In The Lake: In The Sticks, #2

By Joel Jurrens

Playboy billionaire Dyslin Coakler and his porn star girlfriend are famous for their Friday night sex parties at their mansion on the north end of Burgess Lake. When a wealthy regular partygoer is found floating in the lake with a single stab wound, the suspects start popping up like cards from a gambler's sleeve. Is the woman a victim of sex games that went too far? Or did a jealous girlfriend of one of the woman's local boy toys seek revenge?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092347

Book preview

Dedication

To Francis who helped with the diving information.

One

The storm came out of nowhere. One minute the sky sparkled with stars and a moment later a dark curtain of clouds crept across it and blotted them out. On the far side of the lake a streak of lightning flashed, snaking down at the water in a crooked white streak. A few seconds later, thunder shook the air. As if the cage restraining it had been smashed, an enraged wind stormed across the lake. In an instant the lake’s walleye chop became a fury of whitecaps with foaming waves engulfing each other.

Caught by the sudden wind, the boat swung sharply to starboard, and waves splashed over its side. The boat’s automatic bilge pump kicked in with a low hum for a few seconds before shutting off again.

Straightening the boat with an expert hand on the motor’s tiller, he thought he heard the tornado sirens go off in the town of Burgess. He listened for a moment, but didn’t hear them again. It wouldn’t have made any difference. He couldn’t stop now.

The cold wind mixed with the smell of impending rain made him shiver. The waves were scary-high. The boat came off the top of one and banged down in the trough between the waves, the propeller growling between crashes as it lost contact with the water and flailed in the air. With each bounce of the boat, water sprayed him. In a moment his soaked shirt dripped water onto his pants, soaking them, too. Rain gear lay snug and dry in the center storage compartment, but he didn’t have time to dig it out. He turned his shoulder to the waves and adjusted the motor’s trim to try to smooth out the ride. It didn’t help. The lake tossed the boat around like a gorilla swatting at a tennis ball.

This is trouble, he thought. The weather report had said a chance of thunderstorms when he checked it in the afternoon. Normally he would have looked at the weather radar before coming out, but he didn’t have the luxury of time. If he could have seen the lake clearly, he knew he would have been scared to death. But he couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction, except occasionally the lights on shore peeking at him from the darkness as he crested a wave, and disappearing as he came down off of it. Running without lights, he could actually see better not having to fight their glare than if they had been on, but still he couldn’t see. He navigated by watching the lighted screen on his GPS/fish finder.

The contour lines on his fish finder showed Lone Goose Bar fast approaching. He changed his course and headed out over deeper water. With these waves he’d rip out the motor’s lower unit if he tried to cross the shallow bar.

When the boat had passed the bar, he angled back toward Five-mile Bar. The thick clouds overhead abruptly shut down his GPS as it lost contact with the satellites. Running just by the map of the lake he had in his head and the small compass beside his seat, he watched the depth line on his fish finder as it fell away.

Halfway between Lone Goose Bar and Five-mile Bar lay the deepest part of the lake, eighty-five feet. When his fish finder said eighty feet, he decided it was deep enough. He throttled the motor down to a point where it kept the boat from swinging sideways.

Thunder cracked above him like a rifle shot as lightning turned darkness into day for an instant. He hunkered down lower in the boat to make a smaller target for the lightning. The following darkness blinded him even more.

With one hand on the tiller, he stretched forward feeling for her, but the bouncing of the boat had rolled her forward. She lay just out of his reach. To keep the boat straight, he gave the motor a little more gas, let go of the tiller and lunged forward. He felt for her hands, found them, grabbed her wrists and yanked the body to the back of the boat. Just as the boat started to swing sideways, he took control of the tiller and straightened it.

For a moment he stopped to regain control. His breath came in pants and, even with the cold water and wind, sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes.

He reached out and jerked the body again until he had her at his feet.

Timing it so the boat would be between waves, he let go of the tiller and grabbed underneath both her arms. He heaved her body up until she lay across the gunwale on her belly, her blonde hair dragging in the water. The weight of the body on the side of the boat made it list. He compensated with a twist of the tiller. When he had the boat facing the waves again, he wrapped the nylon rope around her left ankle and quickly tied two overhand knots. He didn’t like overhand knots in nylon rope so he tied a third just to be sure.

Once he had the boat stable again, he picked up the cinder block attached to the other end of the rope and dropped it over the side of the boat.

The body somersaulted into the water with a splash.

He gunned the motor, turned the boat around and pointed it toward shore. Just as he got it straightened out, big drops of rain began slapping his face. A moment later the clouds dumped on him. The rain came down as if sprayed through a fire hose. He could no longer see the lights on shore. The bilge pump kicked in and stayed on.

His GPS still didn’t work. He set a course by his compass to take him to the boat launch, or at least close enough so he could run along shore until he found the lights on the end of the dock.

Pea-sized hail started to ting off the boat, stinging his back, face and hands.

He braced against it and put a hand over the expensive fish finder’s screen to protect it.

