Fish Tales: The Guppy Anthology Page 2

  “That’s not exactly how it happened,” Zach replied, cool, calm. As if they were talking about a stray cat instead of his biological child, his and Heather’s, the child they’d abandoned to her. To her. She’d been mother, not aunt. Legal guardian when Jade had had no one else. Until Heather had come back, pretending to have her life in order.

  “Jade belongs with me.”

  “She belongs with her mother. You always knew that could happen. Besides, Heather said you could visit, like a regular aunt.”

  “How can you trust her? For five years, she called twice a year. Sent birthday presents that looked like they came from the Salvation Army, or the dump. Never sent a penny. You both wanted Jade to live with me. You wanted me to raise her, to let her call me Mommy.” Annette had collapsed against the kitchen counter. Jade had been the child she’d never had, never could have, her life, her heart, her future. Wasn’t that thicker than blood?

  Zach was right about one thing: she had always feared Heather’s return. And when it happened, she’d been too terrified to tell anyone about the legal battle. Not even Cheryl.

  Heather had been a stranger to Jade. Annette had been the only constant in the child’s life. But the court said Heather met all the legal requirements, had never given up her legal rights, had the legal right to full custody. All Annette’s arguments about what was best for Jade meant nothing in the face of Heather’s rights.

  It wasn’t right. It was all wrong.

  And what made it worse was that Zach hadn’t lifted a finger to help his own sister keep his daughter in the only home she’d ever known.

  “Why did you move up here,” she’d asked him, “if it wasn’t to help me keep Jade?” He stood there, in her kitchen, drinking Cheryl’s beer straight from the growler. “If you’d asserted your rights as her father—”

  “You still couldn’t have kept the kid. Nothing could have kept Heather from terminating your guardianship and preventing you from adopting her.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed. When had he turned into this cruel man? “Face it, you dumb cunt. You did it to yourself. You gave up years of your life for somebody else’s kid, and you’ve got nothing to show for it but a sad story and a pile of legal bills.”

  She grabbed a knife from the wooden block on the counter. Though he was younger and stronger, he hadn’t fought her off, too slow to recognize danger from such an unlikely source. That had given her the advantage, and she’d stabbed him, first in the neck, cutting the carotid artery, then in the heart. The only sign that he even had a heart was the blood spewing out of his chest.

  Spewing onto her kitchen floor. Then it stopped and she saw what she’d done. Her baby brother’s blood soaking the rag rug.

  If she were discovered, she’d never see Jade again.

  She looked around, but the cabin gave her no answers. The lake. She backed her Subaru wagon up to the front door and spread a tarp near the body. It must have been adrenaline that kept her going, that gave her the strength to wrap Zach in the rug, tie it with an old rope, haul it on to the tarp, and drag the load to the car. Getting him in was a bitch. Finally, she crawled in herself and pulled, using the tarp as a sort of sled.

  Back inside, she scrubbed her hands with soap and rage. They shook. The growler Zach had taken from the brewery sat on the counter. Well, that didn’t matter. Why wouldn’t her brother bring beer to her house and drink it before he left town? But it reminded her that she’d have to do something with his truck and his things.

  Later. Later.

  Oh, God, Zachary. What had she done? He had deserved it, hadn’t he?

  Blood had dampened the wooden floor. She couldn’t stop to think about that. She had to get the body to the lake. The lake was huge, and cold, and the currents would wash him away.

  He had loved the water, to the extent that Zach had loved anything except himself and messing with other people’s minds.

  Just past eight, getting dark. She had to get going, though she would wait until full dark to dump the body. Where? Even in mid September, the campground at the state park was still busy. That left the fishing access, a well-kept local secret. Only one road led out there, but no one would notice a car driving by, unless she gave them reason.

  The fishing access had been deserted, as she’d prayed. No stragglers packing up their fishing gear or loading boats on trailers. No teenagers drinking by a bonfire or making out in parked cars. The setting sun glowed—from forest fires in Washington or B.C., no doubt.

