Dry Spell: A Mercy Watts Short by A.W. Hartoin Read Free Book Online

Janine. Law enforcement had looked for Janet. Like I was going to find her. What an idiot.  
    Aaron nudged my elbow with something cold. “Here.”  
    I took a metal thermos from him. “What’s this?”  
    “Iced chocolate.”  
    I poured a bit into the lid and drank the icy goodness. “Perfect for a hot day. Belgian chocolate?”  
    “Venezuelan.”  
    “Breaking out the good stuff. Why?”  
    “Cause you’re going to find her,” he said, simply.  
    “I don’t know about that,” I said.  
    “I do. Drink.”  
    I obeyed, which isn’t really my thing, but iced chocolate soothed my stomach. I finished my cup and started around the lake. I kept looking, but for what I had no clue.  
    The lake petered out into a fingertip. Instead of going around the fingertip, I decided to walk over a foot bridge constructed over the muck at the end of the lake. Our footsteps made hollow beats on the wood. I stopped at the center and took a shot over the lake. Then I turned and took another one over the dried out muck, cracked in a giraffe pattern with each section buckling up like mud bowls. Something about those bowls. Something about that pattern. An idea tried to pop into my head, but I couldn’t pin it down. I should be seeing something, knowing something. I turned and looked at the fingertip again. Lake. Fingertip. Lake. Fingertip. Water. No water. Water. No water. What had Janine said? Something about sometimes being wet. I bent over the railing and looked at where the water stopped several feet from the bridge. There was some slimy muck, but under the bridge the ground was Sahara dry. It wasn’t always dry, though. From the plants at the edge, I thought that it was usually wet.  
    “Wait here,” I said to Aaron.  
    He happily pulled out a pizza while I walked to the end of the bridge and slid on my rump to the lake bed.
    There wasn’t much to see, a soda can, dead water plants and leaves. I walked the perimeter scanning every step. I found a long stick and began to push leaves aside. Then I started at the far end and zigzagged in a tight pattern back towards the water. I reached the bridge and leaned my head against the wood. I said a silent ‘thank you’ that at least no one was around to see me look so stupid. Nobody except Aaron and he didn’t count. I doubt he knew how I looked period.  
    I crouched under the bridge to continue my search. I was only five two, but still too tall to stand upright. I started at the left and did another zigzag. In the middle, I bonked my head on a beam and knocked myself to the ground. I heard a man yell down to me, “Are you alright?
    I peeked my head out from under the bridge and smiled, “I think so.”  
    The man in short shorts and a skimpy tank stood next to a chewing Aaron, who looked like he didn’t know me or anything.  
    “Do you need some help?” asked the man.
    In other words, what are you doing under there, you weirdo?
    “I lost an earring.”
    He looked around the area. “Oh well, good luck.”
    “Thanks.”
    The man, obviously an insane jogger, started running again in the one-hundred-degree heat. I watched as he ran past the bridge and out of sight. So much for the luck of being alone. Now I looked crazy to a random stranger and I had an egg forming on my forehead. It was sticky with blood from a splinter. That was just what I needed. I looked like a real nut. Only I could get a splinter in my forehead. I arched my back and started my pattern again. I was there. I might as well finish the job. Then I tripped and caught myself just before I added another egg to my head. Sitting in the dirt, I put my head down on my knees and questioned my sanity. Who else would be there? Even Uncle Morty wouldn’t do this and he was certifiably weird.  
    But what had I tripped on anyway. I looked up and nothing was immediately apparent. I crawled the couple of feet and started brushing away the leaves. My left hand hit a bump, not a big bump, a little one. It