Gooey Duck Fountain

By Betty Annand

Just when Josie, a woman in her mid-eighties begins to think that she has become as redundant as a clam shell, a stranger needs her help. Once again she finds that her life has a purpose. Then, when she, her granddaughter, Fern, and her sister, Grace, all agree to accompany the stranger on a trip to a ranch in the Cariboo, they have no idea of the danger that awaits them. That’s when the three women, with a little help from a handsome young man who admires Fern, manage to solve a mystery that has plagued the stranger for years. Josie has had an adventure she will never forget and she returns to her life in the Comox Valley with enough excitement to last her for a lifetime.

This story has romance for both the young and the elderly, humor, and mystery. It begins on the beach at Kye Bay in the Comox Valley on Vancouver Island and continues at a ranch in the Cariboo.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Mar 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228624325

Book preview

Gooey Duck Fountain

Betty Annand

Digital ISBNs

EPUB 9780228624325

Kindle 9780228624363

PDF 9780228624332

Print ISBNs

Amazon Print 9780228624349

BWL Print 9780228624370

LSI Print 9780228624356

Copyright 2023 by Betty Annand

Cover art by Michelle Lee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book

Chapter One

Most of the sun-bathers had left when Josie came out of her cabin. When she arrived at the beach, she could see one of the neighbours filling his sack with pieces of wood and bark for firewood—a chore most cabin occupants did before they went in for the night. Billy Caldwell was on his way in from the reef carrying a bucket.

Probably clams or oysters, Josie mumbled. "He should know by now that you don’t eat shellfish in August, or during any month without an R in it. Billy and his family had moved into the cabin next door to Josie’s a few months previous, and although they were an agreeable lot, Josie found their kindness overbearing. I can’t step out of my door without one of them running over to see if I need anything, she once remarked to her sister, Grace. Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I need a keeper."

Josie was a kind-hearted and tolerant woman, but now that arthritis threatened to rob her independence, she resented having to ask for help. Grace, having some of the same afflictions, had laughed and advised her to stop being so grumpy because her new neighbours were just being thoughtful.

Well, that may be, Josie had replied, but I think it’s more a duty thing. Remember how we always felt obliged to help that old lady who lived next door to us every time we saw her, and she was a cantankerous old bitch.

To that, Grace raised her eyebrows and remarked, Maybe it was us who made her that way.

Exactly! And if they don’t leave me alone, I’m going to be a cantankerous old bitch, too. I don’t want people waiting on me just because they feel they have to. Good deeds aren’t worth a dime if they’re the condescending kind.

To that, Grace reminded Josie that they were both old enough to be thankful for any help they could get, but Josie snapped back, Speak for yourself. I don’t need a nursemaid, and neither do you. Half the folks around here suffer with more aches and pains than we do, and nobody’s running to help them cross the road.

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. She wasn’t that steady on her feet anymore and had suffered a few falls. It took so long to recover from the last one that she’d finally agreed to purchase a pair of Nordic walking sticks, but only used one thinking it made her appear like a hiker rather than some cripple.

Not wanting to spoil her walk with negative thoughts, Josie smiled, sat down on a log, kicked off her sandals and stuffed them into one of the deep pockets of the sleeveless cotton top she wore over her capris. Quite a bit of fresh seaweed blocked her way to the sand, and although she knew she should walk farther along where there wasn’t any, she chose not to.

Billy saw her and called out, Josie! Josie, wait. I’m coming to help you. It’s really slippery.

As if I don’t know that after all these years, she mumbled, and was just about to tell him that she could manage on her own when he ran up and took her arm.

I’m okay, Billy, I have my stick, she protested while trying to shake off his hand, but he refused to let go until they were through the seaweed and onto the sand.

Next time, you go over there where there’s no seaweed, he ordered, pointing down the beach. Josie, anxious to get walking, promised she would, and he left.

She knew he wouldn’t understand if she told him how much she enjoyed the feel of the wet seaweed oozing between her toes, because he always wore gumboots. Josie’s dad had told her that he once knew an old beachcomber who swore that you’d never have foot trouble if you walked in seaweed a few times a week. Although some said it was nonsense, she believed it, and while other parts of her body had suffered over the years, her feet remained in excellent condition.

