SWAINS LOCK (The River Trilogy, book 1) (12 page)

Abby nodded. “The canal is like the Spanish
Ballroom. What’s left is just a skeleton, but that’s enough to give
you a sense of what it used to be.”

***

Teresa slipped through the crowd and walked
out into the arcade surrounding the dance floor. She stopped to
greet a stocky man with bushy black hair and a streaked beard who
was having an animated conversation with a younger couple.

“Great party, Lewis. Seems even busier than
last year.”

Lewis grinned and nodded knowingly. “The
gate is looking good so far.” He wagged a thick finger at Teresa.
“Marketing,” he said. “Posters, newspaper mentions, getting the
right band. It makes a big difference. Tell Bonnie you agree with
me!” he added with a wheezy laugh. “Next year we’ll have the word
on the street working for us!” He winked and turned back toward the
young couple.

For all of Lewis’ bluster and pedantry,
Teresa thought, the Collaborative was lucky to have him involved.
Like Teresa, most of the artists were willing to help with
maintenance and community outreach, but few wanted to take
responsibility for organizing programs or events. Lewis was willing
to throw himself into those roles. Teresa wandered past small
clusters of people, then spotted a group of familiar faces standing
underneath an archway.

“Hey, Teresa,” said a tall man with a
leather jacket and gray ponytail. “Where did you hide the good
champagne?”

“Moi? Ask Lewis, he’s the major domo.”

“Yeah,” said the man’s companion, a curvy
redhead. “We keep telling the bartender that we saw a case of Mumms
in the hallway earlier, but he says he only has Korbel!”

“Maybe Lewis is having an after-party he
hasn’t told us about,” Teresa said.

“Maybe we’ll just have to squeeze some
answers out of him,” said a slim blond woman wearing a cashmere
sweater, short black skirt, and tights. She ground her knuckles
into her palm, pursed her lips, and squinted menacingly. “I think
you know what I’m trying to say.”

“Hmm, could it be…” Teresa said, “…Fashodan
jujitsu?”

“Exactly.”

“You’re hired, Kelsey,” said the redhead.
“Lewis doesn’t stand a chance against the two of you.”

“C’mon,” Kelsey said, pulling Teresa aside.
“Let’s do our reconnaissance. First, we’ll interrogate the
bartender.” They walked arm-in-arm into the back half of the
ballroom.

“Did you bring Peter tonight?” Teresa
said.

“Nah, he’s in Las Vegas,” Kelsey said. “With
some fat-cat Japanese client who likes to gamble, I guess. He
invited me to go with him but I begged off. Las Vegas depresses
me.” A younger man walked by them, smiled, made fleeting eye
contact.

“Maybe he’s available as a stand-in,” Teresa
said.

“Not bad. Maybe I should look around. There
are a lot of unfamiliar faces here.”

“Same for me,” Teresa said. “I’ve already
met a few. Abby Tuckerman introduced me to a new vet she hired.
Nicky something. Cute girl.”

“Nicky Hayes,” Kelsey said, eyeing Teresa
sidelong. “She moved here with her fiancée.”

“Wow, you’re well connected,” Teresa
said.

“I met them a couple of months ago on the
towpath. We had a little dog-on-dog encounter. I dropped by their
house to pick up some meds for Allie.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Teresa said. “She
reminded me of someone we knew a long time ago. In high school.
Even though they don’t look anything like each other. I’m not
really sure why, but it’s something about her eyes, or her
mouth.”

Kelsey nodded. “I know who you’re thinking
of. Des Gowan.”

“That’s it,” Teresa said, her voice
softening. “You saw it too. Des.”

***

As he left the bar with two glasses of
champagne, Vin was greeted by a bear-shaped man who was standing
nearby and talking to a wiry younger man with rimless glasses and a
goatee. It took Vin a second to retrieve the name of the larger
man: Doug Tuckerman. Vin said hello and wished him a happy new
year.

“Cheers,” Doug said, raising his glass.
Looks like scotch on the rocks, Vin thought while lifting a
champagne glass in response. He hadn’t seen any scotch on the
bartender’s table.

“You and Nicky must be pretty well settled
in by now.”

“Pretty well. At least we’ve unpacked
everything, and we don’t have to look at maps every day to find our
way around.”

