Read Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2) for Free Online

minutes."
    "What's a hardhead?" I'd asked, thrilled to learn there was yet another hazard I'd have to be prepared for.
    "It looks like a little catfish, but is nothing more than a nuisance down here, a trash fish Milo called it, and the fin contains some kind of poison. It serves as a natural defense for the hardheads," Rip had explained.
    "Oh, okay. Good to know." And then, because I just couldn't resist, I'd added, "And here all this time I thought a hardhead was a roly-poly retired police officer who wouldn't get his throbbing, aching hip joint replaced until an unexpected accident left him no option."
    "Being a smart ass will get you nowhere," he had returned with a smirk.
    However, exasperating as it was, I couldn't dwell on Rip's stubbornness now. I had what felt like a blue whale on the end of my line. It was pulling away with a strong steady tug. When I yanked on my pole to set the hook, there was a second of stillness before the fish took off so fast I could hear the whirring of my line streaming out a mile-a-minute.
    I tussled with that fish for quite a long spell, cranking the reel's handle whenever the fish took a break to get a second wind and the line began to go slack. But before long the monster would be on the run again and unwinding my line faster than I could crank it back in. This back and forth struggle went on for a good thirty minutes. Looking back later, I'd realize it was actually more like five or six minutes, but my story would forever remain unchanged. Truthfully, I knew it probably would change in time, growing even more astonishing with each telling, but I wouldn't be the first fisherman to exaggerate their fish tale. It was practically expected of dedicated anglers.
    Could this fish possibly be a state record? I wondered, still fighting Moby Dick with all the strength I could muster. I was having the time of my life trying to land my admirable opponent. It'd be the first fish I'd caught in my entire life if I could get him in my net.
    I'd even forgotten that my back had been throbbing in rhythm with the waves slapping the banks of St. Jo Island, which was not far from where I stood knee-deep in water that was brackish from recent heavy rainfall.
    I was so wound up I nearly peed in my waders, not only from the excitement of fighting the fish, but also because I'd been foolish enough to drink two cups of coffee that morning. I'd had to hold it for hours and it was beginning to get painful.
    It was to the point I felt my bladder had to be stretched as tight as my friend, Mabel Hick's, girdle. Unlike the men, I couldn't just slide my waders down and take a leak in the water. Still, despite my discomfort, I had a fish on the end of my line, and this was the first time I thought all the expense entailed in this adventure was worth every dime.
    While I watched line peeling off my reel once again, I was visualizing the pride I'd have in showing my Bunko club a photo of me holding my trophy fish. Of course, Gracie Parker would be at the party too, and she'd probably one-up me as she always did all of us girls. I could just see her reaching into her brassiere and pulling out a faded Polaroid snapshot of a young Gracie at sixteen, holding up a tarpon the size of a Volkswagen. Oh, well. At the rate I was going, my trophy fish would die of old age before I got him reeled in close enough to net, anyway.
    When I finally got the thrashing fish within a few feet of me, I reached for my net only to discover it was tangled up with the braided nylon cord attached to my bait bucket. Both cords had wrapped around me several times due to the motion of the waves. Before I could unwind myself from the entire conglomeration, the fish swam between my legs and started to circle me. I spun around and around like a carousel at a carnival. This blasted fish is just playing with me now , I thought. But we'll see who gets the last laugh .
    Frustrated, I was starting to get dizzy and was gasping for breath like an asthmatic