And then the fish’s snout appeared above the surface, my lure caught on the edge of its lower lip, and it shook its head vigorously back and forth a couple of times before disappearing under the surface.
“That’s not just any muskie,” said Bob. “I think that just might be Audrey.”
“Audrey?”
“Just then, I noticed a scar on her snout, just under the right eye. I know that fish. I’ve hooked into her a couple times over the years. Biggest fish I’ve ever seen out here. Keep reeling in.”
“I’m trying but she’s putting up a hell of a fight.” Truth was, I couldn’t manage to turn the reel. “You want to take it?”
Bob shook his head. “She’s your fish. You either land her, or you don’t. I hooked into her three years ago, and two years before that. It’s in my diary. That bitch is still out here. I don’t believe it. Last couple times I hooked into her, it was right near here.”
The pole was bent over sharply, the line taut. “Why Audrey?” I asked.
“My grade two teacher. Used to whack me with a ruler every day. Meanest bitch ever to stand in front of a classroom.” He paused. “I’ve thought, if I could ever land Audrey, I could retire from fishing altogether and die a happy man.”
“It’s not right that she’s hit my line,” I said. “Really, take the pole and—”
And suddenly, my fishing pole sprang upward, the tension going out of it instantly. The line went slack.
I reeled in as quickly as I could, until my lure appeared above the surface of the water, nothing attached to it.
Bob smiled. “Audrey’s as smart as she is mean. Maybe, next time we’re out here, she’ll hit my line instead of yours.”
When I got back to Dad’s cabin, Dr. Heath was taking a look at Dad’s ankle. Dad was stretched out on the couch, and the doctor had perched himself on the big wooden coffee table, looking at the bandage, lightly touching it.
Dr. Heath turned when he saw me come in. “Why, hello,” he said. “Just thought I’d take a run out here and see how your father’s coming along.”
“And how’s that?” I asked.
The elderly doctor nodded wisely. “I’d say just fine. If he can keep his weight off it, I’d say another week he’ll be in pretty good shape.”
Yikes. A whole week? Taking that much time off from the paper might be pushing it. Best to take this a day at a time, I told myself.
“Arlen,” he said to my father, “you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Fine, fine, don’t worry,” he said, pulling a thick sock back up over the wounded ankle. “Zachary’s hanging in for a few days.”
The doctor grabbed his medical bag, headed for the door.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” I said.
We were approaching his black Buick, and I said, “Can I ask you something?”
“If you’re worried about your father, you shouldn’t be. He’s going to be just fine.”
“That’s good, but that wasn’t what I wanted to ask you about. It’s about Morton Dewart.”
“Awful thing,” Dr. Heath said.
“Did you do an autopsy on the body?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Dr. Heath. “I had to declare a cause of death.”
“And what did you determine that to be?”
Dr. Heath made a small snorting noise. “Misadventure, with a bear.”
“So that was your conclusion, that he was killed by a bear?”
Dr. Heath looked puzzled. “Of course. You saw him. Didn’t he look like he was killed by a bear to you?”
“But isn’t that just an assumption?”
“You heard what Mr. Wickens said. He made a statement that Mr. Dewart had gone out, specifically, to find that bear, and shoot it. Then he’s found as he was. It doesn’t take much to put that together, Mr. Walker.”
“But when you did your autopsy, did your examination of the wounds support the contention that he was killed by the bear? Did the bite marks match the size of a bear’s jaw, that kind of thing?”
Dr. Heath was shaking his head, getting irritated. “Look, I don’t understand what the point of your question is. We saw the body, we have Mr. Wickens on record as saying the deceased was hunting for a bear. I think you put all that together and you conclude that Mr. Dewart was killed by a bear. That’s what I did, and now the body is being released to his own family, not the Wickenses.”
I looked into the doctor’s face, made an awkward smile. It wasn’t my intention to be disrespectful. Dr. Heath seemed like a nice old gentleman. But I had to ask.
“You didn’t really conduct a thorough autopsy, did you? You figured it was a bear that killed him, as opposed to, for the sake of argument, a couple of dogs, so you didn’t look for any other possibilities.”
His face was getting flushed. “I totally resent the implications of that remark.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m asking you these questions with the utmost respect. But there’s another wrinkle to this I want to get your thoughts on, and I admit, it may be more in Chief Thorne’s area than yours.”
“And what’s that?” Dr. Heath said, his hand on the car door, eager to leave.
“Where’s the rifle?”