Wicked Eddies (5 page)

With a clack, Kendra's cue ball hit the ten ball. It bounced off the rail and into the opposite side pocket.

“Good one.” Fred scanned the table. “Hey, you gonna leave any shots for the rest of us?”

Grinning, Kendra moved around to the other side of the table. “Maybe.”

Fred scowled at the two river rangers at the next pool table, who flashed wide, cocky grins back at him.

Mandy wondered how big the bet was and hoped the fishermen, who both seemed nice, wouldn't get fleeced too much. She turned to Bob. “Back to Howie. Has anyone seen him scouting beats before?”

“No,” Bob said. “And doing it on a weekend, when more people are likely to be on the river, was a stupid move.”

“Maybe Howie was getting overconfident,” Fred said, while intently watching Kendra, “since he'd gotten away with so much cheating in the past.”

Bob nodded. “That guy was a slippery eel, all right.”

Kendra's next shot missed, and she gave a little bow to Fred. “Your turn.”

Mandy politely waited for Fred to make his shot and sink a ball before she asked, “You know anyone who was particularly put out by Howie's cheating?”

Bent at the waist to line up his next shot, Fred looked over his shoulder at her. “Sure, he was a slime ball, but c'mon, who would take these competitions seriously enough to kill someone over one?”

_____

Later when Mandy pulled her Subaru up the gravel driveway to her cottage, Rob's battered black Ford pickup truck was already there. He'd called her cell phone at the bar to ask if he could come to her house, and she'd left after finishing the pool game. She'd sunk two balls on her turn, and when Kendra's turn came up, she'd sunk the remaining striped ball and the eight-ball, even calling the pocket to show off.

Before Mandy left, she checked with the river rangers at the next table and found out the bet with the fishermen hadn't been too outrageous. She told them she didn't like being used to scam people and suggested firmly that the rangers buy the fishermen a round of drinks with their winnings. They sheepishly agreed.

After Mandy walked through the metal gate of her small fenced-in yard and swung it shut, she paused to look up at the star-studded sky. She stood hunched in her fleece jacket and picked out the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, and a few more of the constellations her uncle had taught her to identify. The Milky Way was evident, even with the faint light pollution coming from the center of Salida.

Along the edge of its wide swath, thin ghostly fingers of cirrus
clouds stretched from the Sawatch Range to the west, obscur
ing a
few stars. The glow of the half moon tinged the edges of dark clouds piled up along the range. The wind had picked up, so Mandy surmised the cold front would pass over the Arkansas Valley during the night. Probably wouldn't dip below freezing yet, though, so her marigolds would last awhile longer. She took a deep breath of the pine-scented air, then walked in the front door.

Rob had let himself in with his key and was sitting on the sofa that Mandy had saved from her parents' house after they'd died in a car crash, leaving her at seventeen to be raised to adulthood by her Uncle Bill. While flipping through channels on the TV, Rob was vigorously scratching behind Lucky's ears. The dog's head lay on his lap with eyes closed and mouth open, obviously in nirvana.

When Rob saw her come in, he turned off the TV. “I'd get up and give you a hug, but I hate to disturb Lucky here.”

Lucky opened an eye and panted a greeting at her, then returned to enjoying his head rub.

“Disloyal mutt,” Mandy said to the dog then leaned over to give Rob a kiss. She smelled beer on his breath. After spotting the Pacifico can on the old scratched coffee table, next to Rob's stockinged feet, she picked it up and shook it. It was empty. “Need another?”

“Sure, thanks. It was a long day. Had to patch one of the rafts.”

Mandy pulled out another of the Pacifico beers Rob kept stored in her fridge and saw the carton of eggs, jar of salsa, and package of flour tortillas he'd brought for breakfast tomorrow. His keys were on the card table in her kitchen that served as her dining table, his work boots lay on the mat by the front door, and his jacket was slung over one of the folding chairs.

