Trawling for Trouble (2 page)

Liv let that pass. Chaz could always be trusted to come up with some innuendo or double entendre, but she knew he did it mainly to annoy her. She watched him untether (or whatever you called it) the boat and loop the ropes on hooks just inside the hull.

She wished now she had done more research on fishing and boats. She usually made it a point not to go into a new experience without a little knowledge, but she had been working nonstop since she arrived in Celebration Bay and hadn't given this much priority. She knew the difference between bow and stern, and beam and rib, and that the top parts of the sides were the gunwales, pronounced
gunnels
. And that was about it. For the most part she planned to relax and let Chaz do the work.

“I suppose you want to sit and drink your coffee?” Chaz said.

Liv looked down at the cup in her hand. Probably cold by now. “I can. Or I can help . . . with whatever . . . if you need me.”

A slow smile.

“Don't say it.”

“I was going to say, dump the coffee. I have a thermos with more for when we anchor.”

Liv looked around. Should she pour the coffee in the lake and find a trash can for the cup? Did you recycle on a boat? Not things an up-and-coming young event planner thinks about in Manhattan. The only boats she'd come in contact with in those days were luxury yachts. And they had crews to take care of such things.

Chaz shook his head and took the cup from her. Went into the cabin, which appeared to be above water for the most part, then came out a second later with a thermos and motioned her toward metal stairs that led to the steering wheel—the wheelhouse, she remembered.

She climbed up and Chaz climbed up after her. There were two seats. Chaz pointed at one, then took the other, by the wheel. The motor turned over, and they began backing away from the pier.

He turned the boat toward open water and threw the throttle; the bow reared up and they shot forward.

Liv grabbed the console board, since her seat didn't have arms.

Chaz laughed. He suddenly seemed awfully energetic.

Almost immediately he turned to steer parallel to the shore, and a few minutes later, he slowed to a stop.

“Hold us steady,” he said, and he pulled Liv over to take his seat.

While she gripped the wheel in a death hold, he clambered down the ladder to lay anchor.

He was back as quickly as she'd ever seen him move. Obviously he didn't trust her with his boat.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked.

“So you can learn how to cast without having to deal with the waves and boat wakes.”

She nodded.

“Just try not to get hung up in the trees.”

Liv looked out to the shore. It seemed really far away. “Not a chance,” she said.

He grinned.

They spent the next few minutes setting up gear. “You mean you put the poles—”

“Rods,” he corrected.

“Rods in those clamps and just wait for the fish to bite? That sounds like a pretty lame way to spend the day.”

“That's for the bigger fish. We won't be going after those today. Don't worry. You'll be able to wrestle those little guys to your heart's content. Who knows, you might get lucky.”

“In your dreams.” But she relaxed a little. She was up for this. She enjoyed a challenge. As long as she didn't have to touch the fish.

Chaz took a few minutes to demonstrate how to cast.

“It's all in the timing.” He stretched the rod over his right shoulder, then snapped it forward while releasing a button on the reel part.

Liv watched a few times. It looked pretty easy.

She could see the two old men back on the pier watching her. They'd been joined by a third man, possibly the guy who managed the fish camp. They probably thought she would make for good entertainment.

Chaz handed her the rod. “Put your right hand here.” He reached behind her and moved closer to position her hand around the rod. Normally this would be the time he would make a pass or make some warm innuendo, but he was in fisherman mode.

“Thumb on this button. Hold it down, then, when your rod is at maximum arc, release it.”

Liv thought that sounded simple enough, though she was distracted by the long metallic tube tied to the end of the line, which bore several vicious-looking hooks. She swallowed.

“Okay, here we go. Relax.”

Liv tried to relax. “Have you ever gotten one of those hooks stuck in you?” she asked.

“A few times. It's not too bad if you don't panic and snatch it out,” Chaz said and pulled her arm back over her head.

