Fish out of water, p.1
Fish Out of Water, page 1
Fish Out of Water
An Ozarks Lake Mystery (#1)
Marc Jedel
BGM Press
San Jose, CA
Copyright © 2021 by Marc Jedel
All rights reserved.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States by BGM Press.
ISBN 978-1-7327164-4-5 (Paperback edition)
Cover designed by Molly at CozyCoverDesigns.com
Contents
Other Books by Marc Jedel
1. Monday Morning
2. Monday Mid-Morning
3. Monday Noon
4. Monday Early Afternoon
5. Monday Afternoon
6. Monday After School
7. Monday Evening
8. Tuesday Afternoon
9. Tuesday Evening
10. Wednesday Morning
11. Wednesday Mid-Morning
12. Thursday
13. Friday Morning
14. Friday Lunch
15. Friday Evening
16. Saturday Morning
17. Saturday Afternoon
18. Saturday Early Evening
19. Saturday Evening
20. Saturday Evening
21. Saturday Later Evening
22. Saturday Late Evening
23. Saturday Night
Preview: Uncle and Ants—Silicon Valley Mystery #1
Other Books by Marc Jedel
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Other Books by Marc Jedel
Silicon Valley Mystery Series
Book 1. Uncle and Ants
Book 2. Chutes and Ladder
Book 3. Serf and Turf
Book 4. Hit and Mist
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http://www.marcjedel.com
Monday Morning
Elizabeth
“You have the right to remain silent,” said Trent.
I stood there in confusion as my ex-boyfriend accosted me outside Harps grocery store. His sheriff’s squad car had come screeching to a stop when he caught sight of me chatting with the old codgers out front. He now stood stiffly in front of me spouting off this nonsense.
“Boy, where were you when my wife was alive? I could have used a deputy to tell her she could remain silent once in a while,” said Colton Buck, perched on the bench near the entrance.
Cackling from his seat next to Colton, Billy Ray watched my bewildered reaction to Trent’s statement and elbowed his buddy in the ribs as he tried to one-up his lifelong friend. “Son, you need to work on your pickup lines. This one doesn’t seem to be succeeding very well.”
Was the old fool right? Was Trent trying to rekindle our relationship? His demeanor did seem odd. Maybe he just felt as awkward as I did, standing in front of each other after ten years apart. He must have been surprised to find me here, and now he was putting on a show for these old-timers, making the situation even weirder. Mom had told me he’d become a sheriff’s deputy but had neglected to mention how good he looked in his uniform, even with the nervous look on his face.
Feeling uncertain about the right etiquette for greeting an ex-boyfriend you hadn’t seen since high school, I took a step toward him and reached out to give him a hug.
But Trent stepped back. “Lizzie!” His right arm was tense as it moved to his hip. Tight-lipped, he asked, “Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?”
When he paused, I figured he’d finished with his little soliloquy. “Okay, okay, very funny. It’s cool to see that you became a sheriff like you always wanted. But hush now and let me finish telling my story to the boys.”
Trent’s jaw clenched. “Lizzie, you need to come with me. Now.”
I waved my hands at him. “Stop fooling around. Hey!” I objected as he grabbed my wrists and cuffed my hands together.
Colton and Billy Ray laughed as my sputtering protests were ignored.
“I know plenty who would frown on that technique for catching yourself a woman,” said Billy Ray.
“Yup. And I’m not sure he’ll be able to reel in that one,” added Colton, returning his neighbor’s nudge as Trent pulled me to his squad car.
“Hey! Don’t mess with the hair,” I complained as he pushed my head down so I fit into the back seat without smacking into the roof of the car.
“Guess we’ll have to catch the rest of your story later,” called Billy Ray as Trent slammed the door.
“Yeah, later, like in ten years to life,” shouted Colton, cackling at his own stupidity as he turned to Billy Ray for reinforcement.
Old men were far less funny than they thought they were.
When I first saw them, fond memories of growing up here in Jenkins, Arkansas, had flooded back. Even the air still smelled the same: pine trees mixed with the musty, almost grassy odor from the lake. Colton’s twang evoked images of visiting with my Pawpaw and his friends at this very meeting spot. Remembering the good things about Jenkins helped balance the memories of the more challenging aspects of growing up here, which were brought back all too vividly after spending the past day with my mother.
Recalling the Colton from my younger days, I started to shout back that he would never have made that remark when his wife was alive. Then, realizing that would sound just like my mother, I held my tongue.
Trent closed the driver’s door as he got in, buckled up, and started the engine.
“You know, Trent, if you wanted to see me, you could have just said hello like a normal person. You didn’t have to grab me off Main Street and throw me into the back seat.”
The back of his neck turned red as he pulled away from the curb. “I didn’t throw you—”
Oddly pleased that I could still mess with his head after all this time, I interrupted him. “I don’t remember you being into this sort of thing back in high school.” I waved my cuffed hands so he’d be sure to see them in his rearview mirror. As the blush extended up to his ears, I tried to flip my hair over my shoulder but only managed to clunk myself on the forehead.
