“Nah, but there was another trap,” Ben said walking back to his truck. We all followed.
“Another one? Wow, this guy’s determined,” Antonio said.
“We took the others over to the storage block at Shadow Trail. I can take this one with me and drop it off on my way home.” Kyle lifted the trap into the back of his personal pickup truck. “That had to be how Ronnie caught that cat. He and Clark were all up in arms with each other when they came in to report the catch. Definitely something going on there. There’s no way Ronnie’d catch that cat before me or Antonio or Jackson. Hell, even Dave’s a better fisherman than Ronnie.”
Kyle’s face was turning red. Part of me wanted to pat him on the back and tell him it would be okay, like I did when my nephews fought over their toys.
“It’s all right buddy, we’ll get ours.” Antonio slapped Kyle on the back. “But tonight we have an Avs game to watch. Benny, you comin’ over after you close?”
“Your parties are a bit too much for me. Last time I had a hangover for a week.” Ben absentmindedly rubbed his head. “I’ll pass.”
“Well, I’ll be there,” Kyle said. “Just as soon as I get this trap over to Shadow Trail and throw the pole in a few times.” He turned his attention to me. “Is Ben doing a good job training you?”
“So far, so good.” I shot Ben a sideways grin.
“Good.” Kyle’s sharp tone and raised eyebrow caught me off guard. “Remember, you’ll be tested on what you learn about the reservoir. It’s not just a social hour.”
I nodded, unsure how to respond.
Antonio and Kyle both got into their personal vehicles—an old red Ford pickup for Kyle and a decked out black Cadillac CTS-V for Antonio—and tore off like teenagers spinning out on the gravel.
Ben shook his head. “Some boys never grow up.”
The rest of the shift was full of Ben’s stories. Jackson wasn’t lying. He had more stories than I could have ever remembered. Admittedly some weren’t so bad. Like the one about the biker who peed on a “No Motorcycle Parking” sign after being ticketed for parking in front of it.
Closing down the reservoir for the night started with locking all the plaza buildings including the main office, the banquet hall, and the multiple bathroom structures that lined the boardwalk between the beach and the picnic areas. The trees cast eerie shadows across the grass making me more jumpy than usual. Hopefully, I’d get used to all the sights and sounds before I had to do this on my own.
Once the plaza area was locked up, we moved on to closing the gates and checking one last time to see if the Muddy Water Bandit had placed another trap. Two in one day? I didn’t think it was likely, but I went along with Ben’s plan even though my eyelids were heavy and my feet blistered.
At the cove, something was off. The water certainly swirled like Ben had mentioned before, but in the fading sunlight, I couldn’t make out what made the water churn.
“Looks like a trap may have finally caught something after all,” Ben said. “I just hope it’s alive and we can release it.”
The thought of touching one of those massive mucous-covered fish with tentacle whiskers made me cringe. Hopefully, the trap had captured a bass or a trout or something like the fish I used to catch in the mountains.
Ben’s arms strained as he pulled the rope. Even with his bulky muscles, he struggled against the weight. I got behind him and helped pull. Hand over hand, the line taut with deadweight. By the time we got the trap onto the bank—a full fifteen minutes later—we both reeked of sweat. I was covered in it, my skin cooling too quickly in the chilly evening. My arms shook with fatigue.
The last light of sun had faded, and darkness overtook the cove.
Ben pulled his flashlight from his belt and shone it at the cage. The light found—not a fish—but rather what looked like a boot, then a torso, and finally came to rest on a blotchy and bloated face.
Death was unmistakable.
It didn’t matter how many I’d come across as a firefighter, dead bodies were never easy to see.
Instead of panic, my mind flew into problem-solving mode. Ben’s eyes widened as he lunged toward where a boot protruded from one end of the cage.
“We can’t disturb the crime scene,” I put a hand out to stop him. “Don’t touch the body.”
“But what if we can—maybe we can do something . . .”
I pulled on a pair of gloves and placed two fingers through the cage, to the side of the slimy neck knowing full well I wouldn’t find a pulse. “There’s nothing we can do. He’s gone.”
Ben stood like a statue. His flashlight still focused on the man’s face. “Ronnie,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe . . .”
I hadn’t made the connection until he said the name. It was most definitely Ronnie.
“You need to radio the police,” I choked back the tears in my throat, took a deep breath, and regained my composure. I know I had only met him that day, but seeing someone dead who had been alive mere hours before was surreal.
Ben robotically turned the dials and found the appropriate channel before calling out on his radio, “We have a Code Fifty-Five at Alder Ridge Reservoir in the back of Muddy Water Cove.”
The dispatcher promised to send officers straight away.
“Sometimes they don’t know where they’re going,” Ben’s normal jovial voice was now monotone. “We’ve tried to work with them, but they think we’re a joke.”
His rambling continued for what seemed like an hour before the lights of a police car peeked over the ridge. Two officers stepped out with their flashlights pointed at us.
“We hear you got a body on your hands.” The first one, a short stalky man with a handlebar mustache,
