AllFreeNovel
Share Us
That small-town charm again. She’d never seen anyone fishing on the job before.
“You’re the owner? Dennis, is it?” Ella said. She searched for a seat but decided to remain standing. The fisherman rested his line on the holder and turned to face his new arrival. He had the haggard look of a man that didn’t shy away from Virginia winters and patches of gray hair that had long succumbed to the sands of time.
“Dennis. That’s me. We don’t get many visitors this time of day. Out for a walk?”
The owner seemed to be glad of the company. “Not quite,” Ella said as she surveyed the picturesque landscape ahead. “Sweet deal you’ve got here.”
“Not much else going on. We don’t pick up until the summer. You’re a local?”
“Used to be. Lived on Saunders Road until ninety-five, then left for D.C.”
“Classic tale. How come?” asked Dennis as he unhooked the bait runner on his rod.
“Well, that’s something you might be able to help me with. Was this place once the Black Horse Tavern?”
“Once upon a time. We had a fire about ten years ago. Luckily, some might say. Gave me an opportunity to rebuild this place from scratch.”
“So you went the coffee route?”
“Sure did. People don’t want ale anymore. It’s all about the beans.”
Ella saw sense in the decision. She took the matchbook out of her pocket and flashed it to Dennis. “Does this ring any bells to you?”
Dennis retreated at the sight, as though Ella had harnessed the power of the sun and flung it in his face. Dennis took the box from her and held it at eye level. “Good grief. Haven’t seen any of these things in twenty, twenty-five years.”
“You recognize them?” Ella gasped, not quite sure how it would help but excited, nonetheless.
“Of course. We had these made in about ninety-three to get our name out there. Only ended up making about twenty boxes in the end,” Dennis laughed.
Twenty boxes, one of which belonged to her dad. Ella kept her father’s name off her lips for now, to see if Dennis got there for himself. Dennis could have been an old friend and that meant possible leads.
“Did you choose who you gave them to?”
“Yup. Smokers, jokers. My best patrons. The guys who came in regularly. How’d you get a hold of this?” Dennis passed the matches back to Ella.
“I guess from one of your best patrons. Do you remember any of them?”
Dennis’s line began to uncurl. He took the rod, switched on the bait runner, and began to wrestle with whatever sea creature was attached to the other end.
“God, I’d be lying if I said I did. I remember a Spencer. A Jessie. Some fellow we called Clock because he had one hand bigger than the other.” Dennis tightened his grip around his fishing rod as something tried to pull it down into the depths. “You got someone in mind?”
“Remember a Ken? Or a Kenny?” Ella was still quietly chuckling at the nickname joke. She suddenly thought of her ex-boyfriend, Ben, whose friends had once nicknamed him Olympic Torch because he never went out.
Dennis yanked the line out of the water. Just a hook. No fish attached. “Goddammit, that could have been a beast. Kenny you say?”
“Yeah. Ken Dark. That was my dad.”
Dennis put his rod down then submerged his hands in a bucket of brown slop. He balled some up then attached it to his line. “Sorry, sweetheart. The only Kenny I know is Kenny Loggins. I had no friends named Kenny back then. This would have been what, mid-nineties?”
“Thereabouts. Maybe a bit before.”
Dennis sighed through his nose then launched his hook back into the water. “I’m coming up dry there. I definitely didn’t give no Kenny one of those matchbooks. Must have passed through a few hands before it reached your old man.”
Ella clutched the matchbook in her palm and then pocketed it. By now, disappointment had begun to feel like an old friend. Was she doing something wrong here? Had she left it so long that the case had become unsolvable? They said that human memory was fallible and unreliable, but no one, even in a small town where gossip spread like wildfire, seemed to have any recollections of her father. It was enough to make her doubt her own sanity. And of all the people she told about her dad, the only person who hadn’t immediately jumped to theare you sure he was murdered?retort was Ben. She still hadn’t given up on him, but she’d do what she could to make things right in time.
“Got it. Do you know anyone else who might remember him? Any of those old patrons of yours?”
“I wish. Those old timers are all brown bread, so unless you can speak to the dead then you’re out of luck.”