  She’d backed down the boat launch as far as she dared, then slid the tarp out of the car and on to the ground. How had Zach suddenly gotten so much heavier? The plastic might trap air and keep the body from sinking, so she unwrapped the tarp, rolled up her pant legs, dragged the load into the lake. Pushed it away from her, into the water, away, away, away.

  She stood, looking, watching. I’m sorry, Zachary, she whispered. But you betrayed me, and Jade. She’d looked down at her hands then, and seen that once again, they were covered in blood.

  This morning, she’d cleaned Zach’s things out of the caretaker’s apartment and driven his truck far into the woods, up one of the overgrown logging roads where it wouldn’t be found for months, or years. Then she’d gone to work and acted like normal.

  Until Kathryn came in, looking for Zach. There’d been a wild look in her eyes. She knew, Annette had realized. She must have gone to his apartment, seen that he was gone, come to the bar hoping to be wrong.

  But there was no way she could know what really happened.

  What if she did? Hadn’t Kathryn threatened to kill Zach just two weeks ago, in front of the entire Friday night crowd? Hadn’t she repeated the threat the next morning at the Grill?

  He’d laughed. He’d dismissed her as a drama queen, spoiled and undisciplined. Annette would have to find her, scare her into silence, and make sure the investigators saw her for a crazy, violent lunatic. Then she could focus on getting Jade back.

  “I’m sorry, Cheryl,” she said. “I’m only doing this for my daughter. You understand, don’t you?”

  * * * *

  As soon as the detectives left, Cheryl called a friend and asked him to handle the bar for the night.

  Where would Kathryn go? Home seemed unlikely, but Cheryl checked first, looking in all the closets and under the bed, in the woodshed and the pump house. No sign.

  The detectives had said Zach’s body washed up on private property not far from the fishing access. The access itself would be blocked off and crawling with cops, even as dark fell, but there was a private road that led to the nearby homes. She’d been to some of these places, knew her way around a bit. So did Kathryn.

  As Cheryl drove, she weighed her certainty that Kathryn was not involved. That she could not have hurt Zach. Obviously, if she’d killed him, she would not have asked Annette where he was. She might be unstable, but she wasn’t stupid.

  Holy shit. Cheryl had misunderstood. She’d told the deputies that Kathryn probably left rather than wait because she had other things on her mind, but what if Kathryn had come in already knowing Zach was gone? Maybe she’d been to his place, or seen or heard something. And she’d left in anger, thinking Annette knew and wouldn’t tell her.

  Or was it even worse? Had Kathryn known Zachary was dead and suspected Annette?

  Annette had been acting strangely the last few weeks. She’d asked Cheryl to sign an affidavit attesting to her steady employment and good character—something about her ex and Jade’s child support, she’d said. Cheryl hadn’t asked questions, assuming that was the cause of Annette’s occasional lateness and frequent sharp temper.

  But what if there was some other explanation, something to do with Zachary?

  Cheryl slowed as she drove past the trophy houses along the lake, wondering which yard, which beach was the one. Surely there would be a patrol car, a crime scene team, that garish yellow tape.

  She stopped suddenly. No yellow tape, but wasn’t that Kathryn’s car? She back
ed up and crept down the steep driveway. Kathryn’s beat-up blue Honda sat haphazardly behind an RV, beside a darkened house. Cheryl blocked the driveway with her Jeep, parked, and got out cautiously.

  “Kathryn? Kathryn?” No answer. She looked around, then walked down the driveway and alongside the house, toward the lake. A deck jutted off the back of the house, and she glanced beneath, where sloping ground created the perfect place to hide. A flash of color caught her eye, and her throat. “Kathryn?” Cheryl crouched and called to her daughter. The girl turned, her eyes fevered and wide. Cheryl started toward her, and then saw her point toward the lake and the beach next door. Half a dozen men and women in uniform, taking measurements, photographs, notes. That was the place, then, where Zach had come to rest.

  Cheryl crept toward her daughter. Wordless, she wrapped her arms around the thin shoulders. And then she saw the girl’s hands, covered in blood.

