Deadly Currents (22 page)

Mandy grabbed Rob’s arm. “That’s Jeff King!”

“He’s a risk taker all right,” Rob replied, “but what a show. His raft deserves to win.”

A risk taker.
Was he capable of murdering his own father to get access to the money he needed to keep on living as a river rat?

As Mandy resumed her seat next to Rob to wait for the next heat of rafts, she began to think Evie was right, that Quintana had the wrong suspect in jail.

_____

Hours later, Mandy poked her head through Rob’s bedroom doorway. He was snoring peacefully, in the deep sleep of sheer exhaustion. After watching his guide crew’s homemade pirate ship disintegrate in the river, the heat and painkillers finally got to him. He, too, had disintegrated. He had tried to insist on staying for the finals, but Mandy forced him off the viewing stand and into the car.

She couldn’t get to sleep herself, however. The question of how Nate Fowler could have gotten his hands on the poison nagged her. She grabbed the peanut butter jar from the kitchen and sat down on the sofa. She dipped in her finger to fetch a glob out and sucked on it.

If Nate couldn’t have gotten his hands on enough aconite via homeopathic remedies and he had none growing in his yard, Mandy wondered how else he could have gotten it. She snapped her sticky fingers. By stealing the plants from someone else’s yard as easily as Cynthia and she had sneaked in and out of all but one of the yards they investigated. Or by finding Western monkshood plants growing in the wild.

But Mandy still wanted to rule out the homeopathic remedies source. She remembered Kendra was into homeopathic remedies, and she probably would be watching the Pine Creek Boater race footage at the Steamplant Theater that night. Maybe Mandy’s rescue of Jeff King had been taped. She could learn something from watching it—and from talking to Kendra.

She wrote a note to Rob that said she was going to watch the race footage, then she let Lucky outside to do his final business of the day in Rob’s yard. After grabbing her windbreaker, she softly closed the door behind her and started up her car, pushing Quintana’s admonishment not to do any more sniffing around to the back of her mind.

During the ride over to the Steamplant, she conjured up lots of sound reasons why this excursion wasn’t really sniffing around. She wasn’t planning to talk to any of the suspects. This was for her own educational benefit in evaluating her rescue technique. Besides, she would drive herself crazy if she stayed at Rob’s. And if she happened to see Kendra, what was the harm in asking her about homeopathic remedies?

When she entered the theater, the race footage had already begun, but the houselights were only dimmed to allow people to find each other. As much socializing as watching was going on, and the sound of the race was a lot less interesting than the visuals anyway. Mandy spotted Kendra talking to a couple of other rafting guides and worked her way through the rows of seats to get to the group.

Kendra’s brows rose in surprise. “Mandy! I thought you’d be nursing Rob. How is he?”

“He’s sound asleep and has been for hours. I doubt he’ll wake up until morning, so there’s not much nursing to be done now. I wanted to see the footage of my rescue of Jeff King. Has it come on yet?”

“Nah, they just started playing the tape about half an hour ago.”

“Can I ask you some questions in the meantime?” Mandy pointed to a cluster of empty seats toward the back of the room, where hopefully she could ask her questions without being overheard.

“Sure, I guess.” Kendra excused herself from her friends and followed Mandy to the seats in the back. “What’s up?”

“You know a lot about homeopathic remedies, right?”

Kendra nodded. “Is this for you or Rob?”

“Neither. It’s more of a general question.” Mandy leaned close to Kendra and lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “Actually, it has something to do with the King case. You know he was poisoned, right?”

“Right, but you don’t think he got a bad batch of homeopathic medicine, do you?”

“No, not exactly. I know a lot of homeopathics are actually tiny doses of what would be poisonous in a much larger amount. What I’m wondering is if someone could order enough of a homeopathic remedy to somehow create a fatal dose out of it.”

Kendra thought for a moment. “I really doubt it. You see, homeopathic doses are diluted way too much. A usual dose is 6X, which means the substance is diluted to one part in ten multiplied six times, which results in one in a million parts. To get a strong dose, you somehow have to distill out that one part in a million. Otherwise, someone would have to drink gallons of the stuff to get enough to cause harm.”

“Are they just diluted with water?”

