Dead Catch, page 3
“I have a canoe reserved for tomorrow, Chip,” Hank replied. “I thought we could use live bait to fish from the pier, and then tomorrow we’ll toss some artificial lures from the canoe. How does that sound?”
“OK, Grampa. I have some new lures Dad bought for me at the Bass Pro store. The guy at the store said they were the hot new lures that all the pros are using.”
“Well, this is a good lake to test them on. I know a secret spot back in the first cove just west of the boat ramp. I used to take your mother there when she was about your age and we always caught lots of fish. We’ll try that first in the morning.”
“Did my mom really catch fish?”
“Sure, she was good at it, too. She always wound up catching more than me.”
“I’ll betcha I can catch more than you, too, Grampa.”
“Well, I don’t think it would be a fair bet with you using those hot new lures,” Hank replied with a smile.
“I’ll let you borrow one and then we’ll be all even.”
“OK, in that case I guess we have a bet, young fella.”
They stopped briefly at the bait store for a bucket of minnows then found an empty spot near the end of the fishing pier. Hank rigged Chip’s line with a small hook and secured a float four feet above the hook and said, “You have awful heavy line on your reel, Chip. What pound test is this?”
“I put on thirty pound line so I wouldn’t lose any of my new lures if they got snagged,” Chip answered.
Hank smiled at Chip’s answer and showed him how to fasten the minnow to keep it alive on the hook and they were all set.
The fall afternoon sun was pleasantly warm with low humidity produced by the arrival of a cool front the day before. The old maxim that bass fishing is never good immediately following a cold front did not hold true. When Chip’s float bobbed underwater, he set the hook and reeled in a feisty twelve inch largemouth. While Hank was netting Chip’s fish his own rod bent and his float went under. Hank reeled in and landed an identical schoolmate to Chip’s bass.
Over the next two hours they each caught and released six small to medium size largemouth and Chip won the day with a seventeen-inch three pounder. Hank used his cell phone and snapped a picture of his grandson proudly displaying the fish before they released it back into the lake.
Helen was sitting outside reading the latest Heritage Series novel when she looked up and saw them approaching the Bounder. “Well, how did it go today, guys?” she asked.
“Great!” Chip exclaimed. “I caught the biggest fish today. It was way bigger than Grampa’s.”
“It was a really nice fish,” Hank added. “I took a picture of Chip holding it with my cell phone. We’ll have to email it to Ali and Preston. There’s just one thing I can’t understand though.”
“And what would that be?” Helen asked.
“Ali always out-fished me and now it looks like she passed the baton to Chip,” Hank replied.
“It’s passed down in the mitochondrial DNA, sweetheart. Must come from my side,” Helen joked.
That evening, Hank showed Chip how to start a campfire in the fire ring and the three of them enjoyed toasting marshmallows and making s’mores. As always happens around a campfire the conversation turned towards stories of night creatures and woods monsters. With quite a bit of embellishment, Hank told the story of his encounter, as a boy of about Chip’s age, with a huge, dark, foul-smelling creature in this very campground.
“I was tent camping with my dad and my cousin, Bert, back in the primitive area when it happened,” Hank related. “One night near midnight I was lying awake when I heard a noise outside the tent like someone or something had kicked one of our pans. I could see that my dad and Bert were sound asleep so I decided to take my flashlight and peek out of the tent. I stuck my head out and that’s when I got a whiff of a real nasty odor, like rotten eggs. I flicked on the flashlight and it illuminated a big hairy thing that looked like it was half-man and half-gorilla. It was bent over and it looked like it was rummaging through our stuff. I was frightened like I’ve never been before and shouted for my dad. As soon as it heard me shout it turned and looked at me with its big shiny eyes. I was scared stiff, frozen in place, hoping it wouldn’t attack us, when it just rose up on two feet, turned, and took off running upright back into the woods.”
“What happened next, Grampa?” Chip asked excitedly.
