Sweet Lendy: An Appalachian Whodunit

During the Seventies, most everyone in our small Appalachian town of Mountain View had some indiscretions. Even as town Police Chief and deacon of the church, I had mine too – I just pretended to go fishing every Saturday night. Our fooling around seemed tolerable – until a pretty young woman showed up one summer.

“What gave you such an idea as that?” I tried to ask innocently, although I knew she was right.
“I’ve got ears, Hank. I also heard talk that Walter Smith was trying to catch you red-handed with his wife tonight. Everybody knows you go fishing on Saturday nights although not in the same spot each time. I took a chance on you being here and got Will Bennett to drive me out and drop me off. I’ve been here about ten minutes.”
“In ten more minutes, I’ll have you back home.”
“Don’t think so,” she said.
“And why not?”
She reached for her blouse and started undoing the buttons. I reached out and grabbed her hand to stop her. “Unless the talk I heard is nothing but stupid gossip, you’d better take off your shirt and start making out with me.”
Talk about stunned, “What on earth . . .”
“Any minute now you’re gonna have company. Smith hired some men to track you down and see how many fish you’ve caught. Since you’ve not got a string of fish, I’d better become what you’ve caught.”