A lot of his stuff had migrated over to her tiny house while they'd been dating, toothbrush and shaver in the bathroom, odd pieces of clothing, a battered guitar, some of his country rock CDs. Of course, she had a toothbrush, sleep shirt, and some other things at his place, too. If Mandy thought too hard about where this relationship was going, it got too scary, so she had resolved awhile ago to just take it one day at a time.

She knew Rob wanted more, a lot more. And with his mama pressuring him to make their relationship legal, Mandy wasn't sure how long he would be willing to wait for her to get comfortable with the idea of m, m, marriage. Imagining Rob's mama pleading with him to settle down and produce some grandkids for her to dote on, Mandy shuddered. She'd worked hard to become independent because she had to. And the thought of being responsible for raising kids scared the bejeebees out of her.

As if he could sense that she was thinking about him, Rob asked, “Did you get lost in la-la land out there?”

“I'm getting some water for myself, too.” Mandy poured a glass and returned with the drinks. She sat next to Rob, on the other side of the sofa from where Lucky lolled.

Rob grinned at her over his beer. “I could get used to this kind of service.”

Mandy blew a raspberry. “Was the raft you had to patch one of Uncle Bill's?”

He nodded while he drank his beer. “We'll probably have to replace a couple of his rafts once the season ends. You can only patch so many times.”

“Damn, I hope you're not sorry about merging the two companies. Uncle Bill's tired old equipment wasn't worth much.”

Rob stroked her thigh. “No, but his customer list was worth a lot, and the vehicles, and I sure value my silent partner.” He pinched above her knee, making her jump, and his eyes twinkled.

Mandy laughed. “You mean your not-so-silent partner.”

He leaned over and kissed her. “And she tastes good, too. Fat Tire?”

“Just a couple. Sorry you missed pool night.” Mandy shifted to face him. “I found out some stuff about Howie Abbott, though.” She filled him in on what the fly-fishermen had told her about the man's cheating.

Rob nodded. “I've heard rumors that Howie and his buddy Ira Porter were cheaters. Never really been caught. They were registered as a team in the tournament, and Ira's scrambling to find another partner. I hear tell no one's biting, though.”

“Where'd you hear this?”

“A couple of the registered teams came in to rent rafts from us for the float-fishing practice and competition days. And I'll be guiding another team on the float practice day. This tournament is making some money for us.”

Mandy shook her head. “I don't understand why someone would cheat in a fishing tournament, for Pete's sake.”

“The purses can go pretty high,” Rob said. “Not as high as those in bass fishing tournaments down south, but ten thousand dollars for the winning team isn't chump change. Even more important are the bragging rights.”

When Mandy lifted an eyebrow, Rob smiled. “Being a woman, and a practical one at that, you wouldn't understand.”

“Try me.”

“The size of the fish implies the size of the catcher's willy, and the number caught is related to the fisherman's prowess at catching the lady folks.”

Mandy laughed. “Oh, you've got to be kidding me!”

“I am a little bit, but these fishermen are deadly serious.” Rob drank some beer. “You should've heard them talking at the counter today about past tournaments and who'd won what and who the tough competitors were.”

“Don't women fly fish, too?” Mandy had tried it a couple of times with her Uncle Bill when she was a teenager, but she had neither the time nor patience to master the technique. After she'd hooked her thumb a couple of times, she gave up.

“Sure. There's a women's team in the tournament, too, but the sport's dominated by the
hombres
. But enough talk about fishing.” Rob finished his beer, put it down, then gently pushed Lucky's head off his lap and stood. He held out a hand for Mandy.

As he lifted her to her feet, she could see from his languid gaze what he wanted, and she wanted it, too. But she was going to have a little fun first. “Be careful, or this fish might just wiggle off your hook.”

When he drew her to him, she shimmied her hips in jest, but that only made Rob pull her in tighter against his chest, taking her breath away. “No catch-and-release tonight, my little trout. I'm going to heat you up and devour you.”

Lucky gave a doggy snort of disgust and plopped down on the floor.

Giggling, Mandy let Rob draw her into the bedroom where they
tumbled onto the bed.

