Deadly Currents (10 page)

Mandy wasn’t about to admit her fear of the noisy machine. If this was something river rangers had to do, she would do it. “I’ll watch you first, then I’ll give it a try.”

The process was slower in the afternoon, with three ropes involved. One was tied to the chain saw and a tree on shore, so they could retrieve the saw if it fell in the water. A second ran from Steve’s PFD to Mandy. A third was tied around each larger limb before Steve sawed through it, so the two of them could tug the limb to shore afterward.

By the time they took a rest break, Mandy felt confident she knew what to do, though she was less confident she could actually do it. But with butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she said, “My turn.”

Steve gave her a thumbs-up and attached a rope to her PFD.

Mandy walked out along the cottonwood trunk to a large limb, tied on a rope then returned for the chain saw, started it up, and carried it, idling, with her. She braced her feet, positioned the center of the blade under the limb and glanced at Steve for confirmation.

He flashed an okay sign.

The chain whined and ground into the wood, spitting sawdust out the back. When she’d cut through about an inch, she extracted the blade and started from the top. The saw broke through the limb with a loud crack, and the sudden release of pressure against the blade threw her off balance. She stumbled and scampered sideways.
Hell, if I can’t get this balance thing, I’ll fall in the river for sure.

She shut off the machine, clipped it with a carabiner to a nearby branch, then hauled on the rope tied to the cut limb to help Steve pull it to shore. After she untied the rope, she asked Steve, “You never seem to have any problem keeping your balance out there. Any hints?”

“Practice wading in the river,” Steve said with a grin. “That’ll tune up your core muscles for all kinds of balance situations. And bend your knees a little before starting a cut. If you feel yourself falling, throw the chain saw in the river. The water will shut off the engine, and we can retrieve it with the rope. We won’t be able to use it again today, but that’s why we brought two. I’d rather clean and repair the saw than patch up your leg.”

“Me, too.” Mandy surveyed the mutilated tree. “Well, one down, about a dozen to go.” She took the end of the rope and walked out again to the next limb.

After Mandy had cut a few more limbs, a flotilla of bright yellow inflatable kayaks, called duckies, bobbed and weaved through the riffles on the other side of the river, their riders madly paddling with varying degrees of control.

One of the guides yelled out to her covey, “Stay far away from that tree!” then to Mandy, “Thanks, ranger!”

Mandy gave her a wave and fired up the chain saw again. As she touched the blade to wood, something bumped the cottonwood trunk. She lost her balance and tossed the machine aside. It splashed into the water. She fell to her knees, hard, and looped her free arm around the limb she’d been about to saw to stop herself from plunging headfirst into the river. The rope on her PFD went taut as Steve tensed to haul her in if she fell.

Once the sharp pains zinging up from her knees subsided, and she knew she wasn’t going to take a dive into the swirling water, she turned her head to see what bumped the tree.

A wide-eyed teenage boy with an orange Mohawk gaped at her. He sat in his duckie, gripping the end of the trunk. “So-sorry. Are you hurt?”

“What the hell were you thinking?” Mandy yelled, all her training about being polite to river users overwhelmed by her pain and anger.

“Get away from there!” his guide yelled.

“Let go of the tree!” Steve hollered.

“I-I just wanted to see what you—”

“Oh, shut up.” She was about to say more, but the chagrin on the boy’s face cooled her anger enough for her to remember she was a professional. She counted to three and took a deep breath.

“Listen to me carefully,” Mandy said with a deliberately fierce tone. “If the water sweeps you under this tree, you could be trapped and drown. Push off
now
and paddle like hell toward the other side of the river.”

“But—”

“Now!”

The boy pushed off and, with head down, windmilled his paddle madly to propel his boat over to the rest of his group. As soon as he was out of danger, his guide started chewing him out.

Mandy sat up and checked her pants legs. One was torn, and blood oozed out where the bark had scraped her skin.
Great, another sewing job.

“You hurt?” Steve called.

“Just a scrape.” Shakily, she clambered to her feet.

“Sorry about that,” the guide yelled. “I’ll keep a close eye on this kid for the rest of the trip.”