“Not all the time. Depends on the substance and what it does in water. Sometimes it’s diluted with alcohol or sugar or something else.” Kendra shifted. “Even if someone could figure out the chemistry of how to get rid of all the water, alcohol, or sugar and concentrate it down, there’s the matter of cost. You’d have to buy thousands of bottles of medicine to get enough for one fatal dose. Who’s going to spend that much money?”

Especially when you can just grow the plant in your back yard.
Mandy nodded. “Okay, thanks. You’ve convinced me.”

Kendra made her way back to her friends.

Think, girl.
No one, not she and Cynthia nor Quintana and his cops had found any monkshood plants or aconite powder at Nate Fowler’s house—or dozens of trash bags full of homeopathic remedy bottles either. And Nate didn’t come across to her as money-grubbing enough to kill for it. Someone else must have planted the rifle in his unlocked garden shed, just as they easily could have planted the monkshood root and powder in the Kings’ detached garage. Someone who was trying to throw suspicion away from himself or herself.

That left Evie Olson and Lenny Preble, both of whom had Western monkshood growing in their yards, and Cynthia had said Evie had hunting experience. Mandy tried to recall if she had heard anything about Lenny Preble and hunting. Given his environmental leanings, she doubted it.

But Lenny was the one who brought the sealed sports drink bottles to the rafting trip. Two witnesses saw Paula give Tom King his bottle, but how did the bottle get from Lenny to Paula? Did he or Evie unseal one, drop in the aconite powder, reseal it, and hand it to Paula along with hers, asking her to give one to Tom? Again, to throw suspicion on her? If so, how could the killer be sure the right bottle got to Tom? And how could he or she have done all that unnoticed?

Mandy spotted Paula King in the crowd watching the race footage. She could ask Paula if she remembered who had given her the sports bottle. But Paula would probably refuse to answer and accuse Mandy of trying to cover up her own incompetence again.

“Hey, Mandy,” Kendra shouted and pointed to the screen.

There was Mandy, tossing a throw rope to Jeff King, floundering in the Pine Creek rapid. When it hit him on the head, Kendra shouted “Bingo!” and a few guides clapped in appreciation at the perfect throw.

Mandy watched herself haul Jeff to shore, her feet scrabbling for purchase in the gravel. Maybe she should have tried to belay the rope around that nearby boulder instead of doing a body belay. Would there have been enough time to run the rope around the rock before Jeff’s body weight started tugging on it?
Probably not.

She got the crawly feeling that someone was staring at her and took her focus off the screen to search the audience. When her gaze swept over Paula King, the woman jerked her head forward. She said something to the person sitting on her far side, then glanced at Mandy again.

It’s now or never.
Mandy stood and made her way forward to Paula’s row, then bumped past knees until she reached the empty seat next to Paula and sat down.

Mandy nervously cleared her throat. “I hope you’ll grant me a small favor after seeing how I rescued Jeff. I’d like to ask you a couple of simple questions about the raft trip.”

“Why the hell should I talk to someone who thinks I killed my own husband?”

“Because I don’t think you did. You couldn’t have shot Rob because you were with Detective Quintana at the time, and I think whoever shot Rob also killed your husband. Look, I’ll keep it short. Then I’m out of here. I won’t bug you ever again.”

Paula’s lips twitched. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

She gave out a little sigh. “I guess I can answer some little ol’ questions from the person who saved my son from that ugly rapid. Too bad you couldn’t have saved his boat, too.”

Will the woman’s complaints never cease?
Mandy took a deep breath. “Okay. On the morning of the rafting trip, who handed you the sports drink bottle that you gave to your husband?”

“I don’t know.” Paula waved a hand in the air. “As I told Detective Quintana, it was chaotic, people milling around, trying to figure out who was going in what raft. And I certainly wasn’t going to share a raft with the Olsons.”

“Please. Could you try to remember? Could it have been Evie Olson?”

With a derisive snort, Paula said, “I’d never take anything from that floozy.”

“How about Lenny Preble, then? Did he hand you the bottle?”

Paula pursed her lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Did you see him take it out of the box?”

“I thought you said a couple of questions.” Paula folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay, I want to discuss just one little ol’ topic, the sports drink bottle. And it’s important. Please, think hard. Try to remember what happened that morning.”