There were times, after a storm or two, when the seaweed piled up in places until it was three feet deep. Josie remembered how her brother and his best friend thought it was a great sport to throw her and her girlfriends in it whenever they had the chance. It was like being thrown into a pile of overcooked spinach, and they would scramble out and dive into the ocean to wash it off. When the seaweed was deep, it gave off a pungent odour that most people found unpleasant, but Josie loved it.

Josie loved everything about Kye Bay, but it wasn’t as peaceful as it used to be. There weren’t many cabins when Josie’s father built theirs, and most were only used in the summer. Then the war came, and everything changed. The beautiful big trees on top of the hill were cut down to make room for a runway and an airport. The summer cabins either became permanently occupied or rented out, and Josie’s paradise was invaded.

After walking to the edge of the water, she stopped to inhale the salt air and look around. A large blue heron swooped down and landed near her. With his long, pointy beak, he started poking in the shallows in hopes of snagging a fish. As he stood in wait, his brilliant blue and grey feathers fluttered to shake off any parasites. Then, his head tipped from side to side when he detected something moving in the water.

He hadn’t noticed Josie and she knew that if she moved he would fly away, but she only had so much time before her neighbours would be coming out to spend the evening around campfires. Meanwhile, the beach was hers. There was still two hours of daylight left; time for her to walk to the far end of the bay and back before the tide changed. Sorry, Mr. Heron, she called to the bird as he flew away

She made her way out toward the surf, through the rivulets of water that wound their way to shore and left behind delightful sand-warmed puddles for her to wade through.

Some things never change, and Josie still found herself looking for gooey duck marks in the damp sand. Unlike other clams, the gooey duck left a mark that looked as though someone had pressed a pop-bottle cap down in the sand, then removed it. Spotting one, she gave it a poke with her stick, then squealed and giggled like a child when a fountain of water shot up in the air. This brought back memories, and she could picture her kids squealing when they first poked their finger into a gooey duck mark and got squirted. When they were a little older, she taught them how to dig. It usually took two of them, digging as fast as they could, to catch hold of a gooey duck’s neck and pull out the giant clam.

Memories of those happy times spent on the beach with all the family turned the silence, which she usually found peaceful, into melancholy. ‘Maybe tomorrow I’ll come out earlier,’ she thought. ‘I might even ask Billy’s two little ones to come with me. I could show them how to look for gooey ducks.’ The thought lifted her spirits.

Feeling a little tired, Josie decided to start toward shore. If I was a few years younger, I’d wait for the tide and swim in, she said aloud, a habit she had recently acquired since a stray cat adopted her. But I don’t fancy doing it now. Ha, I probably couldn’t, anyway. The last time Josie wore a bathing suit was when she went in the pool on a cruise ship.

Suddenly, she realized how far she was from her cabin. Being closer to the beach access at the end of the road, she decided to go home that way so she wouldn’t have to worry about the tide.

She hadn’t gone far when she noticed a car drive up and park. Leaning on her stick, she watched as the driver got out and walked to the driftwood, where he took off his jacket, shoes and socks. Then, he began rolling up his pant legs, so she assumed he intended to go wading. With her curiosity satisfied, she continued toward shore.

The next time she looked up, she was surprised to see that the man was out by the ocean. She watched him wade into the water and was about to turn and continue on her way when she noticed that he wasn’t stopping. He was up to his knees in the water and still going, and that’s when she knew something was wrong.

At first she thought he must be on drugs, but then something more sinister crossed her mind. ‘Oh, God, he’s planning on drowning himself!’ she thought.

Knowing she had to do something, she began waving her arms in the air and calling out to him. He took a quick glance in her direction, then continued walking.

Josie knew that by the time she was close enough to the cabins to make someone hear, it would be too late, so she decided to take matters into her own hands. The only thing she could think of that might work was to play the role of a damsel in distress. Taking a deep breath and saying a quick prayer, she fell down.