Now the lure was behind her and she felt the hairs on her neck sending out radar to make sure it didn't come back to hit her in the head.

“Now just like throwing a ball . . .”

Something she knew
so
much about, having grown up in the city.

Aware of Chaz and the three fisherman watching her, Liv gave it her best shot. She remembered at the last second to release the button on the reel . . . and the lure fell right next to the boat.

She looked at Chaz. He was trying not to smile.

She figured her audience was doing the same and glanced back at the codgers on the pier. They hadn't moved. But it didn't look like they were laughing.

“You just waited a little too long. Try again.”

Liv reeled in the five feet of line and guided it back behind her shoulder, tried again. This time the lure landed a few yards from the boat.

She thought that was good enough, but Chaz made her do it again and again.

After about twenty tries and her arm getting tired, he said, “Great. Reel it in and I'll take you to my favorite fishing place.”

“You mean there's more?”

“Honey, we're just getting started.”

They stored the rod in one of the handles, lifted anchor, and climbed back up to the wheelhouse. Chaz motored over to a new spot a couple of minutes away, and they re-anchored several yards from a curved part of the shoreline that created a secluded cove, though Liv noticed she could just catch a glimpse of the men on the pier through the trees.

“It's shallow here, so we're more likely to catch something smaller. Not lake trout; they've moved deeper, and that requires a larger, more difficult reel.”

“This is fine,” she said quickly.

They set up Liv's rod and Chaz pulled out one for himself.

They cast out. Then they sat . . . and waited . . . and sat . . . and waited.

There was a tug at Chaz's line, and he started to reel in, stopped and pulled the rod back, reeled some more, repeated the process.

“Get that net.” He lifted his chin toward an aluminum-handled net. Liv stored her rod, picked up the net, and tried to hand it to him.

He just grinned at her. “Hold it over the side, and when you see the fish, scoop him into the net.”

“You'd better show me how.”

“Can't. Just hold it over the side. It's a piece of cake for a professional woman like yourself.”

Liv gritted her teeth and gingerly held the net over the side. Chaz reeled and pulled, then pointed his rod toward the water. Suddenly the water began to roil and a shiny fish fought its way to the surface. Liv scooped the net underneath and caught it, though as the fish continued to struggle, she began to wish she hadn't.

Chaz took the net from her, stuck his hand in and lifted out the fish. He efficiently pulled out the hook while Liv cringed. Then, to her surprise, he tossed the fish back into the lake.

She stared at him. “You caught him just to throw him back? Isn't that a little cruel?”

“Too small to keep.” He gave her a cherubic smile. “It's the law.”

“It looked pretty big to me.”

“Not even a teenager. Don't want to decrease the population.”

“Oh.” They went back to fishing.

Silence reigned. Liv had to admit, it was kind of relaxing.

“Reel in a bit, make your lure swim.”

She reeled in. Waited. Then again. And waited, then again.

“Chaz?”

“Huh?”

“There's something heavy on the end.”

He laughed. “Okay, don't panic. Reel it in like I showed you, slow and pause, slow and pause.”

She was going to catch her first fish. Excitement and anticipation rushed through her. She was catching a fish! This was so cool.

Chaz was frowning at the water.

“What?”

“I think you must have hooked a tree limb or something.”

“How do you know?”

“There's no play in the line. Just reel it in and we'll unsnag you.”

Disappointed, Liv reeled. It was really heavy now, more like a log. She could almost see it, floating right below the surface.

She kept reeling, but it was almost too hard to keep at it.

“Ah, crap.” Chaz said. “Give me the rod.”

Liv handed him the rod and looked into the water.

She'd snagged something, all right. The pocket of a pair of jeans. With the wearer still in them.

“Oh.” She sat down hard. “Oh.”

“Exactly,” Chaz said. “We'd better call Bill.”

“I guess it's too late to see if he's alive?” Liv asked, though she was pretty sure of the answer.