“Tell him he’s lucky he didn’t kill two people,” Steve shouted back. “Himself and a river ranger.”

The boy’s face flamed red. He focused his gaze resolutely straight ahead, so he couldn’t see all the derisive stares directed at him. His hunched back showed he felt them, though.

Mandy hobbled to shore and sat down next to her first aid kit while Steve hauled in the drenched chain saw. “I don’t think the kid will do anything that stupid again.”

“No, you can count on that imbecile causing trouble again real soon.” Steve dug in the kit and pulled out alcohol wipes. “Stupidity and teenage hormones are as volatile a combination as lightning and scrub oak.”

The alcohol burned her scraped skin, and Mandy sucked in a breath. Worried that she had let her emotions get away from her, she asked, “You think I was too hard on him?”

“No. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t really let him have it, especially after
…
everything.”

“Uncle Bill, you mean.”

“Yeah.” Steve handed her a couple of gauze pads and ripped off a length of first aid tape. After they finished doctoring her knee, he repacked the first aid kit. “Why don’t I finish up the job?”

“I can do it.”

Steve grabbed the second chain saw, attached a rope to his PFD quick release harness, and handed the other end to Mandy. “I know you can.”

After a trip with particularly badly behaved kids,
one guide rushes to the drugstore to buy more condoms.

—
What The River Says
, Jeff Wallach

It took another couple
of hours to saw the remaining limbs off, section the trunk and limbs into two-foot lengths, and split the large sections with a chisel and maul on shore. Since Steve had commandeered the one working chain saw, then the maul, Mandy took on the job of throwing hunks of wood into the river.

By the time they finished, every muscle of her body was crying, “Enough!” She had bandaged the blisters on her hands during their last break, but they still stung. She smelled pretty ripe, too, but she welcomed the physical exhaustion, hoping it would help her sleep that night.

While they paddled downriver to the Parkdale takeout, Mandy reviewed her conversation with Lenny Preble about Nate Fowler. The developer had a viable profit motive to kill Tom King, his rival for the land south of Salida, but King’s mistress, Evie Olson, and his wife, Paula King, also had motives of a more personal nature. If what Cynthia had found out about Evie was true, she was the woman scorned. But after Mandy’s run-in with Paula at the memorial service, she could easily visualize that woman having enough venom in her to kill someone, especially a philandering husband.

Hopefully, she would be able to get a better idea about Evie Olson the next day at the day spa, but how could she scope out Nate Fowler? The FIBArk kickoff! He would probably be there. Mandy now had yet another reason to attend.

As she dragged her cataraft onto shore, the sounds of honking horns and shouts drifted down to the river.

Steve heaved a great sigh. “Let’s go. Must be another parking lot altercation.” He trudged uphill, his shoulders drooping.

Following, Mandy rubbed her own sore shoulders.
The poor guy must be as bushed as me—or even more so, given that he did the majority of the wood splitting.

When they reached the parking lot, she saw her uncle’s van, with the boat trailer attached, positioned nose-to-nose with a large pickup truck, which was blocking the parking lot exit. A trio of middle-aged men stood beside the truck, their raft half-in and half-out of the truck bed. Gonzo stood nose-to-nose with the middle one, a sunburned heavyweight with clenched hands.

The man’s hefty beer belly hung over a baggy pair of psychedelic swim trunks. His words were slurred and spittle flew from his lips as he shouted at Gonzo to “move your God-damned vehicle.”

Gonzo swiped a fleck of spit from his cheek. “Move your own God-damned vehicle! You’ve been blocking the exit for twenty minutes. I’ve got people here who have to leave
now
.”

The man folded his arms across his hairy chest. “I’ve got as much right to be here as you do.”

“Oh yeah, asshole,” Gonzo shot back. “I don’t see a vehicle permit on your dash. You got one? You paid your two-dollar daily pass fee?”

The man’s face flushed even redder. He took a swing at Gonzo, who easily stepped out of the way. The man’s fist swished through air and pulled him off balance. Staggering, he spluttered and swore again.

