Backcast (36 page)

13

The Swashbuckler

A blanket finish.

That's what the judge declared when their single catch from the day before rang in at a record-breaking eleven point four pounds. They said it was the largest bass ever caught in a tournament on Lake Champlain.

It was enough to put them into an exact tie for second place. Quinn was okay with that. Second place was still really good. Second place meant she still had a chance to win—a good chance. And the best part about second place was that it wasn't
first
place.

That meant she had slept better last night, although she did dream about Phoebe again. She was getting used to that, and the dreams rattled her less. She almost looked forward to them now. She'd find herself rushing through dinner and not wanting to tarry long in the restaurant with the rest of the group. Most of them had developed a tendency to sit around in the evening hours and chew the fat about their writing, or gossip about whoever wasn't present. But Quinn had other things on her mind.

Phoebe didn't have anything to say to her last night—or the night before that. All Quinn could remember was the sensation of drifting out in the center of the lake beneath the full moon, watching Phoebe swim around in lazy circles. Sometimes she'd break the surface, and the rings that spread out in her wake made the black water look just like that vortex in
Vertigo
.

But that was pretty much all that happened.

She wondered what Phoebe thought about how she was doing
in the tournament. And whether that big fish that jumped out of the water and took her worm yesterday was a friend of hers. It was too bad all those tournament fish had to be put back into the water all the way over in Plattsburgh. But she guessed they'd all find their way back to their favorite spots soon enough. One thing she knew about Phoebe was that she liked to move around. Junior's Pisces map was proof of that.

So far, they'd visited nine of the thirteen spots that Junior had marked with red X's on the map. That left only four for today. She knew that her approach to fishing those locations wasn't typical. Most of the pros would hit a spot and quickly move on if the fish weren't biting. They reminded Quinn of all those old biddies who played the slots at Harrah's when she worked there as a repair technician. They'd plop down with their piles of tokens and try a few pulls. But if the machine was cold and not paying out, they'd quickly move on to another location. On bad days, they'd sometimes get so frustrated they'd practically yank the arms off the machines. But they had one thing in common: they always kept moving until their luck changed.

Quinn felt like their luck was holding out just fine—even though they only caught one fish yesterday.

Today, Montana was having them start out at the farthest point north, and work their way down the lake toward Plattsburgh. Unlike yesterday, the weather today was perfect—sunny and warm, with only a gentle breeze blowing. That meant the lake was calm and moving around from place to place was quick and easy.

Two of the locations they tried had already been duds. They'd had a few nibbles in the bay behind Holiday Point, and Quinn had even hauled in a decent-sized northern pike—but no bass. The rock bed on the north side of Dameas Island seemed promising at first, but ninety minutes later, when she lost her best chartreuse spinnerbait, they gave up and moved on to the next X on the map.

It wasn't too hard to locate the series of small humps that sat just a ways off shore south of Hibbard Point. They were an extension of the City Reef, and terminated in front of a beautiful country inn called Shore Acres. Junior said sometimes this was the most productive
spot on the lake. And even when it wasn't, he didn't really mind. He said that was because the food at this place was the best in the islands, and the bartender never skimped on the drinks.

Montana cut the engines and let the pontoon drift in closer to the shore. Quinn had her lure ready. She was going to try her luck with a Carolina lizard.

Marvin was getting bored with the whole enterprise. His huffs and grunts were becoming more pronounced. He'd already worked his way through all the back issues of
Guns & Ammo
that Page Archer had on hand. Now he was leafing through old Restoration Hardware catalogs.

Lucky for them, Page Archer had eclectic tastes.

“Isn't it about time for a damn break?”

Quinn looked over her shoulder at him. “It's only just noon. Let's try our luck here and then find a cool spot to make lunch.”

Quinn could tell that Marvin was growing pretty fond of hot dogs and grape Fanta. He didn't even complain about them anymore.

“Well I don't want to sit here for another damn hour.”

“We won't.” Quinn threw her first cast. “If they're not biting, we'll move on.”

Montana joined Quinn on the front of the boat.

“I'd try a drop shot and aim for that trench.” She pointed at a darker-looking spot on the water.

“Okay.” Quinn was slowly jerking her line. Left. Then right. She brought it in and executed a near-perfect backcast into the dark line of water. After her first gentle tug, she felt something.
There it was again.
Resistance. A
lot
of it. She tugged again. The line grew taut.

“I've got something!”

“Reel it in, reel it in.” Montana was beside her with the net. “Keep the rod down.”

Quinn slowly worked the line. Whatever was on the other end was big—and it was clear it didn't want to be caught. It was crazy heavy, and it was fighting to stay on the bottom.

“Good god—this thing is like a
slug.
”

“What do you mean?” Montana was on her knees at the edge of the boat, scanning the water.

“I mean it's like dead weight.”

“It's not fighting you?”

“No.” Quinn shook her head and kept winding in her line. “It's just heavy.”

“Hang on. I think I see it. It's—what the hell
is
that?”

The creature Quinn had hooked was shimmying closer to the boat. She could tell that it was black, and fairly long.

“Is it an eel?”

Montana got to her feet. “If that's an eel, it ate an inner tube for breakfast.”

Their excitement was enough to rouse Marvin from his home décor stupor. He put down his stack of catalogs and wandered over to join them.

“What'd you find this time? Jimmy Hoffa?” He laughed at his own joke.

