Muskie Attack (An Up North Adventure) (8 page)

Gil grabbed Pike’s sack of candy.

“Sweet Brie! You’ve nearly eaten it all—in less than two hours,” she exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Mom is going to kill you.”

Pike grabbed the sack back. “I didn’t mean to. We were just walking and talking.”

“And eating. Don’t forget eating,” Gil chimed in.

Griffy looked into his bag. Just a few bull’s-eyes, some fireballs, and a couple sticks of rock candy remained. This couldn’t be good for him either, he thought.

When he and Pike had left Tremblay’s, they’d killed time by walking through a nearby flea market. It was great fun looking at all the old junk while sampling their candy. From the looks of his bag, they’d obviously gotten a little carried away with the “sampling.” When he looked up, fear filled his face as he saw Pike’s mother making her way over to them. Luckily, someone walked up to greet her, delaying her for the moment. Griffy tugged on Pike’s arm and nodded toward where his mother stood. “Your mom’s coming.”

“What!” Pike exclaimed, eyes darting across the room. He spotted her. “Oh no.” In a panic, he grabbed Griffy by the arms. “Smell my breath.”

“What?” Griffy winced and pulled back.

Pike shook him hard. “Smell my breath!” he demanded.

“Watermelon, OK. It smells like watermelon. What about mine?”

“Nothing.” Pike paused. “But your tongue is blue,” he continued in disgust. “We are doomed.” He looked at Gil. “Stop laughing.”

“Whatever,” Gil replied, shaking her head in amusement. “How many times do I have to save your skin, huh?” She reached into her purse and then hesitated. She looked directly at Pike. “You are never to touch my purse again. Got it?” She drew out a pack of gum and held it out to Pike. When he grabbed for it, she quickly pulled it back. “Got it?”

“Yes, I’ve got it. Now give me the gum.” He took a piece and gave the pack to Griffy.

“You two need to go back to Tremblay’s and buy more candy before Mom finds out,” Gil instructed.

“Mom will never let us go back there,” Pike whined. Griffy nodded in agreement.

Gil rolled her eyes as if to say silly, silly boys. “Go tell Mom you are bored and want to go down to the pond. You know the one off the park out back? She’ll say yes and then ask me to keep an eye on you. I’ll cover. OK?”

“But we’ll miss the meeting,” Griffy whined. Pike nodded in agreement.

“Boys!” Gil exclaimed in exasperation. “You want something so bad, but yet you always do something stupid to mess it up. I don’t know about you, Griffy, but when my mom finds out Pike ate an entire bag of candy, he won’t be doing anything—including fishing—for a very long time.”

“She’s right,” Pike said, grabbing Griffy by the arm. “Let’s go.”

Gil saw Pike and Griffy coming down the street. She waved them into one of the village hall’s side doors.

“About time,” she said, holding the door open. “It took you long enough.”

“We got a little sidetracked,” Griffy replied, shooting a look at Pike.

“Figures.”

“Mom been looking for us?” Pike quickly asked.

“No, she’s been in the meeting the whole time.”

“Good,” he answered in relief.

“So? So? What’s happening?” Griffy asked eagerly.

“Well, for one thing, our dad just nominated the three of us to pass out ‘Swim at Your Own Risk’ fliers. Can you believe that? I don’t want to spend all summer circulating fliers. They are going to put up warning signs. I don’t see the need for …”

“Gil,” Pike interrupted, “don’t care about fliers. The competition—what’s happening with the competition?"

“Fine, but you’re not going to want to pass out fliers either.”

Gil handed them an entry form that outlined the rules of the Master Fisherman Muskie Competition. Griffy read it out loud:
“All public boat launches on Lost Land Lake will be closed. Access to the lake will be limited to two points: Sunken Island Resort and The Happy Hooker. Whispering Pines Lodge will serve as competition headquarters. Competitors must check in at the lodge where they’ll be assigned a launch site and time. No more than eighty competition boats will be allowed on the lake at any time. A safety check will be instated from noon to 2:00 pm and from midnight to 2:00 am, during which all competition boats must leave the waters. The DNR and ‘deputized’ lake association members will be on patrol at all times. The twenty-five-dollar-per-fisherman entry fee includes one boat launch. Subsequent boat launches will be five dollars each. Lake residents and resort guests have free lake access if entered in the competition and can fish at any time—even during safety checks. The grand prize for landing the world record muskie: induction into the National Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame, a permanent display in its museum, and five thousand dollars cash.”

Looking up from the form, Griffy gulped, “Five thousand dollars? Wow.” That kind of money would get his father’s attention, big-time. If he could win five thousand dollars, his dad would be more than proud, he’d be impressed.

“Forget the five thousand bucks, Griffy,” Pike blurted out. “How much money do you have?” He was sorting through his pockets. “I’ve got three dollars—maybe eight more at home.”

“I’ve got two dollars here.” Griffy held out a couple one-dollar bills. “Three dollars back at the lodge.”

“Three! Just three!”

“Well, I’ve been buying souvenirs,” Griffy explained. “I bought that tie-dyed T-shirt with the northern pike decal and that mosquito bandana, remember, and two rounds of candy.” He shook his new Tremblay’s bag at Pike.

“We’ve got only sixteen dollars.” Pike hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “We don’t even have one entry fee! Plus we need to buy equipment. Our poles are too small to land a seventy-pound muskie. They’d break in two! Oh geez. Will Dell give you more money?”

“No way. I get an allowance every two weeks. The rest goes into a savings account so my mom can buy bonds for college.”

Frustrated, Pike grabbed the top of his head and nodded. “I’ve got the same deal. What are we going to do? In two weeks time, someone could catch that fish.”

Pike turned his head to look at Gil pleadingly.