“Well, you found your way down to Glen Echo.
Vin, let me introduce you to an old friend of Abby’s and mine,
Bryce Lemond.” He pivoted and Vin introduced himself.

“Bryce and Abby were neighbors growing up in
Chevy Chase, and Vin’s fiancée works with Abby,” Doug said. “Vin,
you moved here from… New England was it?” Seemingly uninterested in
Vin’s response, Doug studied his drink and swirled the ice, then
took a long sip.

Vin confirmed that he and Nicky had moved to
Potomac and lived near Pennyfield Lock.

“Bryce is a rock climber,” Doug offered.
Bryce explained that the Virginia side of Great Falls had a variety
of climbing routes in Mather Gorge, about a half-mile downstream
from the Falls. It could get pretty crowded, so you had to know
where and when to go.

“I’ve always wondered whether I’d like
climbing,” Vin said. As Doug ducked away, Vin added that he’d never
climbed outdoors but had tried climbing at rock gyms a couple of
times, and his impression was that footholds were more important
than handholds. The band had started its second set, so Vin and
Bryce angled behind the bar toward the Christmas tree, where it was
quieter. Bryce confided that there was a great climbing spot for
beginners and experienced climbers on the Maryland side of the
river at a place called Carderock. A line of forty-foot rock faces
was hidden in the trees on the hillside just a few steps from the
water. Vin finished his champagne and looked guiltily at the full
glass he’d promised to bring to Nicky.

“Hi, Bryce,” chimed a woman's voice from
over Vin’s shoulder.

Bryce grinned and leaned in to kiss the
woman on both cheeks. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back and she
wore a gray cashmere sweater. When she backed away, Vin recognized
her and his pulse quickened for an instant.

“Hi, Vin,” she said, extending her hand and
smiling. “Kelsey Ainge.”

“Nice to see you again. How’s your dog?”

“Her ear healed without a trace. Please
thank Nicky again for the ear spray.”

“Kelsey, you used to do some climbing,”
Bryce said. “I was just telling Vin that Carderock is a good spot
for beginners.”

“It’s true. The terrain around Great Falls
has a little bit of everything…”

“Even the trails are a nice escape,” Bryce
said. “The woods are beautiful.”

Vin said that he was from Maine and had
grown up around both hardwoods and evergreens. He gestured toward
the Christmas tree. “I think I’ll miss seeing snow on the pines and
hemlocks,” he said. “The river environment is growing on me, but
I’m not sure it offers as much variety as New England.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Kelsey said. “You
can see all kinds of interesting things in the woods here. And
trees you probably don’t see in Maine, like sycamores.” The band
had downshifted into “Can’t Find My Way Home”, and Vin listened to
the lead singer’s lament in the background.

“In fact,” Kelsey continued, “there’s a spot
just downstream from Carderock, a few steps off the Billy Goat
Trail, where three old sycamores are joined together near the
base.” Vin looked at her gray-green eyes, which flitted
infinitesimally side to side before coming to rest on his. By
reflex he found himself silently reciting Lee Fisher’s message
again:

I may be buried along with the others at the
base of three joined sycamores at the edge of a clearing.

The room seemed to tilt a few degrees and
grow hazy as the music and nearby conversations fused into an
ambient hum. He squinted hard at Kelsey as she returned his stare
and his thoughts darted forward like a rabbit through the haze.
You’ve read Lee’s note. How? When? Did you write the penciled
message in the library book? Maybe you authored Lee’s note yourself
and planted it in the shed. No, that makes no sense: the photo, the
drill… it was a complete fluke that I found it in the first place.
You’re drawing me into some kind of game. To what end? What is it
you want?

“Excuse me for a few minutes,” he said,
raising the full glass a few inches and smiling uncertainly at
Kelsey and Bryce. “I need to go find Nicky.”

Chapter 9
Snowshoeing

Wednesday, January 10, 1996

On Wednesday the weather finally cleared,
and over coffee and bagels Vin and Nicky looked out at an azure sky
and two feet of fresh snow on their front lawn. The snowfall in the
D.C. area had started late Saturday night and continued with
varying degrees of intensity for over eighteen hours, with the
suburbs north and west of the city hit especially hard. On Monday
it stopped snowing and residents began the task of digging out on a
day sculpted by blowing and drifting snow. Before much progress was
made, an Alberta Clipper swept into the mid-Atlantic on Tuesday,
leaving several additional inches in its wake.

