Preview of "CoriAnn Aground"

Tuesday May 16

This dude must weigh a ton. It didn’t help that his clothes were soaked, his white waterman boots were full of briny water, and this part of shore was too shallow to offer much buoyancy. But, it also had trees right to the water, putting it out of the moonlight. And the bank wasn’t steep.

Out of breath, the wiry man inhaled the best he could, braced his left foot against a rock that poked out of the ripples, put his arms under the guy’s shoulders and jerked backwards.

The body came with him for a second until the stone supporting his foot gave way. He hit the ground quietly but hard. The corpse splashed raucously and landed on his leg.

He lay on his back, gasping for breath, gaping at the sky, thankful that the seemingly eternal Bay breeze was rustling the dry leaves to muffle the noise, until - - a groan?

He raised his head, stared at the body, and heard another groan, saw a dead man - - a dead man - - struggle to lift his head, and heard him moan again, louder.

Then another noise that wasn’t supposed to happen now, a boat motor coming toward the Bay end of the inlet, and saw two lights that also seemed premature and wrong: the lights of the boat and the first presage of dawn.

Exhaustion be damned, he yanked his leg from under the body, sprang to his feet, splashed into the water to seize the rock that had betrayed him moments earlier, hoisted it high over his head, and hurled it into the man’s skull.

He stooped, tossed the stone off the body, and stared at the crushed face. Blood spurted out of it and poured over it.

He grimaced and muttered ‘moan now, asshole.’

He rose, noticed his Orioles cap had come off when he fell. He grabbed it and did a quick scan, saw no other loose clues lying about, and then scampered into the woods.

“Is that Cal’s boat?” asked the young mate Mike.

“Looks like it,” Butch muttered. He pulled back on the throttle, eased the helm to port, and yelled “Cal? You aground?”

Daylight was gulping shadows and swamping moonlight fast. It was clearly CoriAnn, Cal’s thirty-eight foot charter boat. It was listing, its motor silent.

“Cal, where are you?” Butch shouted, his jowls quivering.

With a glance toward his son Mike, he added, “Cal knows these waters. What’s he doing that close to the bank?”

Butch’s boat drew three feet, too much to pull alongside.

“I’ll get as close as I can so we can check it out.”

Judy was whipping up a bowl of eggs when her lean 6’2” teenage nephew strode into the kitchen.

“Morning, Aunt Judy.”

Their back window oversaw their dock, which usually had a boat and two men unloading crabs before dawn. By now the guys should be heading inside, tired and hungry.

“Where’re Uncle Cal and Junior?”

“They haven’t come in yet, Skip.” She glanced at the clock: 6:10 AM. “You want to give them a shout, find out if I should start cooking breakfast?”

“Sure.” Skip walked to the phone and dialed Cal’s mobile as he scanned the aptly named Broad Creek, which was wider than a lot of rivers.

After a moment Judy heard him say ‘hey, just checking in. I’ll try the radio.’ He looked at his aunt, who had set breakfast aside and was already reaching for the radio.

“Cal, Judy. You OK?”

She turned to Skip and raised her eyebrows. Skip stepped to the window and viewed the water with controlled anxiety. Seconds stretched to a half minute before the radio crackled.

“Judy, Butch. We’re at CoriAnn. Cal’s not here - - went aground - - probably walking home. Don’t worry, we’ll…”

“Oh, my God, Dad, look,” they heard Mike scream.

“Get back to you in a minute, Judy.”

“Where are you?” she screeched.

“Eagle Eye. Give me a minute.”

Skip tore out the back door and scampered down the lawn toward their runabout.

Judy frantically ran after him.

Sheriff Robert “Chub” Wayne was in Ruth’s café munching his second sausage biscuit when his phone rang. It was his dispatcher.

“Hey, gal, what’s up?”

“Nothing, I hope, but I just heard Butch and Judy on the frequency. They found Cal’s boat CoriAnn aground, no Cal, then Mike screamed, and it went dead.”

“They say where?”

“Eagle Eye.”

“Ed’s down that way. Give him Butch’s cell number so he can check in with them. Let me know, OK?”

“You got it.” She hung up and called Deputy Ed Cedar.

Keeping his binoculars focused on the body, Butch brought his phone to his ear. His voice was somber, nervous.

“This is Butch.”

“Hey, Ed here. We picked up chatter that Cal’s got trouble. That right?”

“…yeah…I think I’m looking at him…too shallow to get closer. CoriAnn’s aground behind me and I’m seeing someone Cal’s size in the water. He’s on his back, near shore, and his face is smashed in. Hold on, Ed, I hear a motor.”

Butch turned his binoculars to his right.

“Looks like Judy and Skip coming in their skiff.”

“I’m on my way.” Ed started his SUV while hanging up, aimed at Eagle Eye Road and, lights flashing, he floored it. A half mile later, he focused hard on a sharp curve that hooked left and missed a set of worried eyes peering out of the brush.

‘Damn,’ the shifty man thought. ‘I just left, barely ahead of some boat. Minutes later, the law? Come on! How can anything happen that fast in this boondock?’

Skip swerved the Larson runabout toward Butch and dropped the engine to a mild rumble as they neared. His eyes darted to CoriAnn then to Butch.

Judy, kneeling and bent over the bow, dirty blond hair as tangled by the wind as a three-inch bob can be, cupped her hands and yelled “where?”

Butch looked away.

“Talk to me, Butch!”

“It’s not good, Judy,” the squat waterman yelled, his gaze drawn to the body.

Butch heard, and then saw, Ed’s Sheriff Department SUV slam through low brush and screech to a halt near the creek bank. Ed jumped out and, gawking at Butch, shot his hands into the air searchingly. Butch pointed to a section of the woods about fifty feet to Ed’s left.

The slender six-foot deputy splashed into the shallows and scuttled toward where Butch had pointed. Skip kicked the Larson into a fervent beeline for the same spot.

Butch drew a deep breath as he watched the little motor boat race to the shore. He saw Judy shade her eyes, searching, as they drew nearer. His head dropped, his eyes shut, when he heard Judy begin to wail in tortured agony.

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