While Paula stared at Mandy her eyes went unfocused as if she was replaying the morning in her mind. “Okay, I’m picturing Lenny coming over with the box in his hands. He asked me to take two bottles, one for me and one for Tom, since Tom was still messing with his lifejacket.”

Mandy’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. If Lenny left the choice of bottles up to Paula, he couldn’t have poisoned one already.
Am I sitting here talking casually to a woman who murdered her own husband? No, she wouldn’t be so open with me if she did, especially given her past animosity.

“What happened after you gave Tom his bottle?”

“We put them in the raft next to where we were going to be sitting.”

Someone must have gotten to that bottle sometime. Mandy mentally reviewed the process of getting a pod of rafts on the river—paperwork, hand out gear, divvy the group up into rafts, introduce the guides, safety talk, load the rafts
…

“Wait, when did the safety talk happen, before or after you stowed your bottles?”

Paula was silent for a moment. “After, I think.”

“How far away from your raft did the safety talk take place?”

“Just a few steps upstream, by the last raft. Ours was the first.”

Someone could have slipped the poison in Tom King’s bottle then—or exchanged his bottle with one that had been doped already.
“Did everyone go to the safety talk?”

“Not the other guides. Or Lenny. When we got back to our raft, he was in his seat. Said he’d heard the talk so many times already that he didn’t need to hear it again. I wish I’d done the same and not suffered through Gonzo’s lame jokes.”

“Did Detective Quintana ask you any questions about the safety talk, like who attended and when it happened?”

“No.”

“Were your drink bottles disturbed or moved in any way when you got back to the raft?”

“Not that I could tell.” Paula eyed Mandy. “You can’t be thinking that skinny dip killed my husband. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, and if he saw you swatting one, he’d read you the riot act. My money’s on that evil bitch, Evie. I have my doubts about Nate Fowler being the culprit.”

“So do I.”

“Now, I can’t imagine a single other thing I can tell you about those stupid sports drinks other than they tasted like puke. That’s it. End of story.” Paula turned her back to Mandy to say something to her friend.

End of story is right.
Mandy stood and made her way across the row and up the aisle to the back exit. Once in the lobby, she dug her cell phone out of her pocket. She had to call Quintana.

Just then the back exit door banged opened. Lenny Preble strode out of the theater into the lobby.

A woman is like a teabag—you never know how
strong she is until she gets in hot water.

—Eleanor Roosevelt

Mandy stiffened. Where was Lenny sitting? Did he hear me talking to Paula?

Lenny walked toward her, his steps echoing in the empty lobby. The open black and red flannel shirt he wore over his T-shirt and jeans flapped like a sinister cape behind him. With each step, Mandy’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch.

Two teenage girls came out of the theater into the lobby and scurried past him, making him pause and frown at them. They continued on, whispering and giggling to each other on the way to the ladies’ restroom.

“Hello, Mandy,” Lenny said casually when he reached her. “I heard about Rob. How’s he doing?”

“F-fine. He’s sleeping now.”

Lenny nodded. “Good. I heard Quintana locked up Nate Fowler as a suspect. Looks like our two developers are both eliminated. One’s dead, and the other one will be going to prison.”

“Could be.” Mandy unclenched her clammy hand from around her cell phone.

Lenny cocked his head. “Why just ‘could be’?”

He’s behaving naturally. Maybe he didn’t see me with Paula.
Mandy tried to make a nonchalant shrug. “You know. Innocent until proven guilty.”

“Right, you keep on believing that, even after they found the rifle that shot Rob in Nate’s garage.”

The hair bristled on the back of Mandy’s neck. Quintana wouldn’t have allowed that to become public knowledge, would he?

Lenny hitched up his jeans and stood straighter. “The important thing is that the Arkansas is safe for now. And there’ll be another buyer for those water rights.”

“Another buyer? Who? Aren’t you worried?”

“No, because the other buyer will be my nonprofit corporation. This travesty of developers fighting to the death over water rights will convince the good citizens of Chaffee County that they need to contribute to a fund to buy those rights for our children’s future.”

Two of those children, the pair of giggly teens, crossed the lobby again to return to the theater.