He smiled. The rain would wash the blood out of the boat...and everywhere else, too.

Two

The surface of Burgess Lake shone like a polished mirror. The sun, the cottony threads of white clouds in the blue sky and a flock of Canada geese flying over were reflected perfectly in the still water. A loon a hundred feet from the boat seemed to be sitting on a solid surface; only the ripples from its body when it moved betrayed it.

Lyle Hoffman, sitting in the front of the boat holding his fishing rod, watched Cheryl in the middle of the boat. Her face wrinkled with concentration as she held the rod in her right hand and the monofilament line between the index finger and thumb of her left hand. Their fishing guide had told them to hold the line so they could feel the walleye gently suck in the leech wiggling on the bottom of the lake. He had shown them how to hold the line with the index finger of their rod hands, but Cheryl preferred to do it with her other hand.

When they started this morning, she’d worn sweats in the chilly dawn air. But as the sun came up and brought the heat, she’d stripped down to blue shorts, a white tank top and of course her Chicago Cubs cap over her long blonde hair.

Her eyes came off the line for a moment, and she saw him watching her. She smiled and winked one of her glacier blue eyes at him. He returned the smile.

He still couldn’t believe she would date him, let alone tell him she loved him. A woman as smart and beautiful as she could do so much better than a forty-three year-old average guy—average height, average weight, average-looking, even average brown hair you could see on millions of other guys. He worked as a deputy sheriff in a small county in Iowa, so it wasn’t money attracting her. In fact, although she kept her finances secret, Lyle believed she had a substantial nest egg saved.

At thirty-four she could have passed for a woman in her twenties. Cheryl had been a former beauty queen, and men stared at her when she walked into a room. Sometimes Lyle thought of himself as Abraham from the Bible story he had been told as a kid in Sunday school. Abraham, who married Sara, a woman so beautiful he told people she was his sister, for fear if they knew she was his wife, they would kill him so she would be free to marry them. He didn’t think anyone would kill him, but deep inside him lived a fear that someday she would realize how ‘too good for him’ she really was, and she’d shatter his heart the way his first wife had. He couldn’t survive going through that twice in a lifetime.

I think I have one biting, Cheryl said. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Dan Jenkins, the guide, moved up from the rear of the boat. Lift the rod slowly until you feel weight.

She raised the rod. I feel it, she said whispering.

Set the hook, Dan said. Jerk the rod.

Cheryl jerked the rod up and it bowed under a weight. I got one, she yelled and looked at Lyle.

Lyle smiled. Reel it in.

Cheryl fought the fish.

When she had it up to the side of the boat, Dan netted it. He took it out and held it in front of her while Lyle took a picture with his phone. The walleye joined the others in the center live well. Cheryl gave Dan a little one-armed hug.

Dan had to be close to seventy with grey hair and the tan, wrinkled face of someone who had spent many days out in a boat. He’d bragged about his grandkids for most of the ride out from the resort.

How many do we have? Cheryl asked.

We have six in the live well, Dan said. We let three go that were over the slot limit and two that were under.

Is that about normal? Lyle asked.

Dan shrugged. With fishing there isn’t a normal. A storm came through a few nights ago and gave the fish lockjaw. They’re just starting to come out of it.

I hope they keep coming out of it, Cheryl said. I kind of like this fishing thing. I’m glad a boat comes with our cabin.

Dan gave her a wrinkled smile. When we get back to the dock, I’ll mark some places on the lake map you can try when you come out by yourselves.

Thanks, Lyle said.

It’s okay, Dan said, still smiling. Most people hire a guide the first day or so of their vacation to find out where the good spots are. I consider it part of the service.

It is exactly what they had done. They had arrived at Burgess Lake Saturday afternoon to start their two weeks at the resort. Before leaving Calvin, they had hired Dan through the internet for this Monday. They would have had him take them out the previous day, but he had other customers booked.

Cheryl looked at Lyle and grinned. I’m ahead by one.

I didn’t know this was a competition, Lyle said.

It is as long as I’m winning, Cheryl said and laughed.

Cheryl seemed to take to fishing more than Lyle...maybe because she had caught the last three fish.

The school is still down there, Dan said, squinting at his fish finder. We’ll move back over them and try it one more time. They had hired Dan for a five-hour fishing trip, and the time had almost expired.

He turned on his electric motor and repositioned the boat.

Why don’t you have a steering wheel? Cheryl asked.

Dan smiled one of his big sun-burned smiles that closed his eyes to slits. You can stay on a contour line better with a tiller than you can with a steering wheel. Most serious fishermen will use a tiller. He laughed. Us old timers anyway.

Lyle went back to concentrating on his line.

They had come to Burgess Lake simply because neither of them fished. Lyle had fished a little back in high school, but Cheryl had never held a fishing rod. He wanted them to be somewhere where the memories of their former spouses wouldn’t show up to haunt them. Cheryl’s first husband had died suddenly, and Lyle had gone through a bitter divorce. They didn’t need things horning in on their trip by doing something to remind them of bad and sad memories.

