Wilderness Retreat: A Hook Without Bait

By BEVERLY MILLER

Wilderness Retreat is a small rustic resort in Northern Minnesota with guests that are mainly families and fishermen. The owners, Edy and Joe Clarke treat their guests like old friends and are disappointed and confused when one of their guests doesnt want any part of the fun and camaraderie the others share. Who wouldnt want to watch bears at the dump, sing karaoke, or listen to Polka music?
Adam Rizzio came to the resort wearing dress slacks, a white shirt, five oclock shadow and an attitude. Hes tall, dark and dangerous looking. With new fishing gear, he goes out in his boat each day, but no one believes for a moment that he is a fisherman. Where does he go; what does he do all day out on the lake? Everyone back at the lodge has a theory including, Joes best friend Sheriff Tom Walker. Can Adam Rizzio actually catch a fish on a hook without bait?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 17, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491871652

BEVERLY MILLER

Beverly Miller and her husband live overlooking a lake in the Ozark Mountains of southern Missouri, where she loves to write in the tranquil beauty of the woods and the great outdoors. She enjoys reading, art, music, family and friends. Bev spent many vacations on the lakes of Minnesota and shares the fun she had there, in her latest humorous and suspenseful novel WILDERNESS RETREAT- A Hook Without Bait. She is also the author of The Inn at Willow Creek and Through The Door Half Open. Bev enjoys hearing from her readers and you may contact her at: [e-mail]

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Sunday a.m.

It’s funny how I could tell what the day would be like even before I got out of bed. I knew with my eyes still closed that the sun was already up. The birds were chirping outside my bedroom window and I could hear the motor of a boat trying to turn over out by the dock.

The sound startled the deer that were no doubt grazing on my hostas in the back yard and I heard the rustle of grass as they fled for shelter into the woods behind the fish house.

Suddenly I heard Windy Ericson down on the dock. This damn thing never starts in the morning. I told you guys to bring the Merc, but no, we always bring this piece of crap Evinrude. It was probably made during Roosevelt’s administration.

My eyes popped open and so my day began.

My name is Edith Elizabeth Clarke; Edy for short. I could see 5:29 a.m. reflecting onto the ceiling of our darkened room. I knew that I only had seconds to get the alarm clock shut off before that irritating buzzer would bring my husband Joe off the bed with a few creative words of his own.

I’ve never known whether Joe sleeps with a shoe in his hand or if he just finds one on his way up, for a shoe never fails to hit somewhere across the room near the clock. He has never actually hit the clock, but he has broken several picture frames, a blue vase my mother gave me, and once he even ricocheted it off the wall and hit Duke our golden retriever who nests at the end of our bed.

If Joe or I could see without our glasses it wouldn’t have been necessary for us to buy the big clock at all. But the twelve inch numerals are impossible to miss even if we are blind.

I hurried across the room and hit the button just as it started to buzz. I looked over at Joe. His eyes opened then closed. He hoped that I hadn’t seen it, but I crept over to his side of the bed and stared down at him, only inches from his face. A little grin finally came across his lips and without opening his eyes he said, The Boys are out early this morning, I hear. Windy is in really fine form today. And if you will let me stay in this bed, I’ll buy you something nice.

What?

A can opener.

What happened to the garbage disposal that you promised me yesterday morning?

Well, you didn’t let me sleep, so the garbage disposal is off the table; sorry it’s just that simple.

I didn’t wake you up yesterday, that was Duke slobbering all over you.

You… . Duke; same thing.

Now it was my turn to toss the shoe and I didn’t miss.

I threw on a sweatshirt and jeans, brushed my teeth, ran my fingers through my short spiky brownish hair, put in my contacts and looked in the mirror. Ugh! I always look so much better before I put those contacts in. For some unknown reason the contacts always make me look old and wrinkled. I took them back out. That’s better! I used a little eye liner and some lipstick and I was good to go.

I made my way down the stairs to the kitchen to find my beloved coffee mug. On one side it reads My Grandma is Hot! Hot! Hot! Obviously my grandchildren are as blind as I am.

The automatic coffee maker finished its last drip and I filled my mug as I said a short prayer.

Thank you Lord for inventing caffeine and please forgive Windy for cussing and probably saying your name in vain on this beautiful Sunday morning. Oh, and Lord please help me find my old glasses, those contacts make me look old. Amen.

The large wraparound screen porch on the lakeside of the lodge called to me as it had every morning for the past twenty six years and I found my favorite willow chair, the one with the well worn cushion that just fits my behind perfectly.

The coffee was steaming and I could see my breath. It was only the first week of August but I could almost feel autumn in the air. As I looked out across the lake, I heard the sounds of the other resorts waking up along the shore.