Mandy ached to follow them, back to the crowded room, back to the safety of numbers. She stepped toward the theater, then realized her action wouldn’t make sense. Why would she have walked out into the lobby just to return to the theater again? She couldn’t make Lenny suspicious.

She altered course. “Good luck with that, Lenny, but I’ve got to go now. I was headed for the ladies room.”

Mandy rushed toward the restroom, feeling Lenny’s gaze on her back the whole time. Unfortunately the restroom was empty.
Will he follow me? I’ve got to make it sound like others are in here.

She ran into a stall and flushed a toilet, then into a second stall and flushed its toilet. Then she scurried to a sink, turned on the water, and reached over to crank the knob on the paper towel dispenser. She checked her cell phone. No signal. With all the metal construction in the Steamplant, it wasn’t a surprise. She’d have to wait for Lenny to leave, then go outside to call Quintana.

Standing there with a handful of paper towels, she waited, muscles wadded up as tightly as the towels in her fist.

Nothing. No one came in. She turned off the sink faucet and waited some more. Again nothing.

Mandy let out the breath she’d been holding and threw the paper towels in the trash can. She cracked open the door and peeked out. An older couple chatting amiably with each other was exiting the lobby. She quickly walked to the outside door and followed them. As they crossed the street, she headed for her car, opening her cell phone.
Yes, a signal!
She found Quintana’s cell phone number in her directory, selected it, and put the phone to her ear. The phone rang a couple of times, then it clicked as someone picked up.

Too late, she heard running footsteps.

“Not so fast.” Lenny snatched the phone from her as Quintana was saying hello. He threw it into the sculpture garden next to the Steamplant, then grabbed her arm and whipped her around. All semblance of casualness was gone. His jaw clenched and his dark brown eyes burned into her.

“You’re hurting me!” Mandy squirmed and pulled, but she couldn’t release her arm from his grasp. The man was thin, but he was strong.

He twisted her arm behind her back and jerked her against his bony chest. “And you’re hurting the river. Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?”

His hot breath against the back of her neck made her tremble. “Help!” she screamed, hoping the couple would hear.

Lenny clamped his free hand over her mouth. “No one’s out here to hear you. They’re all inside the theater.”

A car door slammed shut. Probably the couple’s, engrossed in their conversation. So Lenny was right.

When he pulled her into the sculpture garden, away from the street, she fought him, panic rising in her throat as she heard the couple’s car drive off.
The self-defense class! What did I learn that can get me out of this?
She madly kicked her legs, then looked down, took aim and stomped hard on his instep.

He gasped. His grip lessened.

Mandy broke free. She bolted toward the back of the Steamplant building facing the river, now closer to her than the front door. She hoped to get in the rear entrance and find someone, anyone to help her.

When she reached the brick patio, she glanced back. Lenny was only a few yards away. It was too late to climb the steps and open the door. He would be able to grab her first.

She kept running. Her shoes pounded across the wooden footbridge over a small creek. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, as if trying to escape her chest as desperately as she was trying to escape Lenny.

Mandy leapt down to the concrete boat ramp. When she turned to head up the street into town, she saw Lenny had run alongside the creek and crossed it further up. He had cut off her escape route and was running straight for her, his teeth bared.

With nowhere else to go, she did an about-face and sprinted onto the path paralleling the dark, seething river.

Lenny caught up and body-slammed her, throwing her off the path and onto the boulders below.

Mandy’s hip and shoulders whacked the rocks first. Sharp pains shot up her nerves, stunning her, making her see stars.

With an “oof,” Lenny landed on top of her.

She kicked and scratched and screamed.

Grunting and punching, he rolled, bringing her with him. When she was unpinned, he hurled her into the river.

Mandy splashed into the cold water. Gasping, she tried to breathe, but her chest muscles seized up.

Again, Lenny leapt on top of her and pushed her under.

The river pulled them downstream, toward the F Street Bridge. Mandy’s lungs screamed for oxygen. She shoved against the madman and clawed her way to the surface.

She gulped a quick breath before he pushed her head back underwater.

The deadly current slammed her against one of the bridge supports. Mandy kicked off with all her might.

That action broke her loose from Lenny’s hold. She bobbed up to suck air. Another adversary snatched her—the river current. It swirled her around the support, scraping her against the bricks, and flushed her under the F Street Bridge.

