Anchor Management by Ellis Quinn

Author:Ellis Quinn [Quinn, Ellis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

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At the Chesapeake Cove wharf she overheard the fishermen talking as they geared up for night fishing, even when she stood as far as the boardwalk. She couldn’t believe her unexpected luck.

She and Buster had walked the beach from Fortune to town. She even let Buster off lead to run in the surf. Then they were up on the beach trail, strolling the boardwalk in the blue dusk. It was there she overheard the fishermen and grew attentive, hoping for some juicy gossip.

There were four boats close together, all the men moving around carrying nets and heavy buckets loaded with gear. Probably heading out for stripers or black drum or whatever was good at night and in season out on the Bay this time of year.

The clarity of the voices carried on the wind must have had something to do with the chill in the air. There was a brittleness to the night. The evening had deepened to cobalt and early stars twinkled above. The dark allowed her to lurk in the shadows like a real private detective and get a clue that would break open the case.

The lights in the boats were bright, and she was sure the fishermen would have trouble seeing her on the boardwalk pretending to walk her dog. One of the boats blasted AC/DC too loud, and she would lose snippets of what they were saying in the guitar solos.

Unfortunately, there was no murder-related gossip to overhear.

So far she’d learned that so-and-so was having an affair with so-and-so from down at the school. Heard also that so-and-so had lost a tooth in that fight down at the something place. Somebody’s sister who lives in Delaware said her friend’s brother had a girlfriend whose boyfriend got stabbed outside her work. The names were unknown to her, and she had trouble making sense of the fishermen’s accents sometimes, which were stronger than hers. She heard nothing that would tell her who’d killed Jack Dawson.

The growling of her stomach told it was time to give up on the sleuthing and for her and Buster to go get some grub.

“What do you say?” She gave Buster’s leash an easy tug to jingle his collar, and he looked up. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? Let’s head on up to the Crab. I’ll order ahead . . .”

Buster’s leash in one hand, she withdrew her phone from a jacket pocket and scrolled through her contacts to find the Crab’s phone number. Buster pulled ahead and she mis-dialed. “Easy, buddy,” she said, “don’t make me call my ex-husband by accident.”

Buster persisted, nose down but not sniffing, ears pointed forward and shoulder muscles straining. His front feet sought traction on the gravel path.

“All right,” she said, “all right. Gosh, you are strong.”

She let him lead, thinking he wanted to go to the bushes to relieve himself. He beelined toward a small garden of boxwood and cherry trees nestled within a raised cedar shaving bed, a railway tie wall behind it.

“Okay,” she laughed, “okay,” and let him pull her to the garden.

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