DEATH IN THEPOLKA DOT SHOES
— A Novel —
by
M ARLIN F ITZWATER
Death in the Polka Dot Shoes: A Novel
Copyright ©2011 by Marlin Fitzwater
ISBN-13 978-1-926918-69-3
First Edition
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Fitzwater, Marlin, 1942-
Death in the polka dot shoes [electronic resource] : a novel /
written by Marlin Fitzwater. – 1st ed.
Electronic monograph in PDF format.
ISBN 978-1-926918-69-3
Also available in print format.
I. Title.
PS3606.I89D42 2011a 813'.6 C2011-904638-5
Cover Art by Judy Ward
Cover Design by Mari Abercrombie and Isaac Fer
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, architecture and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.
Publisher: CCB Publishing
British Columbia, Canada
Dedication
For All Those Men And Women Who Make Their Living On The Water.
Other books written by Marlin Fitzwater
Call the Briefing!
A Memoir: Ten Years in the White House
with Presidents Reagan and Bush
Esther’s Pillow: A Novel
Sunflowers:
A Collection of Short Stories
“Listen for the oyster music.”
--Shady Side, Maryland waterman
Contents
His shoes were never found. My brother apparently was leaning over the side of his thirty-six foot fishing boat about two miles off the coast of Cape Hatteras, sweating from having to work the giant blue fin tuna for nearly an hour, almost sick from the ache in his arms, yet about to land the biggest catch of his life. With a gaff hook in his left hand, ready to tear into the side of the two hundred pound fish, he twisted his right wrist into the last few feet of leader line for one final hoist of the fish into the boat. But facing the certainty of death, the tuna gathered itself for one final whack at freedom. Its gills began to heave and its marble eye focused on Jimmy’s cap, which read “Cedar Winds Boat Works.” In that instant, Jimmy must have known the violence to come because he started to shift his weight lower in the boat, but he never got to his knees. There was a mighty jerk, and a flash of green and blue scales above a white tee shirt, then nothing. The tuna went straight to the bottom with Jimmy in tow.
The charter captain later testified at the inquest that he was sitting high on the tower, watching the big fish weave its way through the water to the boat, with the heavy filament line flashing where the sun picked up its break with the surface. It was headed straight for the boat, he said, when he glanced down at his depth finder, reading a hundred and thirty feet. When he looked back for the tuna, Jimmy was gone. Simply vanished into the stillness of the day.
The captain said he circled the site for hours and nothing surfaced. He called the Coast Guard and they searched for the rest of the day, but found nothing. No clothing. No fishing gear. Nothing.
Jimmy had been on a bus man’s holiday from his regular life as a waterman on the Chesapeake Bay, running an old bay-built crab boat out of Parkers, Maryland, at least on those days when crabs were plentiful and selling for eighty to a hundred dollars per bushel. On other days, he scrubbed up the boat and took city slickers from Washington, D.C. on