Shooting at Loons by Margaret Maron

Author:Margaret Maron
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, checked, Contemporary
ISBN: 9781436119788
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 1994-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

8

Our life is like a stormy sea

Swept by the gales of sin and grief,

While on the windward and the lee

Hang heavy clouds of unbelief;

But o’er the deep a call we hear,

Like harbor bell’s inviting voice;

It tells the lost that hope is near,

And bids the trembling soul rejoice.

“This way, this way, O heart oppress’d,

So long by storm and tempest driv’n;

This way, this way, lo, here is rest,”

Rings out the Harbor Bell of heaven.

—John H. Yates

When I awoke the next morning, it wasn’t the sound of shotguns blasting across the water that floated through my window, but those very loud bantam gamecocks that Mickey Mantle keeps caged among the bushes at the edge of Mahlon’s lot.

I’m sure he fights them somewhere on the island, but it was no concern of my mine. The clock said it was only six-ten, so I pulled the quilt over my head and tried to ignore their strident crows.

Less easy to ignore an hour later was the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee that worked its way under my closed door and down under the quilt till I was roused to pull a sweatshirt over my gown and go follow it out to the kitchen. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a phantom aroma for by the time I got there, the pot was empty, a cup was draining in the dish rack on the sink, and there was a note on the table:

6:45

Thanks for the loan of your couch. All quiet this a.m., so I’ll try to sneak out without ruining your reputation.

Kidd Chapin

There were enough trees and bushes between the back door and the mobile home fifty feet away. With Clarence and his son away all week, Chapin had a pretty good chance of succeeding unless someone happened to be looking right at the door the minute he opened it. Once outside and through the bushes, there was enough foot traffic back and forth between the road and the water, that no one would know if he were coming or going.

Reputation intact for one day more. My brothers would be pleased.

I showered while a fresh pot of coffee brewed, then slipped on jeans and sneakers and walked down to the water with that first hot cup cradled in my hands. The air was chilly and the wind was still off the water and stronger than last night, but the sun was burning off a light haze and it was going to be a beautiful day.

A door banged and I looked back to see young Guthrie standing there with books under his arm, his blond thatch brushed, dressed for school. He hesitated a moment, as if uncertain whether or not to acknowledge my presence. It was the first time I’d seen him since Sunday, but I greeted him casually and he joined me at the water’s edge with some of his usual self-assurance.

“You laying out today?” he asked.

I smiled. “Wish I could.”

“Me, too. I hate school.”

“Yeah, I did, too.”

He glanced over at me quickly before his eyes darted away again.

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