Eleven-year-old Jamie Corrigan was a passionate fisherman. Since he was seven years old, his parents had given up trying to make him go to school on opening and closing day. Early dawn found him sitting quietly in his tin boat, trailing a line, waiting for the last strike of the season, convinced as always it would be the biggest. Tapper's Lake, at the end of McCord Lane, was his favorite spot. No one bothered him. No noise to disturb the fish, at least not usually.
Jamie kept his little boat docked in a bay that bordered his grandfather's farm. Grass Lake, part of Tapper's but separated by the causeway around the point. Jamie's spot lay close to the bank, in Grass Lake, but hidden from most of it by overhanging willow branches.
Further along the shore, a short stretch of beach allowed access to the water. A car backed down the grassy slope. A man got out and stood, watching the road. Jamie wondered if the man was going to fish from the shore or the bridge.
But the man didn't seem to be planning to fish. A bigger guy walked in from the road. They talked for a minute, and then the first one got in the car. No, not in. Jamie squinted. The man leaned into the car and turned on the engine, shattering the silence, sending a pair of angry geese straight up, honking their disapproval. Both men heaved on the back of the car.
It was going straight into the lake. An avid watcher of television, he knew this meant Crime. He'd better be still. Now the car hit the water. They opened all the windows, so the car slid fast under the water, with a final burst of bubbles. The two men had disappeared. An engine roared on McCord Lane. At that moment a trout struck, and all thoughts of crime and police left in the joy of the fish. It was going to be a great day.
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