Trent cleared his throat. “Careful not to hurt yourself, Lizzie,” he said softly.
Many years had passed since anyone called me by that nickname. To the best of my memory, he was the only one I’d ever allowed to use it. Continuing to stare at his reflection in the rear mirror didn’t feel right, so I looked out the window.
The buildings on Main Street, built separately but jammed together, looked the same as always, although some needed a touch-up of paint here or there. I smiled at the eclectic array of different colors, materials, and shapes that constituted the haphazard collection of downtown Jenkins.
As if to break the uncomfortable silence, Trent said, “Sheriff Tucker is still pretty new in these parts. He’s been positive about my work so far and I wouldn’t want him to write me up for hurting someone while in custody.”
I frowned. He was keeping up this act for far too long. “Wouldn’t be an issue if you hadn’t put these on me.” This time I used my head to gesture toward the cuffs. “You sure you’re not just showing off and acting all macho in front of me?” Lowering my voice to make it sound sultry, I added, “I used to like it when you did that.” I paused and shook my head slightly, trying to regain control of my emotions. I kept my tone light so Trent wouldn’t figure out that his gag arrest had started to make me nervous.
The blush deepened in Trent’s pale cheeks. Teasing Trent was an easy habit to fall back into. That was how most of our interactions had gone during senior year in high school—well, those that involved talking.
Teasing him also helped to distract me from the embarrassment of his little scene in front of men I hadn’t seen in ten years. They’d been friends with my grandfather before he died. As much as I missed Pawpaw, I counted it as a small blessing that he wasn’t around to see my latest public incident.
Blinking back the unexpected tears, I turned my head away again. The familiar blocks we passed on the way to the sheriff’s station had a lot of open space for the buildings to breathe. I had forgotten what it was like to be able to see the hills from anywhere in town, where nothing was taller than two stories except for a few churches. Jenkins was so different from Portland and the other bigger cities where I’d lived since leaving.
I wouldn’t have returned if my grandmother hadn’t passed a few months ago. The trip back for Mimi’s funeral had been a blur, and I don’t think I even left Mom’s house. Learning later that Mimi had left her ranch to me—both the house and land—had been a shock. I loved that ranch. In my childhood, I felt more at home there than at my mother’s place. But I had my life with Jonas in Portland to look forward to. Someplace far away from Mom. I had only returned to help Mom clean out Mimi’s house and prepare it for sale.
Bumping over a pothole that had probably been there since I was a kid brought me back to the present. “I don’t even know why you insisted I wear these. You know I’m not dangerous. Why couldn’t I sit in front with you?” I half-heartedly waved my hands again, but the cuffs were heavy and tight on my wrists. This prank was getting old, fast.
“Standard operating procedure.” Trent still spoke in a breezy tone that didn’t match the tension in his shoulders and neck. He didn’t sound like the Trent I remembered, as if he was forcing himself to act thi
As he pulled up the uneven driveway into the sheriff’s parking lot, I slid around a little on the hard, plastic-molded seat. With these unpadded seats, sheet metal covering the backs of the front seats, and wire mesh covering the windows and separating me from the driver, police cars were certainly not designed for pleasure rides. Besides, riding in the back seat always made me car sick. Even though Trent had driven only a few blocks from the grocery store to the sheriff’s station, my stomach was starting to feel queasy and I was already claustrophobic. No wonder they called these cages. Only here for a few minutes and already I felt like a rat.
“Well, you didn’t have to be so mean about it. You know I wouldn’t hurt you.” I cringed, remembering a time when I had hurt him.
Trent parked and twisted around in his seat, his fake smile fading. “Lizzie, this is serious. That argument that you and Mr.—”
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t have gotten into it with him yesterday. I was tired from the long drive and just wanted to pick up some food for dinner.” My contrite tone automatically turned annoyed. “Suddenly Duncan Fowler . . . ugh . . .” After what he’d done to Mimi’s land, just thinking of him left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Duncan was a teacher at the local high school and always seemed to take on odd jobs, like as the property manager for her ranch. My anger at Duncan had animated my words in my conversation with him a bit more than I had intended.
Trent opened my door and held himself rigidly as he helped me out, his face stern. I knew I shouldn’t have interrupted him, but when I made up my mind about what I wanted to do, I did it right away. I didn’t have the patience to wait around for some magical “right” time or politely ask permission. Mom always said I took after Mimi. She meant it as a criticism, but to me, it was high praise.
I took a deep breath to calm down as I faced Trent. “He was just . . . right there. In my face. I couldn’t stop myself.”
Trent looked taken aback. “So, you . . . you admit to it?” he stammered, eyes wide.
“I could hardly do otherwise. Those old-timers were sitting right there. Half the block must have heard or seen it. I ran into him as he was leaving Harps and just let him have it. Maybe I should have let him walk away. But you know me, I get worked up easily and then—”
Trent raised a large, rough hand to stop me. “Enough.”
