Wicked Eddies (23 page)

Quintana's voice softened. “Just making sure. I realize you haven't been trained in all the legal ramifications of investigating cases. We have another piece of physical evidence, too, to back up what you found. The technician just matched two of the small partials on the pepper spray can found at the campsite to Brenda's fingerprints.”

“Ah ha! Too bad that didn't happen before you put Cynthia in jail, and before Brenda beat me up.”

“I know, I know. Look, I'll treat you both to brunch at Laughing Ladies, and I'll apologize to Cynthia then.”

“The apology will be the most important part for Cynthia, but I'm sure we'll both enjoy the brunch, too, so I'll hold you to it.”

“Good. Anyway, our case is now solid enough that I hope Brenda's lawyer will advise her to plead guilty and save us all the cost of a trial. The DA will probably allow the plea to be downgraded to second-degree murder or manslaughter, given Brenda's state of mind.”

“You know, even though she broke one of my ribs,” Mandy replied. “I can't help feeling sorry for her. The real villain in all this was Howie. It's too bad Brenda has to go to prison at all.”

“Not all cases end happily,” Quintana said. “I hope this doesn't discourage you from applying to be a river ranger again next year. You're still learning, but your instincts are good. I wouldn't mind working with you again on a case.”

After Mandy thanked him and hung up, she took a deep breath.
Ouch.
She'd forgotten about her rib. She held her side until the pain diminished, and that gave her time to process what Quintana had said. He seemed to believe her, he actually complimented her, and he wanted to work with her again. Her mood lightening, she drove to the Chaffee County Detentions Center.

Before she could pull into a parking spot, she spied Cynthia standing outside waiting for her and holding a large bag labeled “Personal Effects.” Mandy pulled up in front of Cynthia and waited while she tossed her bag in the back seat and got in the passenger seat.

“Thanks for picking me up, Mandy.”

When Cynthia reached for her to give her a hug, Mandy yelled, “Don't!” That and her involuntary cringe brought on a rib pain and she winced.

Cynthia stopped with her arms in mid-air and looked confused.

“I've got a cracked rib,” Mandy said, “It's related to why you're being released. Did they tell you?”

Cynthia's eyes got even wider, and she dropped her arms. “They only said they had new evidence that led them to arrest Brenda instead. What's with these guys? I can't believe she would kill her own brother.”

“Let me explain.” Mandy turned off her car engine and described everything that had happened at the reception at the Ellis home. By the time she finished, Cynthia had tears in her eyes.

“Oh God,” Cynthia said while laying a hand on Mandy's arm. “I hope you won't take this the wrong way, because she hurt you, but I feel so sorry for Aunt Brenda.”

Mandy nodded. “I understand. I feel the same way, really, and maybe that's why it took me so long to fight back.”

“That poor woman lost her daughter, was driven to murder, and is now going to probably spend the rest of her life in prison. And it's all my fault.”

Mandy's jaw dropped. “What? How can this possibly be your fault?”

“Don't you see? If I'd told any of the Ellises about how Uncle Howie had abused me, then they would have protected Faith. She wouldn't have committed suicide, and Brenda wouldn't have been driven to kill him.”

Mandy shifted in her seat to face Cynthia, sucking in her breath against the pain. She grabbed Cynthia's hands in hers. “Girlfriend, you listen to me and you listen hard. None of this, none of it, is your fault. It's Howie's fault. You are a victim here, as much as Faith is, as much as Brenda is.”

When Cynthia shook her head, Mandy tightened her grip. “Didn't you hear me tell you what Brenda said? She said you were blameless in this whole mess. That she probably would have done the same thing. And at Howie's funeral, Craig told me that he was going to apologize to you for what he said, that it was cruel and Howie's abuse of you and Faith was his fault and his alone.”

Cynthia heaved out a great sigh as if she wasn't convinced yet, so Mandy plowed on. “In fact, I bet Lee and Craig are beating themselves up as much as you are, or more. I mean, they were living in the same house with Faith and couldn't read the signs, didn't figure out how depressed she was. And you know what the guilt did to Brenda. You can't claim responsibility for this mess, Cynthia. You're just not that powerful. And if you say you are, I'll make it my job to knock you down off that pedestal.”

That drew a grin out of Cynthia.

Relieved, Mandy let go of Cynthia's hands. “If you don't believe me, maybe you should talk to a counselor. I'm sure they'd agree with everything I'm saying.”

Cynthia stared out the windshield. “Maybe I
should
get some counseling. If there's one thing I learned from this, it's that I still have some unresolved issues from Uncle Howie's abuse.”

“But first,” Mandy said as she turned the ignition key. “We are going to get blind stinking drunk to celebrate your release from jail.”

“No, first I'm going to take a long, hot shower.” Cynthia smiled at Mandy. “Then we'll get blind stinking drunk.”

“Now you're talking.” Mandy put the car in gear.

“Speaking of talking,” Cynthia said with a sly quirk to her lips, “did I ever tell you the one about two blondes living in Oklahoma sitting on a bench talking?”

Mandy didn't care if she'd heard the blonde joke before or not. She was just glad that Cynthia was willing to share one with her again. She stepped on the accelerator. “No, I haven't heard that one.”

“Well,” Cynthia said while fastening her seat belt. “The one
blonde says to the other, ‘Which do you think is farther away …
Florida or the moon?' and the other blonde turns to her friend and
says ‘Hellooooooo, can you see Florida?'”

Mandy slapped the steering wheel and laughed and laughed with her best friend, even though it hurt as they drove off into the brilliant sunlight of a perfect blue-sky Colorado afternoon.

Twenty

When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.