“Hey, don’t look at me. I’m not giving you any money. And I’m sure Mom and Dad won’t either. It’s going to be a madhouse out there. No way are they going to let the two of you enter. Safety checks: that’s the only time you two are going to be out on the water.”

“Yeah?” Pike countered. “What do you know?”

The brother and sister were about to go at it when Griffy spoke up.

“Fliers,” he blurted out.

“What?” Gil and Pike answered in unison turning their hostile attitudes away from each other and toward Griffy.

“Fliers,” he replied. “Didn’t you say something about passing out fliers? Maybe there’s some money in that?”

Gil shrugged.

Pike nodded and smiled. “Definitely.”

Gearing Up

Gil drove the cart along the winding road near Sunken Island Resort as Griffy and Pike leaped in and out, poking fliers into mailboxes. Insects buzzed all around. Fed up with their constant assault on her, Gil grabbed a large fern frond from the side of the road to use as a swatter. She kept one hand on the wheel while the other hand waved the frond back and forth.

“Wave that thing this way,” Griffy instructed as he hopped in the cart. Sweat trickled down his face. “Get that horsefly. He’s driving me nuts!”

Gil swatted the fern down hard and fast, knocking the fly out of the air and onto the cart’s dashboard. Griffy quickly smacked it again with his stack of fliers and flicked it into the road.

“Thanks. One down. Five hundred thousand to go,” he said, feeling defeated.

Griffy examined the splat of blood and insect goo now stuck to one of his fliers. Oh, well, he shrugged. What could Andy Gibson expect for ten dollars a week? Distributing these fliers was hot, hard work. They negotiated and negotiated, but he wouldn’t budge from ten dollars a week per person. Griffy’s enthusiasm over catching the mammoth muskie had not waned, but his enthusiasm over passing out fliers had. If not for Pike’s zealous drive, Griffy would have given it up. A week to the day had passed since the launch of the Master Fisherman Muskie Competition, and he and Pike were as determined as ever to enter and win. The only obstacle still standing in the way: cash.

Pike walked up, keeping pace with the moving vehicle. A look of frustration covered his face.

“Even after we get paid today, we won’t have enough money. Forty-six dollars. That’s all. Not even enough for two entry fees. It will be two, maybe three, more weeks before we get paid again,” he whined. “That muskie will be as good as caught by then. Have you seen all the boats out there?”

Griffy shook his head in agreement. “And more are coming in every day. It’s amazing.”

“Excuse me,” Gil interjected. “Where did you learn to do math? You’ve only got thirty-six dollars. Sixteen plus ten plus ten equals thirty-six.”

“Plus your ten equals forty-six.”

“I’m not giving you my ten dollars.”

“Come on, Gil!” Pike pleaded. “Why not? We’ll give you a share of the five-thousand-dollar prize.”

“You mean the one that you won’t be winning? I’ll pass on that.”

“Griffy and I will catch that fish, guaranteed,” Pike said confidently.

“You can’t catch a fish if you don’t have a pole in the water, and Mom will never let you out on that lake. It’s crazy out there. Andy’s called in the paramedics so many times they set up a permanent tent.”

Pike looked like he was about ready to blow.

Griffy quickly interjected, trying to mollify him. “It’s OK, Pike. You and I will pool our money. You can enter the competition now. We’ll fish with what we’ve got. We’ll use our next twenty dollars to buy better gear.”

That wasn’t going to mollify Pike. Not one bit. He fumed.

“You always ruin everything, Gil. What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so mean?” He stopped walking, letting the cart pass him by. “I wish you weren’t my sister! I wish I didn’t have a sister!” he yelled after the cart.

Gil harrumphed. “I’m not giving you guys my ten dollars. No way.”

Griffy shrugged and looked back at Pike, who now stood in the middle of the road, hands planted firmly on his hips, brow furrowed. “You should probably stop driving. He’s not following us.”

Gil kept her foot on the gas and stared intently at the road ahead.

“Aren’t you going to stop?” Griffy asked, glancing over his shoulder and back at Pike, who was getting farther and farther away.

“I’m not giving
him
my money,” Gil grunted, brow furrowed too.

Griffy sat back in the seat. “I give up.”

Gil suddenly hit the brakes so hard the cart veered wildly to one side almost throwing Griffy out. Well, at least she decided to stop, Griffy thought as he rocked back into his seat.

“Nice driving,” he finally said.

“Sorry about that,” Gil replied. “But I’ve got an idea.” She nodded to a rickety old mailbox sticking out of the woods just ahead of them. The peeling paint on its side read “T. Hanover.”

Gil stood up and leaned out the side of the cart. “Hurry up, Pike, and get up here,” she yelled down the road. “Come on, you big baby. Right here is the solution to your problem.”

“I think,” she whispered to Griffy.

With Pike begrudgingly back in the cart, Gil turned down the sandy road that curved through the woods to the neat but worn home of T. Hanover.

“Trust me, Pike. You are going to want to see this,” Gil said as she struggled to dodge the branches and overgrowth that assaulted the cart.

“Whatever,” he replied.

As the kids came barreling to the end of the road, they were greeted by a man standing—much as Pike had been a few minutes earlier—in the middle of it with his hands on his hips. Behind him stood a tan clapboard cabin, a garage, and two smaller outbuildings. In front of him sat a large German shepherd.

“What are you kids doing down here?” he demanded in a suspicious tone. “Turn right around now. You have no business here.”

Gil gulped. “Mr. Hanover, I’m Gil McKendrick,” she stammered. “My dad and I delivered groceries to you a while back.” She got no reply or hint of recognition from Mr. Hanover. “Um, milk, eggs, beer. You were sick?” Still no recognition. “OK, well, we are passing out these fliers.” She handed him one, carefully avoiding the dog.