“My dad and Bert woke up when they heard me holler and I told them what I had just seen. My dad tried to tell me that it was probably a black bear, but I insisted that it ran off real fast on two feet. He then tried to say it was probably a man wearing a dark colored coat and I said that it had big shiny animal eyes when it looked at me. My dad couldn’t come up with any more explanations so he told us to go back to sleep. I laid awake another hour but finally drifted off to sleep.”
“Did it come back again that night, Grampa?”
“Not that I know of because I eventually fell asleep, but when we got up in the morning we saw huge footprints in the dirt with a set of them leading right by our tent.”
“Do you think it might still be around?”
“Well, I have heard some stories over the years that deer hunters have seen a beast like I saw and they called it a Bigfoot. In fact, a few years ago a hunter claimed that one walked right past his deer stand.”
“Why didn’t he shoot it!?”
“He said that he was just too scared to do anything. Besides, it looked too human to shoot. He didn’t want to take a chance on facing a murder charge.”
“Grampa, do you think we’ll be safe here tonight?”
Helen shot Hank a look. Hank shrugged innocently.
“We’ll be just fine, Chip. You don’t have to be afraid sleeping inside our big motorhome.”
Hank showed Chip how to douse the campfire and the three of them retired to bed safe and sound inside the Bounder. Chip seemed brave enough to sleep by himself on the sofa bed in the living area, but the morning found him between Hank and Helen in their king-sized bed.
Hank promised Helen that he wouldn’t tell any more campfire monster stories.
After Helen cooked them a sausage and pancake breakfast, Hank and Chip walked the short distance to the state park marina. Chip’s eye was drawn to a Yamaha trail bike parked next to the ranger’s station. “I can’t wait till I’m old enough to ride a bike like that,” he said excitedly.
“Your mother started riding one when she was twelve,” Hank responded.
“Wow! Maybe she’ll let me ride one when I’m twelve, too.”
Before setting out in their rental canoe, they were met by a tall light brown haired man in a park ranger’s uniform. Hank noted the ranger’s nametag.
“Good morning, Ranger Murray,” Hank said as he held the canoe steady for Chip to board.
“Good morning,” Murray said, and then proceeded to give them explicit instructions about not throwing any trash or anything else into the lake other than their fishing lines. Hank assured Ranger Murray that his lake would be safe.
“Make sure to keep that life jacket on the boy,” Murray said as Hank pushed the canoe away from the dock.
“Will do,” Hank replied.
As Hank was paddling away from the dock Chip said, “Boy, he was a grump.”
“He’s just tired of boaters throwing their trash into the water,” Hank replied. “This is a beautiful lake and he just wants to keep it that way.”
Their plan was to stay just off shore and toss their lures toward the banks where Hank knew there were steep drop-offs into deeper water. He figured the bass would be schooling along the drop-offs in reaction to the recent cold front. The strategy met with great success as they each landed a number of medium-sized largemouths.
Hank was pleased by how Chip’s interest remained in high gear with no complaints of boredom.
“Grampa, when are we going to get to your secret spot where you used to take Mom fishing?” Chip asked.
“We’re almost there. It’s just up ahead and around the bend in the next cove.”
“Great, I’ll help you paddle there,” Chip responded.
Hank watched as Chip picked up the paddle and deftly began paddling from the front of the canoe. “Where did you learn to paddle so well, Chip? Hank asked.
“We were taught how to do it in the Cub Scout summer camp. Me and a friend I met there named Jimmy won the canoe race. Next year we’re joining the Boy Scouts together.”
With the two of them paddling they soon rounded the corner into the cove. Hank occasionally controlled the drift as they fished, making sure not to get too close to shore. They were having limited success when Hank spotted a fallen tree across the cove. “Let’s paddle over to that tree,” Hank said, pointing across the cove. “I bet there’s a big bass lurking near its branches. We’ll fish there for a while and then head back to camp for lunch.”
Hank was one up on the number of fish caught so he let Chip try his luck near the tree. “Just be careful and don’t cast too far, Chip. You wouldn’t want to get tangled in the tree and lose one of your new lures,” Hank instructed.