  * * * *

  Annette held the phone to her ear, steering the curves on the road to the lake with one hand. She could hear adult voices yelling in the background as she waited for her daughter.

  “Jade honey, it’s Mommy.” The two-word response stabbed her. “Yes, Mommy Annette. Listen, honey. Can you keep a secret, like a big girl? I’m coming to see you, soon. Don’t tell anyone. It will be our surprise.”

  Zachary was wrong. Jade was her daughter. The love she felt, and the pain of separation, proved it. She would take Jade away from here, to safety.

  But first, other matters. The mother would lead her to the girl. And sure enough, Cheryl turned down a driveway and left her car, never glancing back.

  There they were, underneath the deck. Caught up in each other, unaware of anyone else, the perfect mother and daughter. If she moved quietly, they would never know. She had intended only to frighten the girl, but if she moved quickly, and cut their throats—arteries and trachea—they would die silently, as Zach had, and never be a threat to her and Jade. She tightened her grip on the knife in her pocket.

  * * * *

  The bugs. The bugs.

  Kathryn’s screams pierced the air. Down the slope, next door, the men and women in the bug suits turned toward the sound. They started running, some toward the deck, others toward trees that gave them cover as they approached the women under the deck.

  Annette froze. Dare she move now, with all those eyes on her? She had to, had to make the break. Get Jade, and get away.

  Hands grabbed her ankle and held her tight. “How could you?” Cheryl said, gasping. “You killed your own brother, and you meant to kill Kathryn and me. How could a mother kill anyone?”

  Then they were surrounded. A deputy pried the knife from Annette’s fingers and dragged her into the open. Another deputy helped Cheryl ease Kathryn out from under the deck. Cheryl brushed the spiders off her daughter, and the screaming quieted.

  “Your hands. Are you hurt? Were you stabbed?” a deputy asked, shining a flashlight over a shaking Kathryn. She put her hand to her head, to a shiny patch on her skull.

  Cheryl stopped herself from answering. It was time for Kathryn to speak for herself.

  “I—I think I hit my head on a board.” Kathryn’s voice was thready. “Under there.” She pointed under the deck, and in the beam of light, they all saw the blood on a deck joist.

  Over her daughter’s shoulder, toward the lake, Cheryl watched the sun drop below the horizon.

  __________

  Leslie Budewitz lives in northwest Montana. Her book, Books, Crooks & Counselors: How to Write Accurately About Criminal Law and Courtroom Procedure, will be published by Quill Driver Books in fall 2011; her website is www.LawandFiction.com. Leslie’s short mysteries have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, and ThugLit.

  THE SECRET OF THE RED MULLET, by Nancy Adams

  Rome, A.D. 380

  “Marcellina! Look what that cat of yours has done now!”

  Sagitta leaped out of the impluvium with a small fish in her jaws and shook herself off, scattering even more water over the atrium floor. A big gulp, and the fish was gone.

  “Your brother is very fond of those fish!” Priscilla continued her scold.

  I ignored my old nurse’s words. The maidservants who were scrubbing the floor kept their heads down. Sagitta retched, her sides heaved, and a stream of brown liquid spewed out of her mouth. All over the floor. An intricate mosaic of tiny little tiles with tiny little spaces between. The maidservants looked at one another in resignation.

  “Another hairball!” Priscilla grumbled. Her eyes narrowed to slits in her broad, fleshy face. “That animal is no better behaved than you.”

  I knelt down by Sagitta, stroking her fur in sympathy. Sunlight poured in, illuminating every dust mote, every drop of liquid on the floor. And something caught my eye. Something glinted gold in the unsavory wad of cat hair and fish bones. A disk of gold with a loop for a chain, Greek and Latin characters engraved around the rim. A defiant rooster stood in the center, crowing to drive away the dark. It was an amulet. A charm to ward off evil.

  I plucked the amulet out of the muck and held it up to the light. The inscription read: “Hygia Valerius.” For the health of Valerius. The maidservants crept closer, their irritation momentarily giving way to curiosity.

