. He had a red cotton Windbreaker draped over his left forearm. That wasn’t worth noting, except it was covering his hand too, in the way you carry a jacket when you don’t want anyone to see what you have in your hand. From the length of the overhang it was one of the larger magnums, if not a .22 target pistol with a silencer.
The face below the glasses formed a friendly smile. He had nice teeth, capped and bonded. “Wrong cabin, sport?”
“Long drive,” I said. “I’m punchy. I thought a little ice water would help. Sorry to disturb.” I started to turn.
He put a loafer on the threshold and brought the jacket forward a couple of inches. “No hurry, sport. Here for the bass?” He spoke huskily, from the back of his throat.
I stopped. “No bass around here. Trout’s my fish. They put up a better fight.”
“Trouble is you got to have a frying pan all heated up on shore and clean and cook it right there. Every minute it’s out of the water you lose some flavor. That’s what my old man told me, anyway. I’m not a fisherman myself. I’m just here for the quiet.”
“Well, you found plenty.”
“Not so’s you’d notice. The frogs are driving me nuts. Whoever said it’s peaceful out in the country must’ve been deaf.”
“City boy.” I grinned.
His smile flickered, then stayed. “Sin to waste good ice on just water. I got a bottle of bourbon that’s too big for me. I was expecting friends but I guess they aren’t showing up.” He hesitated half a beat before the
aren’t.
Somewhere under that tanned plastic finish was an
ain’t
screaming to get out.
“Thanks. I’m cutting back. A friend told me today she thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
“Your friend cares about you. You’re a rich man, sport. Good luck on the water.” He moved his foot out of the way and pushed the door shut in my face. The deadbolt snapped.
I went back to my cabin. I’d intended to pull the same gag on cabins Three and Four, just to get a look at my other neighbor in case he was in after all, but I wasn’t sure how much the Yankees fan could see from his window. I decided to be true to my word. I left the bottle I’d brought in my bag, unwrapped a plastic glass from the bathroom, threw a handful of ice into it, and filled it from the tap. Sitting in the armchair sipping water I thought about the man in Cabin Five. I was pretty sure his voice wasn’t that husky in real life, that he was disguising it in the same way he was covering his face with the cap and dark glasses and his gun with his jacket. I was even more sure we’d never met. That made no sense, because his smile was as familiar as my own.
11
W ith the sun dyeing the lake pink my skin started to jump. I’d been in the cabin almost two hours,
Similar Books
