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The Corpse in the Lake

John Ragusa

    One summer evening, Lou Rosbin had the last fight he would ever have with his wife, Camille.
    He was enjoying a football game on TV when she marched into the den and screamed, “Do you realize that the garbage has to be taken out? Quit watching that stinking television and do as I say!”
    Lou shot her a venomous gaze. “You can’t order me around,” he said. “Wives can’t tell their husbands what to do.”
    “I’ll do more than that! I’ll force you to do it.”
    He stood up, his hands balled into fists. “Who do you think you are? I don’t have to obey you!”
    Camille didn’t back down. “You’ll do what I demand or you’ll be very sorry!”
    “I am sorry. I’m sorry I ever married you.”
    “Oh, you’re so clever. If you get any smarter, you’ll be an idiot.”
    “You should be a comedy writer,” Lou said. “The one-liners you come up with nearly make me wet my pants with laughter.”
    “All anyone has to do to laugh is look at your face,” Camille said, with a smirk.
    Lou felt his temper rise. At the same time, he felt his grip tighten around a ceramic vase on the coffee table. Soon he was clobbering Camille on the head with it, over and over again. She fell to the carpet, her head a bloody pulp. There was no doubt in Lou’s mind that she was dead.
    Lou stood there and dropped the vase. He stared at his lifeless wife with a sort of savage satisfaction. He had given the shrew everything she deserved. She had paid for talking trash to him. Then Lou was filled with a sickening feeling of utter horror as he suddenly realized that he would be imprisoned the rest of his days for committing murder.
    For several seconds, he was unable to form a single thought, so stricken was he with fear. Then his brain began to work. He had to get rid of Camille’s body, to put it in a place where she would never be found. But where?
    A commercial came on the television about Glacier Lake, a popular local tourist spot where people could swim and fish. This gave him an idea: He could dump Camille’s cadaver in the bottom of the lake, and no one would ever discover it there!
    He’d have to weigh it down with something, though, or it would float to the top.
    Lou walked into the garage. He got some rope that was in there, along with a few bricks that were lying around. They had circular holes in them. He attached the bricks to the rope by putting them through the holes. He returned to the den and tied the rope around Camille’s waist. After that, he carried her to his car and placed her body in his trunk. Then he took off for Glacier Lake.
    As he drove, Lou whistled happily. Now he wouldn’t have to put up with her nagging; the bitching was over for good.
    He might even meet a much younger, prettier woman than Camille, and start a romance with her. Now that would be paradise!
    The piercing sound of a motorcycle behind him made Lou glance in his rearview mirror. It was a cop, who was motioning at Lou to pull over to the shoulder.
    He turned and parked there, his heart hammering so hard and fast that he thought it might give out.
    He collected himself, rolled down his window, and asked the officer, “Is anything wrong?”
    “Your right rear tire is getting rather flat,” the cop said. “I’d advise you to stop at the nearest gas station and fill it with air.”
    Lou could have let out a holler of joy. “Why, thanks a lot for informing me of that, Officer,” he said. “I’ll take care of the matter as soon as I reach the next filling station.”
    “Good idea. So long, now.” The policeman started his motorcycle, went back on the road, and raced away.
    Boy, was that a close shave! Lou said to himself, wiping perspiration off his brow.
    On the highway again, he shortly came to a gas station. He stopped there and pumped air in his tire. Once he had paid the attendant for it, he was riding to Glacier Lake again.
    Before long, Lou arrived there. He parked his car on the banks of the lake and was about to open his trunk when he heard a loud, twangy voice say, “You aiming to do some fishing, neighbor?”
    Alarmed, Lou spun around and saw an elderly hillbilly standing in back of him.
    “Why, yes, I am,” he replied, as casually as he could. “I was just getting my fishing gear out of my trunk.”
    “You want a partner to join you? I’d be happy to fish with you.”
    “Oh no, that’s okay,” Lou said hastily. “I really prefer to fish alone. Thanks, anyway.”
    “All right. I hope you catch some big ones.” The old man spat and walked away.
    That was another disaster Lou had avoided. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be any more of them.
    He popped open the trunk. He reached in, lifted Camille out, and carried her to the side of Glacier Lake. He dropped her into the water and watched her sink below the surface. Pleased that his perilous task was done with, he went back to his car and drove home.
X X X
    A couple of days had gone by, so Lou called the police and told them that his wife Camille had been gone for two days. He’d woken up one morning to find she wasn’t in bed and her things were missing. Because they’d argued a few nights before, he figured she must have decided to leave him. He gave her description and what she might have been wearing. The detective assured him that they’d be on the lookout for Camille.
    At noon that day, Lou sat down in front of his TV set and turned on the local news.
    The anchor was saying, “A young boy went swimming in Glacier Lake yesterday afternoon when he had a seizure and went under. Arlen Catwell, who was ten, could not be found by his parents, Seymour and Patrice, 27 and 25, respectively, so police chief Leroy Varge, 45, has said that the lake will be dragged later today in an attempt to find the boy’s body.”
    Lou was horrified. He knew that when the authorities dragged the lake, they would be sure to find Camille’s corpse!

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