“I’ll take the drunk,” Steve said to Mandy. “You take Gonzo.”

He stepped up to the man, put a hand under his elbow to steady him and steered him a few feet away from Gonzo. “Sir, let me introduce myself. I’m Steve Hadley, chief river ranger. Now, how can I help solve this problem?”

As Mandy took Gonzo’s arm and dragged him away, Gonzo glared at her. “Why’s Steve kissing up to that asshole? He should be ticketing him.”

“He probably will, as soon as he gets the guy calmed down enough so he doesn’t want to kill you anymore. Why’d you egg him on? You know better than that. What kind of impression do you think you’re making on the customers?”

Gonzo glanced over at his group of rafters, whose faces held a mixture of shock, disgust, impatience, and anger. He swung back to Mandy, a retort on his lips.

But she had her own ready. “How’s this help Uncle Bill’s business, Gonzo?”

His chest swelled with bluster instantly deflated. “I’m sorry, Mandy. That fat slob made me so mad I couldn’t think straight. I promised these folks we’d be back at the office by five thirty, and it’s past five already. I don’t know what to say to them.”

Mandy blew out a breath. “I’ll talk to them. Maybe the ranger outfit will help. And I’ll help you load the rafts.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Yes you do. Act like an adult and stop getting into fights with drunks.” Mandy strode off to talk to the customers before she could make the mistake of adding, “like yourself.”

She introduced herself, explained the situation, and told them that as soon as her supervisor got the other man to move his truck, Gonzo would be able to drive his vehicle to the boat ramp so they could load the rafts. She asked the group to follow her down to shore so they could preload paddles and PFDs into the rafts to speed up the process. With a mixture of diplomacy, assurances that they would be on their way soon, and jokes about wildlife on the river, she soon had the group back in a holiday mood and working together to pack up.

Twenty minutes later, she was waving goodbye to the customers as they loaded the van. She had an idea and turned to Gonzo. “As soon as I unload our equipment at the ranger station, I’ll head out to Uncle Bill’s. I want to talk to you there, so wait for me.”

“Okay,” he mumbled and rounded the front of the van to climb in.

As he drove away, Steve joined her.

“Did you ticket the drunk?” Mandy asked.

“I collected the money for his vehicle and pass fees and asked the most sober-looking of his buddies to drive the truck out. Long day, huh?”

“And it’s not over yet.”

_____

Mandy pulled into her uncle’s parking lot and stepped out of the car. All the rafters had gone, and their wetsuits were hanging out back to dry in the long rays of the setting sun. Gonzo and her brother sat in lawn chairs on the back porch, quietly talking and drinking beer.

Mandy slumped into a vacant chair, then shifted her weight to keep from sinking through the hole left by one torn strand of webbing. David wordlessly handed her a can of beer. Mandy took a long, cool drink to soothe her parched throat.

David poked his nose her way and gave a good sniff. “You don’t smell too good.”

“Thanks for the compliment, bro. I’ve been chopping up a tree all day. What have you been doing?”

“The cops came here this afternoon,” David said.

“What did they want?”

“Don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. But they had a search warrant and carted away all the trash from the bin out back.”

Mandy thought about this. “King was poisoned.” She turned to Gonzo. “Did you or any of the other guides bring food or drinks on the trip and give him any?”

“Like I’m going to give away food,” Gonzo said. “You think manna rained down on my campsite or something?”

Mandy stared at him, hard.

Gonzo held up a hand. “I didn’t bring anything, and I don’t remember Dougie or Kendra or Ajax bringing any food either. Hey, we mooch off the customers whenever we can.”

“Maybe someone else did,” David said.

Mandy nodded and took another sip of beer. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, trying to soak up a little warmth from the setting sun to ease her aching muscles. A fly buzzed around the opening to her beer can, but she could care less and didn’t have the energy to brush it away.

“Okay, I can’t stand it anymore,” Gonzo said. “You can commence chewing me out again over the parking lot fight.”

Mandy opened one eye to give him a baleful look.

Gonzo gave a theatrical shudder. “She’s putting the evil eye on me.”