“Think they’ll be able to open the Clinic
today?” Vin asked. Most of the secondary roads had yet to see a
snowplow.

“Doubtful,” Nicky said. “But I’ll call Abby
to see what’s going on.”

Abby said that she and Carlos would to try
to get in for a half-day each, but all appointments had been
canceled and the Clinic would be on an emergency-only footing
again. Since Nicky had been able to work for a few hours Tuesday,
Abby said she wasn’t needed today.

“And I thought our snowshoes were going to
gather dust all winter,” Vin said.

Nicky squinted skeptically. “You think we
can snowshoe in two feet of powder?”

“Sure. That’s what those detachable tails
are for. The deep stuff.”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

“How about the Billy Goat Trail?”

“Are you nuts? I hiked the Billy Goat Trail
at our staff outing in October. We practically had to use ropes to
climb some of those rocks. And that was on a warm, dry day.”

“You hiked section A,” Vin said, “above
Mather Gorge.” He stretched to reach a folding paper map. “Which
our ‘Hiking Trails of Great Falls Maryland’ map describes as
‘strenuous’ and ‘very physically demanding’. That’s the most
dramatic section. I’m thinking of section C, which the map says is
‘moderate, with scenic river views’.”

“Hmm,” Nicky said. “I didn’t realize there
were multiple Billy Goat Trails.”

“It’s split into three sections. Section C
is the furthest downstream.”

“How long is it?”

“Section C is 1.6 miles and runs parallel to
the towpath and the river, between the two. It has a trailhead on
the towpath at each end. We could start at the upper one, snowshoe
to the lower trailhead, and come back on the towpath.”

“Do you think we could make it over there
today?”

“I think so,” Vin said. “The upper trailhead
is right off the parkway at a place called Carderock.” He showed
her the map, which depicted a recreational field, picnic areas, and
a string of parking lots between the canal and the river.

“This all sounds a little premeditated. Like
you’ve been planning it for days.”

“Maybe,” Vin said, failing to suppress a
smile. “Since I heard the forecast, anyway. A guy at the New Year’s
party told me the Carderock trail has a great climbing area for
beginners.”

“This doesn’t look like a good day to start
your rock-climbing career,” Nicky said. “Besides, I thought you
said it was a ‘moderate’ trail.”

“It is. That’s what the map says. I think
the climbing rocks are off to the side somewhere. I’m more
interested in taking pictures of the woods and the rocks in the
snow.”

Nicky’s expression relaxed. She stretched an
elbow over her head in a pose that meant she was mentally preparing
for exercise.

“C’mon,” he said, convinced now he could
persuade her. “When are we going to see conditions like this again
here?”

Nicky acquiesced, so they dressed in the
shell pants, fleece tops, and hiking boots that comprised their
fair-weather snowshoeing gear. Vin packed his camera, a bag of fig
bars, and two plastic water bottles in his daypack. He threw their
snowshoes and a pair of ski poles for Nicky in the back of his
Pathfinder.

The neighborhood streets were still buried
under broken snow but the main roads held only a navigable layer of
brown slush. A few miles past Potomac they turned off River Road,
drove through the tiny enclave of Cabin John next to the canal, and
followed the parkway back up along the river to the Carderock exit.
The access road entered a culvert that crossed under the canal and
the towpath. On the far side the plowing ended, so Vin parked and
they got out.

The quiet was striking, with snow-cover
canceling the quotidian chorus of background noise. Every sharp
exhalation, snap of a plastic clasp, and footstep on squeaky packed
snow made a prominent sound. They knelt and strapped on their
snowshoes.

“Tastes like real snow!” Vin said, running
his tongue over his lips after a dusting of cold powder blew down
on him. He noticed a fat bluejay perched on an overhead branch.
They extracted Vin’s daypack and Nicky’s poles, then set out toward
the parking lots at the end of the access road. Even with the
detachable tails deployed on their molded-plastic snowshoes, they
sank almost a foot into the unbroken snow with each step. Nicky
fell in behind Vin so she could walk in his tracks.

At the end of the uppermost lot they found
the sign that marked the trailhead. The trail itself lay buried,
but a channel through the woods was marked by blazes of blue paint.
Just beyond the trailhead it forked, with the blazes leading
leftward up a stepped grade and an unmarked path descending to the
right. Vin veered right.