Bobby pulled his bass boat up to the dock. He
turned to slip a line over a piling when a large, black boot came down on top
of it. Bobby looked up to see Sheriff McCauley staring down at him.
"Been doin' a little fishin', Bobby?"
"What's it look like?"
The sheriff looked into the boat. "I don't
see no fish."
"Weren't bitin'."
"Well, when it's hot like this, sometimes
they don't. Bite, that is." The sheriff fanned himself with his hat as
damselflies circled the dock, then leaned over and smiled at Bobby. "You
know, if I was a young man your age with a pretty girlfriend, I'd be sittin' in
the shade with her sippin' an iced tea. Or maybe a lemonade. That's what I'd be
doing'. And it's a hot day. Hot enough to make a fella sweat."
Bobby tossed the line around the piling to avoid
the sheriff's boot, the tied a knot. He never looked up.
"And yet here you are, Bobby Higgins, on
the hottest day of the year, fishin'. I don't even see any bait."
"Threw it in the water. Wasn't catchin'
nothin' anyways."
"I see."
"Look, Sheriff, I got things to do."
Bobby tried to step onto the pier, but the
sheriff put up his hand to stop him.
"Now,
Bobby, I'm just trying to understand things here," Sheriff McCauley
pleaded, holding out his hands. "Instead of spending time with your girl,
you're out here working up a sweat. Of course, that might be because nobody's
seen Cassie since last night. I don't suppose you've seen her, have you?"
"Nope."
"Come to think of
it, the last person she was seen with was Steve Taylor. They were dancin' down
at the Gator's Nest until almost midnight, so maybe you're not the best person
to ask anyway."
"Maybe you should ask Stevie, then,
shouldn't you?" Bobby paced as much as he could in the tiny boat.
"He's your little golden boy, isn't he? What is he? A cousin, twice
removed? I'm just here so you have someone's ass to kick every now and
then."
"Trust me, Bobby. If all I wanted was an
ass to kick, there's plenty of 'em around these parts that deserve it. I'm just
havin' a polite conversation with a fishin' buddy—especially since I haven't been able to locate Steve Taylor,
either."
"Buddy? I ain't never been
your buddy."
"Sorry you feel that way, Bobby." The
sheriff scrutinized the boat again. "You'd think you would have at least
brought a cooler full of beer along. Plenty of room up front there," the
sheriff said, pointing towards the bow.
"Didn't have the money."
"Curious," the sheriff said as he
pondered the open space. As he did, a damselfly landed on the bow. "You
know, there's an old wives' tale that says a damselfly won't land anyplace
except where a damsel herself would sit." He smiled at Bobby. "Think
that's true?"
"Wouldn't know, Sheriff."
"Yes sir, lots of empty space in that
little boat. Not even an anchor. I was sure you'd at least have an
anchor."
Bobby shrugged. "Maybe I lost it."
"I'm not much of a boatin' man, but I hear
anchors are pretty useful things. They can help hold your place when you're in
a current." The sheriff looked directly at Bobby. "Or they can hold
things down."
"Sounds like you're on a little fishin'
trip yourself, Sheriff. So, if you don't mind, I got places to be."
"Well, I just have one more question before
you go." The sheriff bent down and pulled a small piece of crinoline stuck
on a screw on the side of the boat. "If two people get into a boat at the
dock, don't you think it's best if two people get off a boat at the dock?"
There was a pause. Bobby swallowed hard. "You know, Bobby, it really would
be in your own interest to remember where you 'lost' that anchor."
