I’d have to drive into town to phone Fred. There was no phone line out at Peachtree. It was part of the attraction of the place. And since it was Saturday there was no point in calling. Fred was never in on a Saturday.
It was noon by the time I’d cleaned up the kitchen after the cookie baking, fed the chooks and harvested the day’s pick of veggies. I felt restless, aware of that man who called himself Brent and the two girls across the street. I couldn’t peer out of the window all day. It was giving me a headache.
The day was warm and still and the sun had a bit of bite to it. Thinking a spot of fishing would calm me down, I packed a sandwich for afternoon tea and fetched the spin rod. The waters were cooling, the flathead slowing down and the bream yet to start schooling. I was guarante