“Okay, get the net ready.” Quinn lifted up on her pole. “Here it comes.”

Montana worked the net beneath it and lifted it out of the water.

Her eyes grew wide. “Oh. My. God.”

Quinn began to chuckle.

“What is it?” Marvin pushed his way between them and looked down into the net.

“Is that what I
think
it is?” Montana thrust the net at Marvin and backed away from it like it contained radioactive isotopes.

“Yep.” Quinn reached into the net and withdrew the object. “I'd say that this right here is one of your more advanced models.” She proceeded to remove her hook from the impressively proportioned dildo.

Montana was shaking her head. “That's just gross.”

“Why?” Marvin glared at her. “Because it's black?”

“
No
.” Montana pointed an accusatory finger at the pleasure aid. “Not because it's
black
. Because it has to be at least
fifteen
inches long.”

Quinn was still chuckling. “I have to admit, that is pretty unusual.”

Marvin shrugged. “Not in my neighborhood.”

“Oh, come on, Mavis—
Marvin
.” Montana threw up her hands. “How come that's the
one
stereotype you guys never deny?”

“Wouldn't you like to know, little girl?” Marvin smirked at her, dropped the net, and sauntered back to reclaim his seat on the recliner. “Let me know when it's time for lunch.”

Barb was having a hard time holding her tools today. When a dolly slipped out of her hand and she smashed her thumb with a finish hammer, she knew it was past time to take a break. She stepped outside the barn and sat down on a stool to have a smoke.

It was beautiful today. Across the field that spread out behind the barn, she could see the bright blue water of the lake, shimmering beneath the midday sun. She took a long drag on her cigarette and wondered how the tournament was going.

It was mind-blowing that an abject amateur like Quinn would end up holding her own in a contest choked with career professionals. Even Mavis was finding it difficult to be critical of what had started out as a fool's errand. Now, when Barb would query her for specifics, Mavis would just shake her head and say she couldn't explain it.

Her throbbing thumb hurt like hell. But at least it was taking her mind off how badly her hands were cramping. The pain had kept her awake most of the night. That was happening a lot more lately. Normally, she was able to persevere and push through it so she could work.

Not today.

She was glad she'd been able to finish making the rings for Kate. She completed the second one last night, and now had it shined up and ready. She'd give it to Kate tonight at the party—plenty of time before the ceremony tomorrow morning. Barb didn't normally work with copper and she had only modest experience making jewelry, but she thought the rings turned out pretty nicely. Kate seemed to think so, too.

Barb smiled when she remembered how shy and faltering the normally self-composed Kate Winston had been when she first approached her about making the rings. Barb had been moved by how self-revealing she was. How vulnerable. It pleased her to know that Kate and Shawn were headed toward a happy ending, and that she'd played a small role in orchestrating that outcome by inviting them to participate in this project.

She heard footsteps on the crushed gravel behind her and turned to see her cousin, Page, approaching. She was carrying a tall Styrofoam cup.

“I brought you a smoothie.” She held it out to Barb. “It's strawberry. I tossed in a double shot of protein powder.”

Barb took it from her. “How'd you know I was hungry?”

“You didn't finish your breakfast.” Page retrieved an empty milk crate from a stack beside the dumpsters and sat down on it. “And I know your appetite.”

“Yeah.”

“Rough day?”

Barb nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“What were you gonna do about it? Chew my food for me?”

“No.” Page gestured toward the smoothie. “Put it in the blender for you.”

Barb smiled. “Thanks, cuz.”

“Are you through working for the day?”

“Probably. I need to start packing my shit up.”

“You don't have to leave tomorrow. Why don't you stay on a few more days—at least until you feel better.”

Barb took a sip of the smoothie. It was delicious. Page must've used fresh strawberries and real ice cream. That figured. She was a hardliner. She didn't mess around with candy-ass stuff like Greek yogurt.

“When we leave is up to Mavis. She's the one who does all the driving.”

“Does she have to get back to work?”

“Not right away. She's taking some time off to help me out.”

“How much time?”

Barb shrugged. “As much as I need, I guess.”

Page took a moment to respond. “You've got a good friend there.”

“I know. Strange, isn't it?”

Page laughed. “With your track record, I'd say it's more than strange. It's surreal.”

Barb sipped some more of her smoothie. It was cold and it went down nicely—a lot better than most things.

“Hey.” She got to her feet. “Do you wanna come inside and see the model for the show?”

“I was hoping you'd offer.”

“Come on, then. You can give me your unvarnished opinion.”

“I always do.”

“I know.”

They walked into the area of the barn where Barb had her makeshift studio.

“Voila.” She gestured toward the array of little sculptures arranged on a plank table. “Behold, the Birth of Pisces.”

“Pisces?” Page ran a finger over one of the tiny fish figurines. “Is that what you're calling it?”

Barb nodded. “I think so. It fits.” She smiled. “Especially with the backdrop of this bass tournament going on the entire time we've been here.”

Page rolled her eyes. “Which one of them is this?”

The fish she indicated was tightly wrapped with a smooth, silver coil.

“You know I can't tell you that. Not yet, anyway.”

“It's just as well. I'd rather not know.”

“You say that, but you don't mean it.”

“For your sake, I hope their essays are better than most of their books.”

“You know what, Page? I've known the majority of these women for years. Read their stuff. Toured with them. Spent time with them at conferences.” She chuckled. “And in jail.”