  “Sagitta must have swallowed it,” I said. “But the fish must have swallowed it first. Where do you think it came from?”

  Even Priscilla was intrigued. She met my eyes with no trace of her usual grumpy expression. “Your father buys them from that fish market by Trajan’s Forum,” she said. “He got some new ones just a few days ago. I overheard him telling your brother about it. Red and gold fish with whiskers like the one your cat just ate.”

  “Hmmm.” I stared at the amulet thoughtfully. I was beginning to form a plan.

  * * * *

  Seeing Trajan’s Market for the first time was overwhelming. All the twelve years of my life, I’d been confined to the streets around our house; it was only on holidays in the country that I was allowed to roam very far. I had no idea that this amazing labyrinth lay just on the other side of Broad Street, only a few blocks from home.

  I followed Priscilla through the crowded forum’s square, gawking at the huge open space filled with more people than I’d ever imagined together in one place. Then through an archway in the surrounding wall, and there it was before me.

  A half-circle of brickwork stretched out to embrace us, three tall stories high. Above it rose three stories more. I craned my neck to see the top. Colorful displays of fruit and flowers lined the half-circle before us. People milled around each booth, talking rapidly and gesticulating as they bargained with the merchants. Business was brisk.

  “Built right into the Quirinal Hill,” Priscilla said. Speechless, I followed her round the corner into a great entrance hall. I looked up at a vaulted ceiling higher than any I’d ever seen. Galleries on either side overlooked the space, and I longed to fly up to their lofty heights and gaze down at the hall from above. Enormous amphorae lined the walls on either side. Merchants stood behind stone counters filled with cups and pitchers, pouring out fragrant samples of olive oil and wine.

  Priscilla led me through the hall to a flight of stairs at the back. We emerged on the corner of a busy street where vendors of every kind were hawking their wares. Exotic spices wafted through the air and delicately woven silks caught my eye. Even better was the view of Trajan’s Forum three stories below. I stopped and gazed down at the scurrying crowds. We were at the top of the half-circle layer.

  Priscilla tugged on my hand. “The fish ponds are on the top floor,” she said. “You can see even more from there.”

  * * * *

  Priscilla was right. The windows on the top floor were so wide it was almost like walking beneath a covered portico. I stared out in open-mouthed amazement: you could see the entire city. Priscilla had to tear me away.

  “We came here to find out about the fish, remember?”

  I followe
d her reluctantly.

  But the fish ponds were almost as fascinating as the view. There were six in all, each holding a different kind of fish, and I stared down at the colorful, shimmering shapes flitting through the water, entranced. The bearded mullets, the kind that Sagitta had swallowed, were especially handsome, with their iridescent shadings of red and gold.

  A man strode up to us, and Priscilla pointed to the tank with the mullets.

  “Do you raise them here, or do they come from somewhere else?”

  “The red ones?” he said. “We get them from old man Gabinus outside Neapolis, down Campania way.”

  “Gabinus!” I said to Priscilla. “Our neighbor in Campania?”

  “Must be,” she replied. “I know he raises a lot of fish and sells some of them. And we’ll be traveling there in a week or two, just as usual. I heard the master and mistress discussing the arrangements only yesterday.”

  We looked at each other in a rare moment of accord.

  * * * *

  My brother Gaius and I had always been a little afraid of Gabinus, who owned the neighboring villa just west of our family’s summer retreat. Once he had caught us trespassing on his land and threatened to throw us into his lamprey pond. He’d laughed a big booming laugh. “Then I’ll watch the little butchers tear you to pieces.” Gaius and I had fled.

  I took out the amulet from the little pouch tucked in the girdle at my waist and looked at it with fresh eyes. Its owner doubtless lay at the bottom of Gabinus’s fish pond.

  I couldn’t wait to find my brother and tell him the exciting news.

  But Gaius was unimpressed. He had turned fifteen only a few months ago and now considered himself too grown-up for my company.