Hank positioned the canoe to the right of the fallen tree and within casting distance for Chip considering the heavy line he had wound onto his reel. Chip deftly cast his lure near the bank and slowly worked it back toward the canoe. Halfway into the presentation Chip’s rod bent violently as his lure was struck. He hung on with all his might as a giant largemouth catapulted from the water and tried desperately to shake the lure from its mouth.
“That’s at least an eight pounder, Chip! Just keep pressure on it and don’t give it any slack!” Hank instructed as Chip battled the huge fish.
Chip’s arms were just about to give out when the large bass finally tired alongside the canoe. Hank netted the prized fish and carefully removed the barbed lure from its gaping mouth. He showed Chip how to grab it by its lower lip in order to hold it up while he took a picture. They both admired the lunker and weighed it before carefully releasing the eight and a half pound fish back into the lake.
“Let’s try on the other side of the tree, Grampa. I’ll bet there’s a ten pounder over there!”
“OK, we’ll try that and then we have to head back,” Hank answered. “Your Gramma should have lunch ready soon.”
“I can’t wait to tell her about my fish!” Chip answered still highly excited about his catch.
Hank paddled the canoe to the far side of the tree and turned it broadside to the shore so Chip could make another cast with his lucky lure. Chip’s cast landed close to shore but right next to a large branch of the fallen tree. He let the lure sink for a count of five and started to reel in and twitch the lure. He felt a bump and set the hook hard, anticipating another lunker bass.
Something heavy was on the line, but they didn’t detect the pulsation made by the fight of a live fish.
“Uh oh, Grampa, I think I’m snagged on the tree,” Chip lamented.
“Let me paddle closer to the tree and see if you can work it loose, Chip,” Hank suggested.
They were now positioned directly above the snag but Chip had no luck in freeing the line. He pulled up as hard as he could and felt whatever he was snagged on start to rise, but he didn’t have the strength to bring it up to the surface.
“Whatever I hooked onto started to come up but I can’t pull any harder. I don’t want to lose that lucky lure. Can you try, Grampa?” Chip asked as he handed the rod to Hank.
As they both watched over the side of the canoe for a telltale sign of the snagged lure Hank pulled up hard with the rod and felt the object start to rise. They could see the sparkle of the shiny lure as it made its way nearer to the sunlit surface. A moment later the snagged object came into view just under the surface of the slightly murky water.
“Oh no,” was Hank’s only utterance as he immediately released the bail on the reel and watched the object slowly sink back into the lake.
“Did you see what I just saw, Grampa!” Chip cried out. “Was that a sleeve? I saw a hand come up just under the water. What’s he doing down there? Do you think he needs help!?”
“I don’t think he needs our help any longer, Chip,” Hank replied as he let a length of line off of the reel and snipped it.
“Why did you cut the line? How am I gonna get my lucky lure back?”
“Don’t worry about your lure,” Hank answered. “I’ll buy you a new one. I need to tie this line to a tree branch and then we need to get back to the marina to report this to Ranger Murray.”
Chapter 4
“Back so soon?” asked Ranger Phil Murray warily as Hank and Chip entered the rustic ranger station and approached the counter.
“I am afraid we have some bad news, Ranger Murray.” Hank lowered his voice, “My grandson here just hooked into a man’s body back in a cove to the west of the marina. It’s located just on the north side of the fallen tree on the west shore of the cove in about fifteen feet of water.”
“A man’s body? You’re joking . . .”
“I am afraid not,” Hank replied. “I suggest you get on the phone with the Sheriff’s Department unless you want to haul it in by yourself.”
“No, I surely don’t want to do that,” Murray replied as he punched 911 into his desk phone with a shaking hand.
Hank overheard the woman on the line. “911 operator, Claiborne Parish Sheriff’s Department. How can I help you?”
“Ma’am, this is Ranger Phil Murray down at Lake Claiborne State Park. A gentleman just came in and said he found a body in the lake.”
“For the record, what is the gentleman’s name?” the operator asked.
Murray looked up at Hank and said, “They want to know your name.”
“Can you put them on the speaker?” Hank asked.