—MARK TWAIN

Later that evening, Rob
and Mandy were in his car, leaving Cynthia's apartment, where a flotilla of rafting guides, river rangers, and Victoria Tavern's regulars had gathered for an impromptu celebration. The party had spilled out onto her deck and the yard, but the retired couple who owned the property hadn't minded and had joined in the festivities.

Mandy sat in the passenger seat with her head back and eyes closed while Rob drove. She hummed to herself, enjoying the glow of happiness she felt. She hadn't gotten blind stinking drunk, but she was mostly pain-free, with the combination of Advil and three beers. Life was good.

When the car stopped, she opened her eyes and looked around with surprise. They weren't at either her place or Rob's, but were parked next to the downtown Salida Riverside Park. Through the open car window, she could hear a soft wind rustling the cottonwoods draped over the darkened walkways.

She looked at Rob. “What are we doing here?”

He opened his car door. “It's such a nice night, I thought we'd talk a walk along the river.” While she processed that, he came around the car, opened her door, and held out a hand to her.

Moving gingerly so as not to stress her cracked rib, Mandy slid out of the seat and into Rob's arms. He nuzzled her nose, then released her to lock the car. He led her by the hand into the cool archways under the huge trees. In the gaps between branches overhead, bright stars in the clear night sky winked at them conspiratorially.

Still trying to puzzle out why Rob had chosen to visit the park
at night, something he'd never shown an inclination to do before, Mandy
let the peaceful scene work its magic on her. Her steps slowed along with his and she breathed in the fresh breeze. Thankfully, she wore her AHRA fleece jacket, so she was comfortably warm. Especially her hand, which was encased in Rob's strong, yet gentle fingers.

He turned onto the pathway beside the river, and they moved downstream with the gurgling water until Rob stopped and draped an arm over her shoulder. Mandy nestled her head against his chest while they both looked out across the undulating liquid silver glistening in the moonlight, then up at the Milky Way streaked across the sky.

“You're right, Rob,” she said. “This is a beautiful night to take a walk along the river.”

“Along our future,” he replied. “This is where we both belong, Mandy, where we should live out the rest of our lives.”

“Yes.” What else could she say to words that were so true?

Rob took her hand again and led her to a picnic table up on the lawn. He sat her down on the bench seat facing the river. Expecting him to sit beside her, Mandy was surprised when he bent down on one knee in front of her.

What's he doing?

Rob took her hand and waited until she focused her gaze on his face and realized how serious he was.

“Mandy.” The word came out hoarse, draped with emotion, and he cleared his throat. “I love the river, and I love this place, but most of all, I love you. More than anything, more than life itself.”

He pulled a small box out of his pocket and thumbed open the lid. Inside nestled a gold ring with a small, brilliant diamond.

Mandy's heart thudded as she stared at him. She knew what was coming next.
Oh my God.

His tremulous smile was full of hope, mixed with a dash of fear. “Will you marry me,
mi querida
?”

THE END

Acknowledgments

I want to thank those who selflessly shared their expertise with me so this book could be as authentic as possible. My go-to-expert for the whole Rocky Mountain Outdoor Adventures series, Stew Pappenfort, Senior Park Ranger of the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area (AHRA), answered many questions and reviewed the manuscript to make sure I portrayed river rangers and river rescue situations correctly. John Knight, Director of The America Cup Fly Fishing Tournament held every fall in Colorado, graciously let me tromp alongside rivers with him for a day and pepper him with questions while he judged the 2009 tournament. His wife Jodi also was helpful in providing behind-the-scenes details about how such tournaments are run. The characters John and Carol Squire in the book were developed to honor this hard-working and dedicated couple.

Ned Parker, owner of Breckenridge Outfitters, and Adam Gros-kin,
one of his fly-fishing guides and a very patient teacher, provided valuable information about fly fishing in Colorado. It wasn't Adam's fault that all I managed to hook during my lesson was my thumb! Peter Sheetz, a member of the U.S. Youth Fly Fishing Team, let me pick his brain about potential ways a competitor could cheat in a tournament and how the sport of competitive fly fishing is organized. Christina Herndon, former Deputy Coroner of El Paso County, provided forensic information such as how immersion in a river would affect dead bodies over time.

Any errors in fact or procedure are due to my exaggeration or misunderstanding of these experts' patient instruction. One deliberate twist of fact that I made was to place the Vallie Bridge campground inside Chaffee County, so my river ranger character, Mandy Tanner, could continue to work with character Detective Victor Quintana of the Chaffee County Sheriff's Office.

I read many reference books on the sport of fly fishing, but two that were especially helpful were
The Orvis Fly-Fishing Guide
by Tom Rosenbauer and
The Complete Angling Guide for the Summit County Area
by Michael D. Shook.

Finally I must thank those who help me in my writing career. My literary agent, Sandra Bond, works tirelessly for me, and I rely heavily on her literary contract expertise. Terri Bischoff, Acquisition Editor at Midnight Ink, and Connie Hill, Senior Editor, made sure the book's prose was the best it could be. Thanks to Lisa Novak for the brilliant cover art! Thanks also to all of the staff at Midnight Ink who contributed to the production and marketing of the book, especially Marissa Pederson, Publicist. And a huge shout-out to my critique group, Vic Cruikshank, Maria Faulconer, Barbara Nickless, M. B. Partlow, and Robert Spiller, for their extremely helpful suggestions along the way.

About the Author

Beth Groundwater was an avid “river rat” in the 1980s, running whitewater rivers in the eastern United States in an open-boat canoe. She has enjoyed reacquainting herself with that subculture and its updated boating equipment while researching the RM Adventures mystery series. Beth lives in Colorado and enjoys its many outdoor activities, including skiing and whitewater rafting. She loves to speak to book clubs about her books. To find out more, please visit Beth's website at bethgroundwater.com and her blog at bethgroundwater.blogspot.com.

Photo by Neil Groundwater.