Point No Point
POINT NO POINT
BY
MARY LOGUE
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
I’d like to thank my faithful writing group: Kathy Erickson, Deborah Woodworth, Pat Boenhardt, Pete Hautman, and Bill Smith. As fast as I write, they read and tell me how to make it better. Pete gets double thanks for keeping an arm around my shoulder when the going gets tough, fabulous food on the table, and an eagle eye for the extraneous word.
As always I thank all Pepin County inhabitants. I have owned a home there for twenty years and I can’t imagine my life otherwise. Special thanks to Alan and Steve at Abode Interiors for their support of my writing and artistic life, Robbi and Ted for their vegetables. Ted Johnson was invaluable help with some technical information this time around. And the Brass-fields are to be thanked for helping me name a character.
Big thanks to Gerd Kreij for a wonderful, haunting photo of Lake Pepin.
F
ishing for bodies was not Deputy Sheriff Claire Watkins’ idea of a good time, especially during the hottest spell Wisconsin had endured this summer. In the mid-afternoon sun, Lake Pepin shimmered with the oily sheen of late August, the water a thick brew more apt to stew than refresh.
Claire sat at the bow of the Pepin County rescue launch as Deputy Bill Peterson steered the craft out of the Pepin harbor and northward, past Fort St. Antoine.
The sun came blasting down the corridor of bluffs. It felt like one hundred degrees, though she knew it couldn’t be much over ninety. Even the wind blowing in her face was hot. She could hardly stand wearing her standard navy-blue polyester uniform. The dark fabric absorbed all the heat and let nothing evaporate. Sweat gathered on her chest and forehead, then ran downward.
“Hang on, going to get bumpy,” Bill yelled as he cut across another boat’s wake.
Claire grabbed tight to the gunnel. “I didn’t know this old crate could move this fast.”
Bill nodded. “Full throttle.”
Up ahead she saw Point No Point, an optical illusion that had always fascinated her, a place in the river where the far bank appeared to be a wooded point jutting into the water at a sharp bend, but as you came closer the illusion faded away. There was no point, just a curve in the river. Point No Point was not a point but only a slight bulge on the shores of Lake Pepin, part of this twenty-mile section of the Mississippi River. It was a point that wasn’t a point in a lake that wasn’t a lake but a river. Claire loved the incongruity.
As they passed Maiden Rock, a limestone outcropping in the bluffline, she saw two boats in the water ahead waiting for them: the brand-new, fully equipped 36-foot-long water patrol boat from Lake City, which towered above the smaller 12-foot launch from Pierce County sheriff’s department.
Bill slowed their boat and nosed in gently next to the other vessels. Claire immediately saw what they had been summoned to examine: the humped back of a large naked body bobbing in the water like a listing buoy. So pale and vulnerable did the fleshy broad back seem in the dark-green soup of the river that Claire felt like reaching out a hand and patting it for reassurance.
“I make it not quite two miles from the far shore,” a tall, dark-haired man leaned over the railing of the Lake City patrol boat and shouted down at the other two boat crews.
“What far shore?” Ron Hansen, an officer from Pierce County, asked.
“Ours, of course. Western. Minnesota.”
“Only about a quarter mile from this side,” Hansen yelled back. Then he turned to Claire and Bill and said with a smirk,
“But the body is quite a ways south of the Point No Point buoy, past the 779 mile marker, which, by my estimation, puts it under the Pepin County jurisdiction.”
Claire looked at the shore. She could see the mouth of a creek, its small delta jutting out into the river. “But isn’t that Pine Creek over there? That’s still in Pierce County.”
“The county line is angled west here and cuts through the lake to up past Old Frontenac. Do you want to have a look at the Army Corps of Engineers map and see for yourself?”
Claire couldn’t believe they were arguing over who got the body, none of them wanting it. They didn’t even know what kind of death had occurred. The floating body could be a simple case of heart attack, or a drowning. Yes, there was a chance that it was an instance of foul play, but wasn’t that their job? Yet here they were all trying to shove it off on someone else.
“I guess you’ll just have to reel him in. I’d say you caught yourself a whale there,” Hansen said to Claire.
It looked like Pepin County was going to get stuck with the body. Claire had to admit her heart sunk. The smallest county in Wisconsin, they were perhaps the least able to deal with the investigation this body might require. But she, too, was getting ahead of herself.
“We’ll drop a buoy to mark the spot,” the Pierce County deputy said.
Claire turned back to Bill.
He shrugged and said, “At least we won’t have to talk about the big one that got away.”
The Water Patrol Officer yelled down at them, “It’s your baby. What do you want to do with it?”
Claire didn’t have to think about this question. The next action might tell her what she was getting into. “Turn him over.”
* * *
“You shouldn’t be in here.” Rich tried to sound stern as Meg sauntered into the kitchen, but she saw through him with no trouble. He was working at the counter, stirring something in a big yellow bowl.
