Morgan Kelly

The lake

1. The middle aged detective took a sip of his peach mango ice tea from a designer coffee shop that most assuredly did not contain a healthy, mid-morning shot of vodka. He stood at the end of the small dock beside the boat launch over looking the largest, brackish water, coastal lake in the United States. The recent rains had opened the pass into the Gulf of Mexico on the Western end of the lake. Jet skiers and boaters, mostly locals, had covered the lake yesterday with out incidence but the super moon last night had pulled on more than the tides. Two young lovers had decided to go for a night paddle, as far as anyone could tell, to the far side of the lake and the only thing that anyone could find of them this morning were the kayaks floating on the smooth surface of the dark water. One by the dock and the other aimlessly down a narrow slough that ran from the North into the lake. Locals called this Gator Alley because of the multiple alligator beds that could be clearly seen but that no one ever saw the alligators in. Strange, he mused.