The sand wasn’t as soft as she anticipated, but after moving all her extremities, she was satisfied that she hadn’t broken any bones, so she lifted up her head and began screaming, Help, help, I’ve fallen. Please, you out there, help me.

He never even looked her way, so she added more volume and drama to her plea. Oh, please help, I think I’ve broken my ankle. I can’t get up and the tide is coming in.

The man looked at her this time, but only briefly before continuing out deeper into the water, so she called once again. He didn’t let on he heard her.

She was about to call one more time when she noticed how quickly the tide was coming toward her, and she knew that if she didn’t get to shore soon, she might drown too. She struggled to get on her feet, but even with the help of her stick, she could only manage to get up on her knees.

Realizing how silly she was to try such a stunt, she banged the sand with her fists and cried, Shit, shit, shit! Josie never used profanity until she was eighty, and even then she never used it in front of her children, but lately, she found it gave her a sense of satisfaction.

Unfortunately, it didn’t help on this occasion. Well, Josie old girl, you’ll just have to crawl your way in, she remarked, and I just hope the water doesn’t overtake you before you get there.

With a great deal of effort, she began to crawl while trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her bad knee every time she put weight on it. Thinking she was making good progress, she was devastated when a surge of cold water ran over her feet and was immediately followed by another. A few minutes later she was splashing through water and realized that time had run out. No longer able to crawl her way to shore, she sat down.

Josie had heard stories about the silly thoughts people have when faced with death, but she didn’t think it would ever happen to her. Now, the first thing that came to her mind was, ‘I’d better take my hearing aids out so they don’t get wet.’ For a second, she allowed herself an inward chuckle, and then thought, ‘Maybe I can float my way in,’ but she knew the water would have to be over her head for that to happen.

Looking at her cabin, Josie realized she would never see it, or her children, again. She had never aspired to live to be a hundred and recalled telling her children not to feel sad if she were to drop dead one day. I’ve had eighty-five wonderful years, she had declared, and I’d like to go while I still have a bit of dignity. But now that death seemed inevitable, she realized how flippant her words were. She didn’t want to die—at least not without telling her children one more time how much she loved them.

The water was almost up to her waist and she couldn’t stop the tears, when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It’s all right now, someone said. Let me help you.

Josie looked up. It was the suicide man. Although she was relieved, she was also annoyed. It’s bloody well time you showed up, she said as she allowed him to help her to her feet. I left my stick back there, could you see if you can find it? I can’t see it floating, so it’s probably under water.

The man hesitated before saying, I can’t just leave you standing here with a broken ankle; you’re likely to fall again. I’ll get you another stick after we’re out of the water.

That’s not just any stick. It’s one of a pair of Nordic poles. If you hang onto me, we can go back and look for it together.

I can’t swim, and if we fall I can’t save you, he said sternly. We have to go in now.

Josie could tell he was beginning to panic, so she didn’t argue. Then he asked how her ankle was. She had forgotten all about it. She replied that it hurt, but she didn’t think it was broken.

Do you think you can make it to the logs if you lean on me? This time his voice sounded candidly sympathetic.

Yes, I think so.

They didn’t speak again until they were to the driftwood and she was seated on the log where he had left his belongings. If you’re sure you’re alright, I’m going to leave now, the man said.

Josie wasn’t about to let him go without knowing more about him. Besides, without her stick, she needed his help getting home.

By his actions and his appearance, she was certain that alcohol, or drugs, weren’t his problem. Pointing to his car, she asked, Is that yours? When he nodded, Josie asked if he would mind taking her as far as her cabin, and then, not giving him a chance to refuse, she stood up and took hold of his arm. A look of annoyance crossed his face, but he didn’t object.

Glancing at his features as they drove, she was surprised that he looked quite elderly. He had a dark complexion, nice features, and his white hair was closely cropped, which Josie appreciated. In her opinion, older men looked far more attractive with short hair.

It only took a few minutes to get to the cabin, but by that time Josie had sized up the stranger and decided that he wasn’t a murderer or a thief. She was also