Page 85 of Hidden Nature

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you mind showing us your fishing license?”

“Jesus.” With his gloved hand he dug into a pocket. “Right here. All the good it’s doing me. Do you know how much I spent on all this stuff? I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Thanks, Mr. Garrett. You might have better luck in another location. This near the shoreline, the ice is thinner. You might increase your luck, and definitely your safety, if you moved farther away from the shore.”

He looked at her like a man who’d been asked to climb Everest in his underwear. “You want me to go through all this again?”

“For your safety, Mr. Garrett.”

“I’ve fished on this lake,” Sloan began.

He switched his miserable gaze from Elana to Sloan. “This kind of fishing?”

“A few times, yes, with my grandfather. He has a favorite spot, and he catches whoppers. Every time.”

Now Garrett eyed Sloan with more interest.

“I only need one. One damn fish. Then my wife, who’s sitting up there”—he gestured to one of the lakeside houses—“sitting up there in front of the fire reading a damn book, and getting up every now and again to go to the window and laugh down at me, can’t sayI told you so.”

“Take your gear about ten feet that way, another four or five to the right. That’s one of Pop’s favorite spots. That’s a good electric auger you’ve got, so it shouldn’t take long to drill your hole. What bait are you using?”

He pulled up his line, and Sloan nodded.

“Rapala Jigging Rap, excellent. Try that area, and with that lure, I’m betting you catch a couple of those whoppers. You’ll be the one laughing and sayingI told you so.”

“Well, hell, I’m in this far.” He got up, started to pack up. “Problem is those crazy skaters, especially the ones pretending to play hockey, are probably scaring the fish away. Yelling, zipping around, falling all over themselves.”

Sloan glanced around in time to see three of them collide, hard. Two of them fell on their asses, laughing, and the third tried to break his fall.

Sloan didn’t hear the wrist snap, but she nearly felt it.

“See?”

“Yeah. Good luck, Mr. Garrett. Call for medical assistance, Elana. Probably a broken wrist.”

By the time Sloan crossed the ice, the injured man, maybe twenty-five, sat where he was, cradling his arm while the others gathered around him.

“Natural Resources Police. Let’s take a look.”

“I think I broke it.”

“I think you’re right. Paramedics are on the way. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“This is enough, thanks.” He hissed out a breath. “Hurts like hell.”

“I broke mine in gymnastics when I was eleven,” Elana told him. “I know how it feels.”

“Let’s get you off the ice. Get a blanket out of the truck, would you, Officer Sanchez?”

“We’ve got you, Matt.” Two of his friends helped him stand, and slowly skated with him off the ice.

“This sure screws guys’ week.”

“Where are you from?”

“Me, Hagerstown.” Though pale, the injured man spoke and walked steadily. “We’ve been planning this trip for months. First day out, we run into Mr. Chainsaw Massacre, and today, I break my wrist.”

“They’ll fix you up, Matt,” one of his friends assured him. “And you can still hoist a beer with your good hand.”

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