I let out a sigh. “Okay. You made your point. I won’t get into a yelling match with Duncan Fowler outside Harps again.” I was careful to be specific in my promise because Duncan was surely going to get another talkin’ to, as Mimi used to say. If he thought he could just get away with how he’d devastated Mimi’s land, he was going to get another piece of my mind. I wasn’t about to commit to never yelling at him again.
As Trent pulled me toward the building, I objected, “Hey! I promised. We can just stop this already. You don’t need to put me in prison.”
“It’s jail, not prison,” Trent corrected in a blunt tone.
Spending this quality time with Trent was helping me remember some of the reasons why he was an ex-boyfriend. Starting with him still being right here—in the same podunk town where we’d grown up, still with the big chest and strong muscles. Same ole Trent, all brawn and no brains.
“Prison is where you go after you’re convicted.” Trent held the station door open and jerked his head sideways for me to go inside first.
“Convicted?” I paused. I’d thought he was teasing me. Although he did look fine in that tight deputy sheriff uniform, he was starting to annoy me. I stood my ground, ignoring his direction, and narrowed my eyes at him with my best ex-girlfriend glare. “What are you talking about? It’s time to stop this nonsense.”
The glare must have lost its sizzle, as Trent merely frowned. “Lizzie, Mr. Fowler’s body was found floating in the river at Roundtop Bend this morning. He was murdered.”
“What?” The air suddenly disappeared and my head felt light. My knees buckled but Trent quickly stepped near and caught me before I fell.
“Whoa. You okay?” Trent supported me for a moment, but his arms around my back didn’t feel like they used to.
Once the blood started flowing to my brain again, I shook him off. During all of this, my mouth had opened and closed a few times without forming actual words. Finally I said, “But, when I last saw him—”
Trent interrupted again. “You probably shouldn’t say anything more. I read you your rights. Do you understand them?” His tone was friendlier. Although his expression hadn’t changed, he was less tense after seeing my reaction to his news.
I nodded meekly, still shocked.
Trent led me into the station. “Come on, I need to get you processed. Do you want me to call your mother once we’re through to let her know?”
“No,” I said in a more subdued voice. “Call my husband, Jonas.”
Monday Mid-Morning
Jonas
My phone rang. Although I didn’t recognize the number, it was an Arkansas area code, so I answered in case Elizabeth had run into some car trouble.
“Is this Jonas Trout? Elizabeth’s husband?” The unfamiliar male voice faltered a bit on the second question.
Concerned why a stranger knew my name, number, and relationship to Elizabeth, I halted in the doorway after returning from loading a box of frames into the car. “Yes, that’s me.”
“This is Deputy Trent Walker. I’m calling from the sheriff’s office here in Jenkins.” He spoke slower than I would prefer, but it allowed me to stop pacing and take a grounding breath. I told myself there was no sense in getting worried prematurely. Speculation would solve nothing.
“How can I help you, Deputy?” I spoke a bit faster than normal, as I was eager to learn why he was calling regardless of what the rational side of my brain might tell me.
“We arrested . . . ” Again a hesitation. “Your wife. She’s been charged with murder.”
I blurted out, “Murder?” causing Mary, my mother-in-law, to jerk to a stop a few steps away in the kitchen of Elizabeth’s grandmother’s house.
“Yes, for the murder of Duncan Fowler.”
“Duncan?” I felt stupid repeating the deputy’s words but couldn’t seem to stop. Having difficulty processing conversations wasn’t like me.
Mary grabbed the phone. “What sort of nonsense are you up to now, Trent Walker?” she demanded.
She listened for a moment. “What does that have to do with Ella Mae?” She stepped past me onto the porch, searching for a better signal.
Elizabeth had warned me that reception inside her grandmother’s house was poor. Combined with the lack of Wi-Fi, the whole experience was like living in a time warp. Even hearing Mary use Elizabeth’s childhood nickname felt strange. Elizabeth had told me she didn’t care for it but her family still used it. I adored Elizabeth—both the name and my wife.
But Mary—pacing back and forth at the far end of the porch—wasn’t about to change just because her daughter wished her to. She was a force of nature. That personality was well-suited for a woman who worked as a doctor in small-town Arkansas while raising an equally headstrong daughter mostly on her own, not to mention being elected recently as a county commissioner too. It must have taken a lot of drive for her to succeed as she did. Elizabeth might not like to admit it, but that was one personality trait where she resembled her mother—even if her time away had softened her edges some.
The two of them didn’t seem to have much else in common, aside from their DNA. Mary was always the practical, disciplined, get-it-done-my-way-now type while Elizabeth carved her own meandering yet distinctive path.
Nearing me, Mary suddenly burst out, “Oh, poppycock,” and then hung up without waiting for a response. She glared at the phone for a moment before handing it back to me. “Let’s go.”
