Jack Gronli

Jack Gronli, November 24th, 2025

Jack Gronli was out in his small aluminum skiff fishing on Green Lake as usual. It was a sunny morning in May in Southern Minnesota. Jack always liked being on the lake fishing. The noise of the house and town faded away out there on the water.

Jack lived with his wife, Myrtle, in the house they built above Green Lake near Spicer, Minnesota. They’d had three daughters who were now grown up and moved away. One to Florida. One to Nebraska. And one to Californ-I-A.

Myrtle wore the old print dresses. She baked peanut butter sticky buns and made strong coffee. Jack and Myrtle drank a lot of coffee with heavy cream.

Jack was wearing his usual blue jean overalls and a plaid shirt. He wore a Grain Belt cap on his head. He never wore sunglasses. Said he couldn’t see the real world while wearing the damn things.

Jack had his old metallic green tackle box at the bottom of the boat. Today, he was using his usual red & white spinner. Some liked the black & white spinner, but Jack knew the fish knew that red was blood, and blood was food.

He’d often bring home the fish to Myrtle to clean.

Myrtle: Jack, these treble hooks make a mess of the walleye’s mouth.

Jack: I do not plan to kiss the walleye. I plan to eat the walleye.

Jack hated contractions. He also hated pronouns. He considered them lazy speech by lazy people.

Jack: Contractions are for women in labor.

On this fine sunny May morning, Jack was trolling deep for the walleye. His lure hit something. Jack could tell it was a huge walleye or probably an old tire. Jack used 50-pound test fishing line. He wasn’t going to take any chances on a big one getting away with a broken line.

Jack reeled in the lure, and up came a body. Jack recognized the overalls. It was old man Hansen. Jack tied the body to the side of the boat and headed for shore.

Jack dragged the boat and body as far up the sandy beach as he could. Then he pulled out his flip phone and called Sheriff Nordeen.

Jack: Sheriff, I found old man Hansen at the bottom of Green Lake.

Sheriff Nordeen: Were you scuba diving?

Jack: No. Fishing. Caught him with my red spinner treble hooks.

Sheriff Nordeen: I hope you didn’t catch him in the mouth. That would make a horrible mess for the mortician.

Jack: No. I caught Hansen by the overall suspenders. I think Hansen has been murdered. Hansen wasn’t scuba diving either.

Sheriff Nordeen: Who would kill old man Hansen?

Jack: Most of Hansen’s relatives and the town residents. Hansen owed money to everyone in town, including me. Hansen was so cheap he didn’t buy milking machines. Hansen milked his cows by hand.

Sheriff Nordeen: So, did you kill him?

Jack: No. Dumping a body in Green Lake would ruin the fishing.

Sheriff Nordeen: I’ll have Mueller come get the body.

…

Mitch Mueller, the town mortician, drove up to Jack and Myrtle’s house. He parked the black hearse in the driveway.

Jack met Mueller in the driveway, and they walked down to the body on the beach.

Mueller: Help me flip him over.

Jack: Hansen has a big dent in his forehead.

Mueller: Looks like a semicircle.

Jack: What is a semicircle? It’s either a circle or it is not. It is like those semi trucks. It is a truck. There is no semi about it.

Mueller: Oh, that’s because the front is the tractor, and the trailer is the back. So, the tractor is only semi a truck.

Jack: But people call the whole shebang a semi.

Mueller: True. I can’t explain it.
Jack: This guy is soaking wet. How do we get him into the hearse?

Mueller: Do you have a wheelbarrow?

Jack: I’ll get the wheelbarrow, but it still has some manure in it.

Mueller: Hansen won’t mind.

The body is loaded into the hearse and taken to the mortuary.

As the hearse drives away, Ole Johansen walks over from next door to talk to Jack in the driveway.

Ole: Sorry to see that Myrtle has passed away.

Jack: Myrtle is fine. It’s old man Hansen in the hearse.

Ole: Did you kill him, Jack?

Jack: Why does everyone think I killed old man Hansen?

Ole: He owed you money.

Jack: So do you.

Ole: You won’t be getting your money from Hansen now. You shoulda thought of that.

Jack: I fished him out of Green Lake.

Ole: What were you using for bait?

Jack: Do you want to come in for coffee? Myrtle made peanut butter sticky buns this morning.

Ole: You betcha!

…

At the mortuary, Mitch Mueller and Sheriff Nordeen examine the body of old man Hansen.

Mitch: Looks like Hansen was hit in the head and drowned.

Sheriff Nordeen: Look at these bite marks on his legs. Maybe he was attacked by a moose.

Mitch: Ya, those moose are vicious creatures.

Jack walks into the room and looks at the body.

Jack: Those are dog bite marks on his legs, and that’s a cow footprint on his forehead. Looks like Hansen was milking his cow, the cow kicked him in the head, and his big St. Bernard dragged the body down to Green Lake.

Sheriff Nordeen: Why would the dog do that?

Mitch: Oh, that dog hated old man Hansen. Hansen fed him crap dog food. Never took the dog anywhere. Kept him tied up in the yard year-round.

Jack: No doubt the cow didn’t like Hansen either.

Sheriff Nordeen: Well, I can’t arrest a cow and a dog for murder.

Jack: Why not? I’m sure they’d make great cellmates.
Sheriff Nordeen: They’d be shitting and pissing all over the cell. I don’t want to be cleaning all that up.

Mitch: I’ll take the St. Bernard. I always liked him.

Jack: I would give him a new name. Hansen called him Furbutt.

Mitch: I’ll call him Hamm’s. It’s my favorite beer.

Jack: Hamm’s will probably like drinking Hamm’s, too.

Sheriff Nordeen: The case is solved. I’ll have my cousin come get Hansen’s cows. Mitch, you go pick up the dog.

Jack: Let us hope those two criminal creatures don’t commit another murder in Spicer.

Sheriff Nordeen: I’ll keep my eye on them.

…

Epilogue:

The next night, Mitch Mueller is sitting on his lawn chair in his backyard. He has a case of Hamm’s beer on ice in the cooler next to him. On his other side, Hamm’s his rescued St. Bernard, gazes up at Mitch pleadingly.

Mitch: Okay, I’ll give you a beer.

Hamm’s laps up the Hamm’s happily.

Cow: Mooooooooo!

Mitch: Jiminy Cricket, do you have to invite your cow friend over every night? I suppose Cow wants a Hamm’s, too.

Mitch pours Cow a Hamm’s, and she drinks it happily.

The stars are bright overhead with a crescent moon in the sky. A shooting star completes the scene.

All is good in Spicer.

Fin

TJM