She came out on the downstream side and tried to spot Lenny, using the light of the moon. Splashing drew her attention. He’d been sucked around the other side of the support and now floundered toward the town side of the river.

Mandy swam for the opposite side, the one with no buildings, just deserted railroad tracks.

When she felt rocks under her, she scrabbled toward the shore. But her grip slipped, and she was swept downstream again. She swam back to the shore and pulled on rocks until she could bring her feet under her. Half-crawling, half-slithering, she inched her battered body up the bank until she lay on the grass, her chest heaving.

The next bridge across the river was a mile downstream, and Lenny was bound to come across the F Street Bridge looking for her. In fact, she could hear his wet sneakers slapping against the concrete as he sprinted for her side of the river.

Mandy pushed herself up to her hands and knees.
Hide!

She crawled between a pair of cottonwood trees and the river, but she was still visible from the bank. With no other option, she slid into the icy river again and hunkered down among the jumbled rocks and roots under the cottonwoods.

Cold seeped through her cotton jeans and T-shirt. She pulled her windbreaker around her, but shivers shook her frame.

If Lenny doesn’t kill me, hypothermia will.

The rattling of her teeth sounded like tap-dancers. She clamped her mouth shut and hugged herself tightly, but the shivers continued. She waited with her ears tuned for the sound of movement along the river bank.

A great horned owl hooted. Mandy searched for a pair of yellow eyes in the branches above, but couldn’t spot the large tufted bird. To some Native American tribes, the owls were carriers sent to fly the souls of the dead to the spirit world. The thought sent another tremor coursing through her.

A pebble clattered on the path upstream, then a shoe scraped and stopped suddenly, as if Lenny had lost his balance and caught himself. “Sh-shit,” he stuttered.

Mandy realized he must be shivering, too. Maybe if he got too cold, he would give up looking for her. She held her breath as steps scrunched on the path past the other side of the cottonwoods. She prayed they’d keep moving.

They stopped.

Lenny stepped down onto a boulder. His black silhouette loomed no more than twenty feet from her. He peered into the darkness downstream, then turned and looked upstream.

Feeling his gaze sweep over her, Mandy froze and held her breath. But she couldn’t contain the violent shiver that spasmed her whole body.

“Got you, you water witch.” Lenny sprinted toward her.

Move! Move! Move!

Mandy’s cramped muscles were slow to obey. By the time she clambered out of the roots, Lenny was upon her.

He shoved her back into the river. Icy tendrils swirled around her, sapping body heat and what little strength she had left. The current tugged her toward the deep water in the middle of the channel.

Lenny jumped in after her and clamped his hands around her neck. He squeezed tight.

Her vision dimmed.
This is it. I’m going to die.
Giving up was so tempting, so easy, and she was so tired of fighting. Her arms sagged.

Fight, baby girl. Fight
!

Mandy’s eyelids fluttered.

Live!

A surge of energy mustered deep within her. Her hands rose out of the water. She shoved her thumbs into Lenny’s eye sockets.

“Aaaagh!” He released her neck and smacked her hands.

But she had already balled them into fists. She punched one into his throat, then the other.

Lenny gagged and kicked against her body. The river carried him away.

Mandy thrashed toward the shore on the town side, her arms and legs uncoordinated and sluggish. But she kept moving, sheer desperation driving her toward the shallows.

Her knee banged against a rock. Her hand slapped another. She tried to grasp the rock to pull herself toward the river bank, but her stiff fingers couldn’t grab hold.

She kicked down and hit bottom. The momentum carried her forward. She shoved against the bottom again and gained another few feet. Clawing with hands that felt like frozen oven mitts, she fell gasping on the bank, half of her body still in the water.

Get out of the water!

Mandy shoved her feet and rolled, then rolled again up onto grass. Violent shivers racked her body. She coughed up Arkansas River water and spit it out.

She lay not far from the band shell in Riverside Park. No one would be in the park that late, but a light glimmered in a building across the street on the other side of the park.

Can I make it there? Where’s Lenny?

Mandy lifted her head and searched the river, expecting to see Lenny climbing out onto the bank to come shove her back into the cold water. But no specter of death appeared. Only silence, and the gurgle of ripples stirring the surface of the Arkansas River.