“That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. I want to know about Jeff King.”

“Any relation to Tom King, the man you tried to save?” David asked.

“His son.”
And another participant on that doomed rafting trip.

David frowned. “What business is it of yours what his son is up to?”

Mandy didn’t want to admit to her brother and Gonzo that she was ignoring Detective Quintana’s request to stay out of the investigation. “Humor me. Gonzo?”

“I know Jeff from hanging out at the Salida boat ramp. He’s a kayaking nut. Most summer evenings, he’s there, taking his turn in the play queue. His father wanted him to get a business degree and go into real estate with him, but Jeff would have none of that. He’s too busy having fun on the water. He dropped out of college after his freshman year.”

“What’s he doing now?” Mandy asked. “Is he a trustifarian, living off his father’s money?”

“He wishes.” Gonzo took a swig of beer. “Tom King cut Jeff off, said he could fund his own damn kayaking obsession.”

“So what’s Jeff do for money?”

“Guides kayak trips, enters events trying to win prize money, mooches off his friends. In the summer, he camps out on forest land. He signed up for the Pine Creek Boater X race, hoping to take home the Wave Sport kayak that’s going to the winner. Says he’s tired of patching up his old boat.”

“Is he making enough to get by?”

“Not really. He’s maxed out on his credit card, owes money to just about everyone in town, and all his friends, including me, are getting tired of him sponging off us. He’s getting kind of desperate nowadays.”

“And how did he feel about his old man cutting him off?”

“How else? Hates his guts.”

Gonzo crumpled up his empty beer can, tossed it in the trash, and stood. “If you’re not going to chew me out, am I free to go now?”

_____

“You gonna tell me what that was all about?” David asked after Gonzo left. “Is this related to what you said last night about making the killer pay?”

“Don’t worry,” Mandy said. “I’m not out on any personal vendetta. I’m just trying to dig up leads that the Chaffee County Sheriff detectives can follow.”
And that I can, too.

The sun had slipped behind Mount Ouray, and the temperature dropped. Mandy rubbed her arms. “Tell me what you found out about Uncle Bill’s business.”

David stood. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm first. I’ll heat up some stew. Uncle Bill left half a case of Dinty Moore in the kitchen. He seemed to live on that and Power Bars.”

Mandy followed David inside. As she watched him open a couple of cans and dump them into a pot, she felt another twinge of guilt. “I kept telling him he should stop eating that stuff. It’s full of saturated fat. Why didn’t I throw those cans out and buy him some heart-healthy food?”

“Don’t beat yourself up, sis. He wouldn’t have eaten what you bought and would’ve restocked what he liked. You aren’t responsible for what he ate.” David turned on the stove burner. “Okay, here’s today’s bad news. When Gonzo pulled out the rafts for his trip today, one had a split seam between a side pontoon and the floor.”

“Did he say whether he could repair it?”

David shook his head. “The material was shredded on one side, and Gonzo showed me where two other seams were gapping. He said the boat was dangerous. Shouldn’t be out on the water.”

Mandy sighed. “So it needs to be replaced.”

“And that’s expensive.” David stirred the stew. “But there’s no need to order a new one. We don’t have enough customers scheduled in the next couple of weeks to run all the rafts anyway.”

“More bad news.” Mandy rested her chin on her hands. “Any good news?”

“Paula King dropped her lawsuit.”

“Too late. The damage’s already been done.”

“I talked to your friend, Rob Juarez, about whether he could recommend someone to manage the business through the summer. He’s quite the go-getter, you know. He used to put in long hours working construction at the same time as guiding in the summer and driving ski buses in the winter. He lived cheap and saved up a down payment on a business loan so he could buy his rafting business from the original owner. And to top it all off, he took business classes at the community college at night.”

While he talked, David brought the stew pot to the table and scrounged up bowls and spoons, studying her all the while as if gauging how to break even more bad news to her.

Mandy had never asked Rob how he’d been able to buy his company, and felt a little piqued at herself that her brother had found out before she had. “Sounds like you two got pretty chummy.”