Chaz nodded. “Do you want to call? Or do you want to hold the rod while I call?”

“I'll call.” Liv looked around for her messenger bag, recalled she'd taken it up to the wheelhouse, and scrambled up the ladder. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out her cell. She had Bill on speed dial; she'd realized long ago that having a hotline to the sheriff was better than calling 911.

While she waited for Bill to answer or for the call to go to voice mail, she watched the men on the pier. They turned and left, the two fisherman to the old truck and Ford, and the third man around the side of the office, where he'd probably gone back inside. Had they seen anything, or had they just lost interest in her entertainment?

“Bill Gunnison, what's up, Liv?”

“I'm afraid Chaz and I have found a body.”

His groan was loud and clear. “Where?”

“I sort of fished him out of the lake—big mistake—Chaz is holding him with the hook until you can get here.”

“Where are you? Do I need to call the shore unit?”

“Well, we're just north of the fish camp. I can see it from the boat.” She looked at the coastline to find any identifying marks. “We're directly across from one of the cabins. It's pretty far into the trees. We're maybe fifty feet from shore. We could probably get him to the pier—or should we keep him where we found him?”

“Keep him in situ until I can get a unit there. Can you see if any boats are moored at the pier?”

“Well, there's the one belonging to two old fishermen, Gus and Seamus, I think Chaz called them. And a couple of really small ones with little motors.”

“We'll commandeer one. On my way.”

“Good.” But he'd already hung up. “Copy that,” she said to air, then climbed back down to stand beside Chaz on the deck.

“Well?” Chaz asked. He was looking decidedly pale. It couldn't be pleasant to hold a drowning victim in place with a fish hook. She filled him in on the conversation and hoped Bill would hurry.

It seemed like forever but it was only ten minutes before the first patrol car pulled up to the fish camp parking lot. When the officers got out, Liv waved with both hands.

One of them acknowledged her and went into the office. He came back a few minutes later, accompanied by the third man whom Liv had seen earlier.

As they walked toward the pier, the sheriff's cruiser and a white search and retrieval truck came to a stop by the squad car. After a short conversation with the remaining officer, the sheriff motioned the truck to continue down the car path. Liv could see flashes of white in the trees as the truck bounced over the path that paralleled the shoreline.

It came to a stop by the cabin she'd described, then a man got out and walked down to the shore.

Bill and the two officers had commandeered a small fishing boat and were putting toward the
Truth or Consequences
.

“Look, Liv, one of us is going to have to help guide their boat alongside the
Truth
. Can you do it?” Chaz asked.

“I guess.”

“It's that or hold the body.”

“I'll take the boat.”

“Good. And don't let it scratch my hull.”

“Of course not.”

“And watch your fingers.”

“Okay.” Liv scrambled over to the port side of the boat. The fish camp man cut the engine, and his boat coasted toward the
Truth
. When he was close, Bill tossed a rope toward Liv and stuck out his hand to keep them from running into Chaz's boat.

Liv caught the rope and wrapped it around one of the brackets, then looped the end into the rope. She wished she knew the different kinds of knots, but she didn't. They'd just have to retie it when they came on board. The officer hooked a ladder over the
Truth
's gunwale, and Bill climbed up, followed by the officer. The man who had brought them across held the boat steady, then climbed up after them.

He was medium height with thinning black hair and was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeve sports shirt. He must be Manny Corada, who managed the fish camp during the summer season. Manny stood back as Bill strode over to where Chaz was keeping the body just below the surface of the water.

Liv followed, arriving just in time to hear Bill say, “Not a drowning, then?”

“Maybe that finished him, but that certainly started it.” Chaz pointed to something on the victim, and Liv leaned over the side to see. It was the first time she'd noticed the darker patch of fabric on the shirt. A stain of some sort. She leaned over even farther. And she saw the even darker hole that left the fabric scorched and frayed.

Someone pulled her back by the waistband of her jeans.

Chaz, of course.