Four

There's a fine line between fishing
and just standing on the shore like an idiot.

—STEVEN WRIGHT

Remembering Rob's lingering kiss
before they had parted ways i
n her driveway, and remembering the evening before, Mandy drove
to Detective Quintana's office the next morning with a satisfied smile.

You know, spending a lifetime with that sexy man might not be so bad.
But that word “lifetime” was sobering. Would Rob still have the hots for her when she grew wrinkled and fat? A line from an old Beatles love song popped into her head, something about wondering if my lover would still need me when I'm sixty-four. What would Rob's answer to that question be? What would hers?

Mandy stuffed the questions in the back of her brain while she
pulled into the lot in front of the county government building. She
had more immediate concerns to think about, like the informa
tion she needed to relay to Quintana. She zipped up her black fleece ranger jacket before getting out of the car since the morning was cool and cloudy.

On her walk into the building, she noticed that the leaves of the oak trees planted on the parking lot medians were starting to turn yellow. Fall was on its way, as was the end of her seasonal employment as a river ranger. She was looking forward to working full time at RM Outdoor Adventures with Rob over the winter, but she'd also miss her river patrols and the camaraderie with her fellow rangers—and, surprisingly enough, with Quintana.

She found the detective filling his coffee mug in the break room
and followed him back to his office. Once there, she handed him the list of competitors who had signed up for the fly-fishing tournament. “I didn't know if you had this or not.”

He handed it back to her. “The tournament committee faxed one over yesterday afternoon, but thanks.”

“I bet I've got some other information that you don't have, though. Howie Abbott and his partner Ira Porter are suspected of cheating in tournaments.” Mandy gave Quintana a summary of what she'd heard from the pool-playing fishermen and Rob the previous evening.

By the time she'd finished, Quintana had emptied his mug and filled two pages of a lined notebook with writing. “Good stuff. I'd already planned on tracking down Ira Porter to see what he knew, since he was registered as Howie's teammate. But now I'll be directing my questioning a little differently.”

“Do you think he could have been the other camper who shared
some beers with Howie?”

Quintana nodded. “Likely, though Howie might have been drinking
with someone who was angry about the cheating and who then
ended up killing him.”

Mandy was skeptical. “After drinking beer with him first?”

“Happens all the time.” Quintana tapped the list of names. “I'll have to interview every one of these competitors.”

“Including the women?”

“Especially the women. Howie's killer could have been a strong woman, either a fishing competitor or someone with a romantic interest. We found a few long brown hairs that weren't Howie's in his sleeping bag.”

“Any way of telling whether the hairs got there this past weekend?”

“No, Howie could have shared his bag or loaned it to someone months ago.”

“What about the autopsy? Did you get results from that yet?”

Quintana nodded. “Time of death is still late Sunday afternoon.
Howie died from bleeding out of the neck wound. The hatchet opened up his jugular, so it only took a few minutes. Both blood and pepper spray were smeared on his hands, as if he tried to stem the bleeding.”

Mandy grimaced, then had a more horrible thought. “Or maybe
he held up his hands in front of his face to ward off the pepper spray, and they got splashed with the blood pumping out of his neck.”

“That's certainly possible.” Quintana smoothed his mustache. “What a way to go. Makes being shot sound downright pleasant.”

Envisioning Howie's last moments was too bleak, so Mandy moved on. “What about the beer? Did Howie drink it all?”

Shaking his head, Quintana said, “There wasn't much alcohol in his blood, so the doc concluded Howie hadn't drunk any beer on Sunday and probably drank four at the most Saturday night. And the stomach contents pretty much matched the food wrappers we found. Another interesting thing in the autopsy report is that Howie had a tan line for a pinkie ring on his left hand, but we haven't found the ring. That's one of the questions I'm going to ask Newt Nowak.”

He looked at his wall clock. “Speaking of which, he's coming in a few minutes. I'd like you to listen in on my interview with him, compare your recollection of the campsite layout with his and see if there are any differences.”

“Differences? Why?”

