Ripples from Pearl Lake

One
It was on a warm spring day, in early May, when Becky first stumbled across the Childers' brothers as she walked the narrow path that meandered around the edge of Pearl Lake; high above the small town of Lisbon.
After a leisurely breakfast in their vacation home overlooking the lake, her boyfriend Sean, announced he was driving into town to get gas and pick up groceries from the convenience store. “Why not take a stroll around the lake while I’m gone,” he suggested picking up the keys and heading for his car parked on the drive.
Becky responded with a broad smile. “I will,” she announced taking the dog leash from the hook on the back door. “Besides, Ginger needs the exercise.”
Carroll Childers was leaning against the cab of a white pickup truck, with a camper on top, when Becky rounded a bend in the path. A can of Diet Coke, rather than a beer in his hand at nine-thirty in the morning gave her the confidence to stop. “Caught anything?” she asked pointing towards the fishing rods perched on the bank, their lines snaking out into the dark waters of the lake. He looked up and took a deep drag on the cigarette hanging from his mouth but didn’t respond. Not being in the least bit shy, she continued, “My name’s Becky and this is my dog Ginger.”
“Caholl, Caholl Childahs.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carroll Childers,” she replied, and thought but didn’t say, that’s the broadest New Hampshire accent I’ve ever heard. I wonder how he deals with snide remarks about his feminine sounding name.
“Yep, that’s it, Caholl.”
“You have an old-fashioned name like mine,” she replied, and was immediately overcome with embarrassment. In the silence that followed she took the opportunity to study his features. The clear blue eyes that shone from beneath heavy eyebrows, contrasted sharply with the grey stubble and pallor of his skin. He was wearing a brown sweatshirt stained with grease, and canvas trousers that had never seen an iron. His fingers, wrapped round the cigarette, were red and raw, and his fingernails were ingrained with dirt. Becky guessed from his appearance he was a mechanic, or at the very least a man who worked with machinery.
Pointing to the dirty canvas bag and the tin poking out from one end, Becky asked, “What bait do you use?”
“Nothing better’n power bait,” he replied picking up the tin and twisting off the lid. Inside, was an evil smelling black paste which he thrust under her nose. “Been coming here for twenty years and never found anything better for Pearl Lake lady.” Without another word he closed the tin, tossed it in the bag and ambled towards the lakeside, flicking his cigarette into the water as he went.
Looking past Carroll, Becky could see another man standing fifty yards further along the path. Like his companion, he had a large beer belly, and seeing a half dozen scrunched up beer cans at his feet Becky wasn’t surprised. He was taller than Carroll, with strands of brown and grey hair sweeping across his head, in a vain attempt to disguise fast-approaching baldness. His clothes - plaid shirt half hanging out from torn jeans with scuffed leather boots – and permanent scowl on his face, made her feel uneasy. She was tempted to hurry straight past, but as she approached he stepped in front of her. “What sort of dog is that, lady?” he asked bending down to greet Ginger.
“She’s a King Charles spaniel called Ginger.”
“They all like it,” he said looking up and nodding towards Ginger who was eagerly licking his fingers. “It’s the power bait me and my brother use.” He gave Ginger a stroke and stood up. ”Saw you chatting with Caholl. My name’s Stan Childahs, by the way.”
“What kind of fish do you catch here?” Becky asked, hastily pulling Ginger away.
“Mostly trout, but some bass, want to try your hand?” he asked picking up one of several rods at his feet.
Becky sensed his interest in her was getting too familiar and edging past, she wished him good luck and hurried on her way, dragging a reluctant Ginger behind her.
It was a month later and a few days after Sean left for Iraq when Becky next became aware of the two brothers. Their pictures were on the front page of the White Mountain Gazette, and the headline said they’d been found in their trailer and shot in the head at close range.
Two
Becky’s hands shook as she scanned the front page of the White Mountain Gazette.
Neighbors find dead brothers
Local brothers Carroll and Stanley Childers were found dead by neighbors Tuesday when they broke into the trailer the brothers shared at High Plant Avenue.
”There’d been a funny smell coming from their trailer and we hadn’t seen either of them for a couple of days, so me and two other guys thought we’d better investigate,” said trailer park resident, Gary Oldman.
Lisbon Police Chief Joe Black was alerted and the Childers trailer sealed off. Talking to the Gazette by phone, Chief Black said the two brothers were shot several times at close range. At this stage there are no clues as to the killers.
Carroll Childers, age 60, had returned to Lisbon after retiring early from a twenty-year career with General Motors in Detroit. His older brother, Stanley, 62, had spent most of his life in and around Lisbon. He’d moved into the trailer on High Plant Avenue after his parents, Vern and Linda were killed in an accident ten years earlier when their Dodge Ram struck a moose late at night on I-93.
Both brothers served with distinction in the Vietnam War, and Stanley earned a Silver Cross. They are survived by Carroll Childers’ son, Edward of Rochester County NY, and his daughter, Dena Polcia of Denver CO,

She laid down the paper and looked across the lake. She missed Sean and with him thousands of miles away in Iraq, she felt lonely and vulnerable.