As soon as Dan shut off the motor, Cheryl’s face came alive with excitement.

I think I have another one, she said, fondling her line.

Man, you’ve got the luck today, Lyle said.

Dan moved forward to her. Okay, just like before. Lift it up until you feel the weight and set the hook.

Cheryl slowly raised her rod. It’s there, she said. She jerked the rod. It bent almost in two.

It’s a big one, Cheryl said. She started reeling, but the clicking of the reel’s drag said she hadn’t gained any line. It’s not coming.

Dan moved forward and twisted her drag a couple clicks tighter.

Are you snagged? Lyle asked.

Cheryl shook her head. No, it’s coming up now, but it’s not fighting. It’s just dead weight.

The line coming off her rod went straight down into the water.

Lyle looked down. The clear water made it possible to see a couple yards down, but whatever Cheryl had, hid under the boat and couldn’t be seen. As she reeled, a flash of white sporadically appeared and disappeared under the boat. It didn’t seem to be fighting. It just hung from the end of her line like a pendulum swinging back and forth under the boat.

Cheryl reeled the tip of the rod down to the water then slowly lifted it back up.

Can you tell what it is? Lyle asked.

Dan shrugged. It’s something, he said, stating the obvious.

Cheryl gained some ground. Whatever it was, it stayed hidden just under the boat, part of the white object flashing into view occasionally, but not long enough to identify it.

Suddenly it came out from under the hull and broke the surface.

Oh my god, Cheryl gasped as the air filled with the stench of rotting flesh.

It’s a dead carp, Dan said.

Alive it had to have weighed at least thirty pounds, Lyle thought. Now grossly bloated and pale white all over, the skin had started to peel from its decaying body.

Dan reached over the side of the boat with pliers and twisted the hook out of its side.

The fish sank slowly back to the depths.

Dan looked at his watch. I guess we’ll call it a morning. By the time I get the fish cleaned, it will be almost noon.

They reeled in their rods and secured the hooks the way Dan had showed them. He took the rods and stored them in the boat’s rod locker.

Lyle moved off the front seat to a seat beside Cheryl.

Dan started the boat and they headed back to the dock with the big four-stroke motor purring.

Cheryl picked up Lyle’s hand, smiled and squeezed it. Lyle returned the smile and the squeeze.

The reason for the vacation had been to celebrate the anniversary of the day they’d started dating. But Lyle had used it as an excuse. The anniversary of the day Cheryl had been kidnapped by a serial killer would also be here soon. The local paper planned on doing a look-back at the incident. They had asked him for an interview and wanted to interview Cheryl, too. He imagined the local radio station and maybe the Sioux City TV stations would do something. A serial killer, who had terrified the Midwest, getting stopped in a county as small as Cossack County, makes national news. The local media do not let go quickly and step out of the spotlight.

He wouldn’t let Cheryl relive it all again. For the first two weeks after it happened, she hadn’t slept for more than a couple hours at a time. Then she’d started waking up screaming from the nightmares a few times a week. Six months of therapy, and the nightmares became less and less frequent. She hadn’t had any for the last three months. He couldn’t allow an overzealous media to dredge up all those memories and have her start back at the beginning. So he took her up there where nobody had even heard of Josh Ophiem.

When Dan pulled the boat into the dock at their resort, they could see a gathering of people around one of the boats tied to another dock.

That’s Bob Johnson’s boat, Dan said, yelling to be heard over the motor. He must have done well.

He tied the boat to the dock, and while he got the fish out of the live well, Cheryl and Lyle went over to the other dock.

Lyle knew before they stepped onto the dock that a good stringer of fish hadn’t drawn the crowd. A young woman stood with her back to the boat and her hands balled in loose fists covering her mouth. A look of shock flooded her face.

In the bottom of the boat a body lay face-down with the upper portion of it covered with a rain coat.

Lyle’s inner cop kicked in. The body had shaved legs and bright red painted toenails, so he figured it was a woman. The black tint and swelling of the legs told him she had not died recently.

Have the police been called? Lyle asked. Nobody answered. Did someone call the police?

I called them out on the lake, a big guy with a full red beard and beer belly said finally.

Where did you find her? Lyle asked.

The guy didn’t answer. He seemed to be in shock.

Where did you find her? Lyle repeated, louder this time.

Off of Lone Goose Bar, the guy said. She was just floating there.

Can you find the spot again?

The guy looked confused for a moment. We caught a walleye a little ways from there. I marked it as a waypoint on my GPS.

Good, Lyle said. Don’t erase it.

He caught a glimpse of Cheryl out of the corner of his eye. She wore a pale white face with wide, scared eyes that looked close to tears.

Are you all right? he asked, putting an arm around her.

That poor woman, she said. Did she drown?

Probably, Lyle said. He gave her a little hug. Why don’t you go with Dan and help him with the fish? She didn’t need to see this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. Give this to him for a tip.

Aren’t you coming?

I’m just going to stay until the police get here. He could already hear a siren approaching.

She nodded and walked off the dock and headed toward their cabin.

A moment