Tags:
Fiction,
Mystery,
amateur sleuth,
Murder,
soft-boiled,
murder mystery,
mystery novels,
amateur sleuth novel,
regional fiction,
regional mystery,
fishing,
fly fishing,
Arkansas River
of Silverthorne.â
After Wally reached them and introductions were made all around, Mandy had a chance to study him. Red-haired and freckled, his looks were quite a contrast to Iraâs darkly tanned middle-European features. Wally also had a pasty softness about him that made her think he wasnât a practiced outdoorsman.
âItâs good to see youâve found a new teammate for the tournament,â Steve said to Ira, who frowned.
âUnfortunately,â Wally replied. âIâm not as familiar with this river as the Blue. Iraâs been giving me a crash course today.â
Mandy heard an opening and took it. âSpeaking of crashing, we couldnât help but see your fall. These cobble bars can be awfully slippery. Do you have a telescoping walking stick that you can use as a third support while youâre moving around?â
âNo.â
âYou might find one at one of the fishing supply stores in Salida,â Mandy said, trying to keep her tone light. âIn the meantime, Iâd strongly suggest staying in water no deeper than your calves. Those waders can be awfully dangerous if they fill up with water.â
Wally pursed his lips, obviously unhappy being given advice by a woman in front of the two other men.
Mandy turned her attention to Ira, the man she really wanted to talk to. âIâm always being asked by tourists where the good fishing spots are on the upper Arkansas. Got any suggestions?â
Ira pshawed. âYou think Iâm going to give away my secret spots to any yahoo from New York or Chicago?â
Mandy forced out a light laugh. âOf course not. Iâm asking wher e you would tell them to go, where they might have a good chance of hooking a fish, but not disturb your secret spots.â
âIn that case, Iâd say Stone Bridge, where you two probably put in, or Vallie Bridge downriver. Vallie also has the benefit of the campground if they want to stay overnight.â
âYou ever camp there?â
Ira gave her a sharp glance, but Mandy kept her face impassive. âYeah, the campsites arenât bad. You get some shade from the willow trees. The section upstream from there thatâs in the competition has some good holes. But I usually fish well downstream of there, and I ainât telling you where.â
Downstream of the campground was outside of the competition area, but whoâs to say he didnât venture upstream, too? âI found Howie Abbott in one of those campsites.â
Iraâs mouth opened in a little âoâ, then he clamped his lips shut and started fiddling with his reel. âDidnât know you were the one who found him.â He shook his head. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed. âI sure hope he didnât suffer much. He was a good fishing buddy.â
An overall sense of awkwardness settled on the group, with none of the men looking at anyone else.
âI think his death was quick,â Steve said, filling the silence. âSorry for your loss.â
âDid you know Howie well, Ira?â Mandy asked.
âFished with him off and on for the past six years,â Ira replied. âHeâs a hard man to get to know, very private, and kinda gruff most folks would say. He was sure fishy, though. May not have been able to read people real well, but he had a sixth sense about where fish were likely to be biting.â
âIâve heard he could rub people the wrong way. Did you ever have any problems with him?â When that question drew a suspicious glance from Ira, Mandy smiled. âIâm just trying to get a handle on his personality.â
âWell, when we disagreed about something, like where to fish or when to move on to another spot, his temper could flare up, but I could hold my own. At the end of the day over a few beers, everything would be forgotten. Iâll miss him.â Ira shook his head and gazed off into the distance.
1802-1870 Alexandre Dumas