Joe and I have owned Wilderness Retreat for over a quarter of a century. There are six cabins and the huge lodge that we call home in the middle of a stand of white birch trees surrounded by towering pines. Our four children were just kids when we moved here. Now our grandchildren are that age. I wonder where the time has gone.

Crystal Lake lived up to its name as its mirrored surface only rippled slightly when a fish jumped or a loon bobbed its head under for a quick look around.

I heard someone banging around in an aluminum boat trying to get their fishing equipment ready to catch the big one. It’s probably The Boys, I thought as I heard the words, Damn it! float out across the lake. Then, Will you sit down and shut up?

‘The Boys’, as they are affectionately known, arrived yesterday with enough fishing gear, food, beer and cigars to last months, just as they have every August for the past forty years. We inherited them when we bought the resort.

Joe and I helped them unpack their car as Clyde Swenson hung the Norwegian flag above the door of Cabin #5.

No, we’re not in Norway, it’s actually northern Minnesota. Norway… . Minnesota, same thing! Joe muttered as he brought in their last case of beer.

Two crazy bachelor brothers, Windy and Fuzzy Ericson, along with Clyde Swenson and Dennis Halvorson, all from southwestern Minnesota, are salt of the earth senior citizens who relive their youth here every August.

They eat, drink, fish, and dance to polka music. Often staying up well past midnight playing cards and then go out fishing at dawn, making bets on every thing from the biggest fish to the best poker hand. Joe and I can barely keep up with them, even though they are at least twenty years older than we are.

Well, I suppose I’ll have to have another little chat with Windy this evening, Joe announced as he sat down next to me with his own steaming coffee mug. He forgets that this is a family resort and sound carries across the lake when it’s quiet. We just can’t let him cuss so much.

Good luck with that! said our eighteen year old grandson Evan from the doorway, as he tipped up an entire gallon of milk to wash down the Krispy Kreme donut he had just inhaled.

Good morning honey, I said, as I refrained from mentioning that we do have milk glasses in the cupboard. Oh well, he’s the only one who ever drinks milk any way. Joe and I gave up eating or drinking anything with any nutritional value long ago.

Evan sat down next to us. The Boys will never change. Why don’t they just rent a motor from us, Gramps? That old Evinrude is older than they are.

It’s Clyde’s lucky motor, besides what would they argue about if they had a decent motor?

Good point, Evan said as he stretched out his six foot five inch frame. His dark hair was still damp from his morning shower. He was dressed in cut off jeans, a Rams T-shirt, and size fifteen tennis shoes.

You were out kind of late last night weren’t you? I teased. Those three Connors girls have really grown up since last summer, haven’t they?

And in all the right places, Joe added, raising his eyebrows.

Evan’s face turned scarlet, They’re all right I guess. I’d better get to work. He was out the door and jogging down to the dock before we could say anything else to embarrass him. Duke loped along behind him, running off to chase a squirrel. Duke, bless his heart, has ADHD we’ve decided.

I got up to take the abandoned milk jug back to the fridge, poured myself more coffee, and took the pot out to Joe. He was watching Evan wipe down the Connors boat; a bribe for a chance to go skiing later or maybe just a random act of kindness. No, be serious, I thought.

Evan has worked as our Dock Boy since he was about eight years old, pumping gas and helping around the resort, learning everything he could from his older cousins. Our grandsons Trace and Joey worked here for several summers and were Evan’s mentors, even though they made him do all the dirty work. Fun things like cleaning the dead and dying leeches from the bottom of boats that had dumped over their bait buckets or burying fish guts in the woods. Evan comes up here from St. Louis every Memorial Day and stays through Labor Day.

At ten Joe taught him how to clean fish and mow the yard.

At twelve he became the closest thing to a lifeguard that we have. By the time he turned sixteen, his cousins Joey and Trace were both in college and we started letting Evan drive to town, twenty two miles away for bait and groceries twice a week.

Now just as we finally have him trained to do nearly everything around here, he tells us that he has a basketball scholarship to Missouri State. I get tears in my eyes as I know this will probably be the last summer for him here. I’m trying not to think about it; I’m looking forward to his younger brother Eric and sister Ellie helping out next summer. They are great kids and it will be fun to have some quality time alone with them.

I have a feeling that the Connors girls in Cabin #3 will take up much of Evan’s time these next two weeks.

This is the third summer that Jay and Amy Connors have come to the lake with their teenage daughters; Cissy, Tori, and Faith. The Connors hold down high powered jobs in Minneapolis and spend their weeks at the lake hiking, biking, swimming and water skiing.

They bring their own Nautique boat with all the bells and whistles, along with their lap tops, Lexus SUV, and of course their ever present video camera, documenting everyone’s every move. I’ve tried to step on that dumb camera several times but the stupid thing must be indestructible.

The girls spend