“He was shot?” she asked.

“Looks like it,” Bill said. “And in the back.”

“Whew,” Manny said, his eyes fixed on the corpse.

Bill turned to Liv and Chaz. “Now tell me how you found him.”

They told him.

Bill shook his head the whole time they told their story, while the officer took notes and Manny looked on in a state of shock.

When they'd finished, Bill said, “The whole of Lake Champlain, miles and miles of shoreline, and you managed to find a body on your first day of fishing?”

“Well, I didn't mean to,” Liv said.

“You are something else.”

“So what do you want to do with him?” Chaz asked. “My arm is getting tired.”

“Think he was killed on land and dumped?”

“Or dumped overboard,” Chaz said.

Another truck had arrived, and four men jumped out. Two were suited up in fishing waders and carried gaffers. The other two began to search the ground around and down to the shoreline.

“How close to the shore can you get?” Bill asked.

“Within ten feet if I don't hit anything. It's pretty deep out here but a shelf runs around the shore before it drops. Your men should be able to walk out to retrieve the body.”

“Good. Give it a try if you will. I don't want to move him around any more than I have to.” Bill turned to Liv. “Do you want to go back in the fishing boat or wait with us?”

“I'll wait with you.”

Bill nodded and sent Manny and the officer back to the pier to wait. Then he relieved Chaz of his fishing rod, while Chaz climbed up to the wheelhouse to ease the boat closer to shore.

*   *   *

They managed to move close enough to shore for a smooth transfer, and when the coroner's van arrived, they were able to load the body on a stretcher to be taken to the morgue.

But not before they had taken some pictures, turned the body over, and taken more.

“Ever seen him?” Bill asked.

Chaz shook his head.

Liv stayed far enough away to miss the details. She'd heard of fish eating off people's fingers or faces and she had no intention of viewing it firsthand.

But she had to ask.

“Nah,” Chaz said. “He hasn't been in the water that long, probably only since sometime last night.”

Liv couldn't imagine something happening that close to shore without anyone hearing a shot. Unless they—whoever they were—shot him somewhere else and dumped his body near the marina.

And without being seen.

It was only a little past seven thirty now. She wondered what time Manny got to work. And what about those two old fishermen, Seamus and Gus? Although they'd probably been too busy arguing to notice a little something like homicide.

By the time the body was taken away; their fishing equipment was stored; and Bill, Chaz, and Liv had returned to the pier, the sun was up and it was getting warm.

So much for learning to fish.

At least there was a good chance that this body wasn't local. A tragedy, but nothing to reflect on the town.

It wasn't callousness that made Liv feel relief. It was her responsibility to make sure Celebration Bay had an unblemished reputation. So far things were going okay. They had their share of crimes; petty thefts, drunken driving, even homicides, but no widespread hooliganism.

Still, it was unsettling. And disturbing. Who would shoot a man and dump him in the lake? And was the killer still in the area or, hopefully, long gone?

Chaz and Bill tied up the
Truth or Consequences
and the three of them walked up the wooden pier to the parking lot. The car and truck were gone, but an officer was leaning against his cruiser.

He straightened when Bill approached. “Mr. Corada is waiting inside. I questioned him, but he said he didn't hear or see anything. He was sleeping in the back room. Nothing.”

“Who else was here last night?”

“Said he had to look at the log.”

“What about the two fishermen that were here?”

“They were gone when we got back.”

Bill nodded and began walking toward the office. But before he went inside, another car came up the drive and stopped. It was a Land Rover driven by a small woman, who slid out of the seat and hurried toward the sheriff.

“Bill, is there a problem?”

“Morning, Amanda. Someone found a body in the lake. The fish camp was the closest launch. That's all.”

“That's terrible. Was it a boating accident? No one we know, was it?”

Bill shook his head. “I didn't recognize him, and the coroner is still ascertaining the cause of death. I was just going to ask your manager if he heard or saw anyone on the lake or grounds last night that he didn't recognize.”