“What? Is it a secret that it’s my birthday? Is it a secret that you always make me a German Chocolate cake?” Meg walked up to the frosting bowl and stuck her finger into the coconutty goop. He swatted at her, but she just danced away and laughed. “Where’s my mom?”
“She hasn’t called, but I expect her any moment. She promised she’d be here by six. What about Curt?”
“He’s coming. He said he had to milk the cows first so he might be a little later than that.”
“I can’t believe you’re sixteen years old.”
Meg could easily believe she was sixteen. She had been waiting to be that age forever. Now she could finally get her driver’s license. Living out in the sticks, that meant freedom. “You know what, Rich?”
“What?”
“You’ve known me half my life.” What she didn’t add was—longer than my real dad knew me. Meg’s father had died when she was six. She met Rich two years later when he started dating her mother. She guessed he was still courting Claire since, although they all lived together, Rich and Claire had not married. Which was cool with her. But sometimes she did wish Rich was her father.
“And you’ve known me almost a fifth of my life.”
“Hey, what did you get me for my birthday?” Meg teased. “Maybe a car? That’s what most kids get.”
“Yup. You know the old pickup truck next to the barn?”
Meg knew the truck well. She had learned to drive the fields in that vehicle.
“That’s yours, if you want it.”
“Nice try. I know you’ve been trying to get someone to tow it away. That thing doesn’t go above twenty miles an hour.”
“Perfect. That’s why I’m giving it to you. No reason to go faster than that,” Rich said.
Meg gave him a gentle pummeling on his arm to show him she knew he was kidding. “Do you think Mom’s getting me a car, a real car?”
Rich started to pour the coconut frosting on the dark cake, then stopped mid-stream to answer her question. “I think the chances of that are slimmer than the lake freezing over this afternoon.”
“Right, Rich. Why don’t I ever get what I really want?”
“We all wonder that.” Rich chuckled.
A pounding sounded from the front door and both Meg and Rich turned to see who would walk in. Curt Hedberg nudged the door open with his foot, a huge bouquet of nodding sunflowers filling his arms. His dark hair fell over his face until he swung it back, then his smile bloomed and his eyes locked onto hers. Whenever she saw him, something opened in her heart. It just did. And then there he was—with more flowers than she knew what to do with.
“Happy sweet sixteen,” Curt said, presenting her with the bouquet. “I picked them myself.”
“Thank you, Curt. They’re fantastic,” Meg said, trying not
to get pricked by the raspy stems. She wished her mom was here to help her arrange the flowers. She put them carefully in the sink and filled it up with water to keep them wet while she found a vase.
Meg wanted her party to start right now, presents and all. “Where’s Mom? It’s way after six. Why isn’t she here?”
“Don’t worry. She’ll be here any minute.” Rich put the finishing touches on the frosting.
Meg was amazed at how Rich always thought the best of her mom, even if she was late a million times. “What if something comes up at work? As usual. Or what if she totally forgot?”
“Nothing would keep her from your sixteenth birthday party.” Just then Rich looked out the picture window toward the lake and saw the new water patrol boat from Lake City steaming downriver and wondered who they were rescuing.
* * *
“I hate water,” Bill Peterson said, sitting in a protective Gumby suit, scowling down at the murky surface.
Claire didn’t dare laugh at the sight he made in the flame-red rubber suit, which did not complement his pale-pink skin and startling blue-green eyes. He looked like a six-foot-tall lobster.
Nor was she going to remind him that he didn’t really need to wear the Gumby suit, which was more typically used in cold water. But it was the only way Bill would get in the water, especially with a dead man floating in it.
“So I’ve heard. I’ll tie you to the boat,” Claire said. “You won’t drown. It’ll be fine.”
None of the farm boys in the deputy sheriff’s office liked water. Knowing how much he disliked swimming, she had considered doing the job herself, but Bill was nearly twice as big as she was and certainly more than twice as strong. He would have to do most of the heavy lifting from the water.
Before Bill slid into the lake, Claire took a few photos, making herself look directly at the naked, severely bloated body.
The man had red hair. Other than that, he was so swollen with decomposition gasses that she had no sense of what he might have looked like, or even what size he might have been before his watery immersion. He resembled a bleached and obese fish. His face was spongy and distended, the folds of the eyelids so puffy that the eyes disappeared completely. His nose looked as if it had been chewed on. His lips were maroon and enormous, like two leeches attached to his face.
She didn’t think he was anyone she knew. She sincerely hoped not. But in his present condition it was hard to tell.
A ragged hole had torn open his lower belly; the wound was now puckered around the edges. Claire saw a faded tattoo on his upper arm. That would be a huge help in identification. Especially since she could see no way the naked man could have any other form of identification on him. They’d take his fingerprints, but no guarantee they’d be on file.
Claire pointed out the wound. “Gunshot, wouldn’t you say?”
Bill shrugged, then stated, “Could have been a snapping turtle. There’s some really big ones, size of a garbage can lid.”
“Snapping turtles. That’s a good one. I guess the questions are what’s he doing in the water and why is his belly ripped open, however it happened?”