Excerpt from "The Waterkeeper's Daughter"
It wasn’t unusual for Craig Whitaker to be late for dinner or, for that matter, to arrive home long after his wife was asleep. So when the doorbell rang and there was an empty spot on the pillow where her husband’s head usually rested, Lisa didn’t think anything of it. She glanced at the nightstand where the clock radio blinked five-thirty. An early riser, he was probably in the kitchen. He could get the door, unless what she’d heard was only the screech of a sandhill crane. She yawned, turned over and started to go back to sleep, when she heard it again. This time, the bell called out sharply in rapid succession followed by a loud banging. Wide awake now, she wondered why Craig hadn’t taken care of it.
As she made her way down the hall, Lisa gritted her teeth. What was she going to do with that man? He stayed out till all hours, rarely making it home for supper, and now he wouldn’t even answer the damn door? It was beyond inconsiderate. Prepared to give her husband what for, Lisa poked her head in the kitchen. In the predawn gloom, she could see it was empty. He must have gone out and forgotten his house key. He’d done that more than once lately. She threw the door open, her face screwed up in a frown.
The man standing in the porch light wore a police uniform. It was Pete Hansen, the sheriff’s deputy. She’d often seen him around town. With his friendly grin, big brown eyes and loose-limbed frame, he reminded her of a loopy old hound dog. At the moment, however, his welcoming smile was missing.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am,” he said, “but is your husband home? I need to speak to him.”
Lisa gave him a vacant stare. “Craig?” She glanced over his shoulder to the driveway. The space where his car should have been was empty. “He must’ve gone out before I got up.” She pulled the belt on her robe a little tighter. “Why do you need to talk to him?”
“Does he drive a Jeep Cherokee?”
“Yes,” Lisa said with growing concern. “Is there something the matter?”
Instead of answering, Pete countered with, “Can you think of any reason he’d be parked by the lake at this hour?”
The man’s barrage of questions, in addition to his solemn countenance, sent a thrill of fear down Lisa’s spine. She trembled, but not from the morning chill. “He’s over there all the time, Officer. It’s his job. He’s Lake Okeechobee’s waterkeeper. You may have heard about him.”
A glimmer of hope sparked inside her. There was nothing wrong. This cop was only doing his job—checking on a car that seemed out of place. Craig probably wanted to get an early start. He often did that. She was glad to know the police were so conscientious, but rousting someone from
bed to check on an abandoned car seemed excessive.
Pete turned his hat over and over. He seemed at a loss for words.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lisa said.
“Why don’t we go inside?” He put his hand on the screen door.
“Was Craig in an accident or something? Is he all right? Tell me.” The words tumbled out one after another. Please God, please let him be okay. I’ll never complain about him coming home late again. Please, please let him be all right.
But the tone in Pete’s voice and the look on his face said Craig wasn’t all right, not all right at all.
As she made her way down the hall, Lisa gritted her teeth. What was she going to do with that man? He stayed out till all hours, rarely making it home for supper, and now he wouldn’t even answer the damn door? It was beyond inconsiderate. Prepared to give her husband what for, Lisa poked her head in the kitchen. In the predawn gloom, she could see it was empty. He must have gone out and forgotten his house key. He’d done that more than once lately. She threw the door open, her face screwed up in a frown.
The man standing in the porch light wore a police uniform. It was Pete Hansen, the sheriff’s deputy. She’d often seen him around town. With his friendly grin, big brown eyes and loose-limbed frame, he reminded her of a loopy old hound dog. At the moment, however, his welcoming smile was missing.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ma’am,” he said, “but is your husband home? I need to speak to him.”
Lisa gave him a vacant stare. “Craig?” She glanced over his shoulder to the driveway. The space where his car should have been was empty. “He must’ve gone out before I got up.” She pulled the belt on her robe a little tighter. “Why do you need to talk to him?”
“Does he drive a Jeep Cherokee?”
“Yes,” Lisa said with growing concern. “Is there something the matter?”
Instead of answering, Pete countered with, “Can you think of any reason he’d be parked by the lake at this hour?”
The man’s barrage of questions, in addition to his solemn countenance, sent a thrill of fear down Lisa’s spine. She trembled, but not from the morning chill. “He’s over there all the time, Officer. It’s his job. He’s Lake Okeechobee’s waterkeeper. You may have heard about him.”
A glimmer of hope sparked inside her. There was nothing wrong. This cop was only doing his job—checking on a car that seemed out of place. Craig probably wanted to get an early start. He often did that. She was glad to know the police were so conscientious, but rousting someone from
bed to check on an abandoned car seemed excessive.
Pete turned his hat over and over. He seemed at a loss for words.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Lisa said.
“Why don’t we go inside?” He put his hand on the screen door.
“Was Craig in an accident or something? Is he all right? Tell me.” The words tumbled out one after another. Please God, please let him be okay. I’ll never complain about him coming home late again. Please, please let him be all right.
But the tone in Pete’s voice and the look on his face said Craig wasn’t all right, not all right at all.