“If there's anything I can do . . .”

“Thank you. We'll probably need access to the water from here, if that's okay.”

“Of course, take all the time you need.”

She smiled tightly and hurried back to her car.

“Who is she?” Liv asked Chaz.

“Amanda Marlton-Crosby. The Marlton family owns all this acreage and that big house up on the hill, as well as the fish camp.”

“Wow,” Liv said. “I've never seen her in town.”

“I don't think she gets in often. Her husband, Ron Crosby, is the social butterfly in that marriage. You've probably seen him around.”

Bill waved until Amanda was out of sight. Then he let out his breath. “Well, that went well. Never know if you're going to get hysterics or fainting in these situations.”

He went into the office. Chaz followed. Not wanting to be left out, Liv went, too.

The room was square, with few furnishings besides a drink cooler and what appeared to be an old chest freezer. Rows of fishing and boating paraphernalia were lined up along the walls, and several metal shelving units held tackle and things that Liv didn't recognize.

Manny Corada was sitting on a stool behind an old laminated counter, one leg crossed over the other, reading a day-old newspaper.

“Manny, mind answering a few more questions?”

Manny shrugged and folded his paper. “I didn't hear nobody, didn't see nobody. That's all I know.”

“What about Gus and Seamus?” Chaz asked. “Were they here last night?”

“Those two are always here, either going out or comin' in. Always arguing like the war was still going on. Couple of fruitcakes, if you ask me.”

Liv felt Chaz stiffen.

“Were they here last night?” Bill repeated.

“Yeah, I guess.” Manny scratched his stomach. “When I came back from getting dinner their boat was gone. So they must have come and gone around eight o'clock or nine. Didn't hear them again until they woke me up at the crack of day yakking about some damn fish. If you'd gotten here a few minutes earlier, you would have seen 'em before they left.”

“I imagine I would have,” Bill said.

Manny held up both hands. “I don't know nothing about what they catch, never seen or heard nothing. I just sit here and make sure people pay for their licenses and don't trash the place.”

“Thanks, Manny. You've been a big help.”

When they were outside again, Bill turned and looked out over the water. “If you think of anything else, let me know. You going back out again?”

Chaz looked at Liv.

She shook her head. “I think I've completed the alpha-omega angler experience.”

“Chicken,” Chaz said.

“Maybe some other day.”
Or maybe never.
Today she was headed for a hot bath and a latte. She'd curl up with a good book for the duration of her vacation. She'd had more than enough excitement already, and it was only the first day. She refused to spend her time off looking for a killer.

“Bill. Are you going to board the
Seaworthy
and take a look around?” Chaz asked.

“Don't have probable cause . . . yet.” Bill grimaced, shook his head. “I sure as heck hope they didn't have anything to do with this. I guess I better bring them in.”

“I'd take A.K. with you if he's around,” Chaz said.

“Good idea.”

“Why?” Liv asked, suddenly concerned.

“Because,” Chaz said. “They're 'Nam vets, they live by themselves out in the woods, they don't care for authority, and they might take exception to being questioned.”

“Post-traumatic stress?” Liv asked.

“At least.”

Bill took out his cell and called A.K. He walked away from Liv and Chaz to talk, which Liv thought was odd, but she supposed it was police business. A.K. Pierce wasn't police, but he ran a private security firm that Liv had hired to augment the security of Celebration Bay's festivals and holiday events. Bill gladly used him, unofficially, alongside his regular force.

“He's meeting me out here. You two are free to go, but I'd like you to come in later and sign statements.”

Liv and Chaz both nodded. Neither of them moved.

“You can go now.”

“I have things to remove from the
Truth . . .”
Chaz began.

No kidding,
Liv thought. Things like the rods and the thermos and the cooler from the boat. And Chaz's intentions, which were already about as far removed from the actual “truth” as possible. Chaz was hatching a plan.