“Could be an indication that Nowak's lying, or that someone was at the campsite in between your two visits, or something else.” He shrugged. “Newt's words could stir something in your memory, too.”

Mandy nodded. “Okay, I just need to clear it with Steve. He expected me to patrol the river today.”

After okaying the plan with her boss, Mandy followed Quintana to the interview room and slipped into the observation room next door. Deputy Thompson, whom she had met during a previous investigation, was seated at the table behind the one-way glass that looked into the interview room. Mandy took the empty seat next to him. They shot the breeze until Quintana brought Newt into the interview room and seated him facing the glass. Thompson opened his notebook and clicked his pen while Mandy peered at Newt.

He was a thin, pale-skinned guy with stringy red-brown hair and dark shadows under his eyes, as if he'd been up all night. The shadows made him look like he was in his forties versus his late twenties. Newt was dressed in a holey T-shirt, stained camp shorts, and flip-flops. His fingertips started a nervous staccato beat on the tabletop, accompanied by a bony knee jiggling under the table. His tongue darted in and out of his lips while he glanced around the small room. Mandy could see where his nickname had come from.

When Newt's gaze rested on the glass in front of him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Is someone behind that watching me?”

Quintana, who had seated himself at the end of the table so as not to block the view of Newt, answered with a placid face. “We always have another officer observe in case I miss something, but we figure most folks are more comfortable talking to one person. Just ignore the glass. Now, tell me about Howie Abbott. When did you see him?”

“Monday morning, about ten. I'd walked into the Vallie Bridge campground and was picking up cans.” He grimaced. “Then I saw the body.”

“You didn't go to the campground earlier, say on Sunday?”

Newt shook his head vigorously. “No way.”

Quintana looked skeptical. “You sure?”

“Sure I'm sure!”

“Where were you from Saturday evening to Sunday evening?”

“Nowhere near Vallie Bridge.” Newt half-rose out of his seat. “You're not trying to pin this on me, are you? I'm cooperating, for God's sake!”

“We're asking a lot of people where they were last weekend,” Quintana answered smoothly, motioning with his hand for Newt to resume his seat. “It doesn't mean we suspect you in particular of anything. So, where were you?”

Newt sat but kept tapping the table. “I went to an AA meeting at six on Saturday, then hung out with my buddy, Gonzo Gordon, at his place. We grilled burgers, watched a movie, then he drove me back to my tent and I crashed for the night. All day Sunday, I was collecting cans at Hecla Junction. I took them to Safeway around seven and used the money to buy some bread and peanut butter and hiked back to my tent.”

“Where is your tent, Newt?”

“Oh man, do I hafta tell you?”

“It'll go better for you if you do, and even better if someone else saw you there. I don't really care where you're camping out right now, though if it's illegal, I suggest you move.”

Newt blew out a breath. “My tent's on National Forest land, and three other dudes have tents pitched there. Any of them could probably vouch for me, but I don't want to get them in trouble, too.”

“I'm not going to haul them in, but I do need to question them,”
Quintana said. “Or would you prefer to have no alibi for the two nights you say you slept there?”

“Shit.” Newt's gaze darted around the small room. “You've got me wedged between a rock and a hard place.”

“We'll go to your campsite after we finish here, then. Will any of the others be there?” After Newt gave a reluctant nod, Quintana scanned his notes. “So, Gonzo Gordon can vouch for you Saturday evening, and hopefully one of your campsite buddies can vouch for you both nights. Anyone see you at Hecla Junction?”

Newt waved his hands wide. “Lots of folks, man, but I didn't know any of them.”

“I'll ask around there today. Now, describe the scene at Vallie Bridge to me, everything you saw.”

Newt went into a long description of the body, the campsite, and sleeping bag and fishing equipment scattered around, continually prompted for more details by Quintana. Mandy paid close attention, trying to match Newt's description with her memory to see if anything didn't jibe.

“Did you see anyone else at the campground?” Quintana asked.

“No, no one. Before I reached the dead guy's campsite, I saw some trash at another site, but no cans, so I just left the trash there.”

