THE LAKE MYSTERY



“You’re awfully gloomy.”

“I put my foot in it.”

“Which foot, dear?”

“My left foot.

 “Tell me about your left foot.”

“I volunteered to write an article.”

“Have you written anything?”

“A headline.”

“Which is?”

“By the fifteenth month of the drought, the lake no longer held her secrets.”

Grace’s face blanched.

“Mom?”

“Nothing, dear.”

At dinner, her father asked about the article.

She repeated the headline.

He looked at Grace who shook her head slightly.

Meredith saw the exchange and wondered.

Later, she overheard…

“Does she know?”

“No.”

“What if she asks questions?”

“No one will tell her.”

Tell me what? Meredith thought.

She called, David. “Buckeye Lake is man-made.”

“It is? My parents know something. How do I find out?”

 “Father Rick.”

“I’d be breaking my vow if I told you.

“Can you point me in the right direction?”

He shook his head.

An anonymous e-mail arrived, ‘State Prison.’

“David?”

 “The newspaper archives.”

“Let’s go.”

 "I've found a name."

"I’m sorry, prisoner Casper Gutman is dead, here are his belongings. Sign here."

"Look, David! A note. 39.9337 N. 82.4724 W"

"Those coordinates put you right in the middle of your lake."

"David . . . now what?"

"Blow up the dam."

THE END
Thank you for reading this short story. Here’s a little tune to send you on your way. Cheers, JT

http://chirb.it/vd2Cyp

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