Murray pushed the button for the phone’s speaker and told Hank to go ahead.
“Hello, this is Hank Moran. I am the person who found the body. It’s in about fifteen feet of water. I can show the sheriff exactly where it is but he might need a diver to bring it up.”
“OK, sir, a patrol car is on its way. Please remain onsite and wait for the officer.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
“Ranger Murray, I am going to take my grandson back to our campsite. I should be back by the time the patrol car arrives.”
Murray just nodded in consternation with a confused look on his face.
Helen was setting out a lunch of ham and cheese sandwiches and potato salad when Hank and Chip walked in the door. “Perfect timing, guys. I was just setting out lunch.”
“Gramma, you’ll never guess what happened!” Chip exclaimed.
“Let’s see, you had a ten pound bass on the line but it got away,” Helen responded.
“Nope! I caught an eight and a half pounder and Grampa took a picture of me holding it, but then I snagged my line on a dead guy’s body and lost my lucky lure.”
Helen looked at Hank with a questioning expression and asked, “Did you put Chip up to this?”
“I’m afraid he’s not joking. He did hook into a body,” Hank answered.
“Ohh, here we go again!” Helen said as she shook her head in disbelief.
“I brought Chip back to the Bounder to stay with you while I show the sheriff where we found the body,” Hank said.
“What about lunch? Can’t you eat first?”
“It’ll have to keep. I told the ranger that I would be right back,” Hank said as he headed for the door. He stopped. “On second thought I’ll take half my sandwich with me and eat it on the walk back down to the marina.”
“Hank, just don’t get too involved with this one!” Helen urged as he went out the door.
Hank was sitting in a rocker on the rustic front porch of the marina’s bait store when a white Dodge Ram 4x4 pickup truck emblazoned with the Claiborne Parish Sheriff’s Department logo pulled into the lot. The officer who exited the truck was huge in height as well as girth. Hank estimated that his six foot three frame carried around at least three hundred pounds. Despite the officer’s size, he walked nimbly in Hank’s direction.
Hank came down from the porch and extended his hand to greet the officer. “Hank Moran. My grandson and I are the ones who discovered the body.”
“Sheriff Cecil Pettibone. Are you the famous Hank Moran from down Kenner way?
“Glad to make your acquaintance, Sheriff. Yes, I’m from Kenner, but I can’t really say I’m famous.”
“You are the Hank Moran that rescued that Yankee senator from the river up north, aintcha?” The sheriff said “north” like “nawth” and drew out his vowels. “And the one who received that award from the president?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Seems you have a knack for pulling bodies outta water.”
“Sheriff, it’s a hell of a lot more gratifying to pull out live ones than dead.”
“Well, Mr. Moran, why don’t you show me where this unfortunate soul’s body is located. I understand it’s in about fifteen feet of water? Deputy Krebs has some diving experience. He’s on his way and should be arriving any minute.”
Ranger Murray had the state park skiff waiting at the dock when the sheriff arrived. “Hello, Phil. Nice day for a pleasant cruise on the lake,” Sheriff Pettibone said with a grin.
“I have a feeling it’s not going to be very pleasant, Cecil,” Ranger Murray replied. “Say, I heard about the hostage situation at the courthouse Wednesday. How is Judge Harkin?”
“Oh, he’s just fine. We talked old man Boucher into giving up and releasing Judge Harkins around midnight.”
As the sheriff and Ranger Murray were discussing last Wednesday night’s hostage situation at the courthouse, Deputy Krebs arrived with his boat in tow.
“Ahh, here’s Krebs now,” the sheriff said. “When he gets his boat in the water he can follow us out to the site.”
Ten minutes later the two boats left the dock and motored out the inlet to the main body of the lake. Following Hank’s directions, they arrived in the cove a short time later. Ranger Murray motored across the cove to the fallen tree. When Deputy Krebs’ boat pulled alongside, Hank pointed out the fishing line he had tied fast to the tree. “If you dive straight down from where the line is tied you’ll find the body,” Hank instructed.