Quintana finished making notes, then raised his head. “So where
did you stash the ring that you took off Howie's hand?”

“What?” Newt's eyes widened. “I didn't take any ring. As soon as I saw the dead body, I dropped my bag of cans and ran.”

“You didn't check to see if he was really dead, to see if you could help him?”

“Oh yeah, but when I went to take a pulse on his wrist, I could tell he was long gone. His skin was way too cool.” Newt shuddered. “Then the flies grossed me out and I booked.”

Mandy wrinkled her nose. The flies had grossed her out, too.

“What about the hatchet?” Quintana asked. “Did you touch that?”

Newt shook his head.

“I'd like to fingerprint you,” Quintana said.

“Why? I had work gloves on the whole time, except when I checked for a pulse.”

Quintana smiled. “Then you have nothing to worry about. We won't find any matches to your fingerprints on the murder weapon.”

Newt looked skeptical, and his tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

“Describe your work gloves to me,” Quintana continued.

“They're old lady gardening gloves that I scrounged up, yellow with pink flowers. Worked pretty well, though.”

“You still have them?”

“One of them. I can't find the right one.”

“That's because we found it at Vallie Bridge,” Quintana said, and when Newt opened his mouth to speak, added, “And no, you can't have it back.”

Newt sighed. “I suppose you're keeping the cans, too.”

“Definitely.” Quintana paused and scanned his notes. “Is there anything else you can tell me about what you saw or did while you were there? See any out-of-the-ordinary items, for instance, besides campground trash?”

Newt thought for a moment. “Well, when I first got there, I went through the day-use parking lot and picked up a few soda cans. You know where the stile through the fence is that leads to a shortcut path to the campsites?”

Quintana nodded.

“I found a few more cans on the ground under some brush next to the stile. A can of pepper spray was there, too, but since it wasn't aluminum, I left it. I remember that I thought it was odd for someone to leave it there.”

“Good, that's helpful. Anything else?”

After Newt shook his head, Quintana said, “Okay, I want you to stick around town. I may have more questions for you later, especially if your alibis don't check out.”

Newt's eyes widened. “I told you, man, all I did was spot the body and leave on Monday morning.”

“But you didn't report it as you should have. That's suspicious in and of itself.”

“With my priors, would you have reported it?”

Quintana just frowned, then thanked Newt for coming in, and escorted him out to be fingerprinted. He came in the observation room a few minutes later. “So, what do you think?”

“Doesn't sound like he's our killer,” Thompson said.

“I agree,” Mandy added. “He didn't seem to have any reason to kill Howie Abbott.”

“Not that we know of yet.” Quintana smoothed his mustache. “We've got some work to do before we rule him out, though.”

He turned to Deputy Thompson. “Drive over to Vallie Bridge and see if you can retrieve that can of pepper spray. If so, bag it and bring it in. Then go to the Hecla Junction campground and see if you can find anyone who saw Newt picking up trash on Sunday. I'll take care of interviewing Newt's camping buddies and Gonzo Gordon.”

The deputy nodded and left.

“Did Newt's description match your recollection of what you saw?” Quintana asked Mandy.

“Yes, and I really couldn't come up with anything more from listening to him. He actually saw more of Howie's fishing equipment than I did. Sorry.”

“Something may still come to you later, and if it does, I want you to contact me.” Quintana closed his notebook and slapped it against his thigh. “In the meantime, after I verify Newt's activities, I'm going to track down Ira Porter and have a nice long conversation with him. Fingerprint him, too.”

_____

Mandy treated herself to her favorite turkey avocado sandwich for lunch at the Salida Cafe. She ate it while sitting on the restaurant's deck overlooking the water park on the Arkansas River. Kayakers practiced their twirls and turns in their tiny play kayaks in the man-made rapids. She shucked her jacket to soak up some of the afternoon sunshine that had burned off the clouds and warmed up the air enough for folks to be in shirtsleeves again. This was the “Banana Belt” of Colorado, after all.