Wicked Eddies (7 page)

They passed riffles where Chalk Creek entered on the right and Seven Mile Rapid where Middle Cottonwood Creek entered on the left, but they found nothing. When they passed the railroad bridge that marked the beginning of Brown's Canyon, Steve had them eddy out above the Canyon Door entrance rapid while he radioed the team searching there.

“They're packing up their gear,” he said to his team. “Didn't find anything. I told them to head down to Zoom Flume, searching along the way, and set up another body search there, while we take Pinball Rapid. Let's head out.”

Pinball Rapid was a dicey technical boulder field with an S turn, a class III-IV killer. Mandy remembered the two most recent fatal incidents with some trepidation. A forty-seven-year-old man had died there in 2007 during a swimming exercise while training to be a rafting guide. And a forty-nine-year-old Texan was killed in July, 2009 after being thrown out of a commercial raft that hit one of the large boulders sticking out of the turbulent waters. This being late summer, the water level was lower than the busy early summer rafting season, but that only made Pinball trickier to maneuver through.

Mandy, Lance, and Frank and those in Steve's raft helloed the other team while they rocketed past their tied-up rafts below the Canyon Doors, riding the standing waves on river right. Soon after, they arrived at the entrance to Pinball, signaled by the profiles of large boulders hunkering in the water and the roar of water plunging over the drops.

“Beach the rafts by the railroad tracks,” Steve hollered.

Once both rafts were pulled out of the water, they all walked downriver to scout the rapid. Numerous dark, shadowy holes and eddies could hide a body trapped in their depths.

“We'll set up a two-point system here, tying two lines to Frank and Mandy's raft.” Steve turned to George, the large fireman. “You anchor the line on this side, with me as your helper. I'll try to stay high, so I can see the whole operation and supervise.”

He put a hand on Janice's shoulder. “You and Lance ferry our raft over to the other side of the river and tie up there. Lance will anchor the line on that side, with you as his helper.”

He turned to Frank and Mandy. “Frank, you steer the raft, and relay signals to us, and Mandy, you'll man the pole. Take your time probing all the eddies, holes, and backsides and undercuts of the rocks. We need this to be thorough.”

Great,
Mandy thought,
so if the guy's body is trapped under one of these rocks, I'm the one who retrieves it.
She envied Janice's role on the sidelines.

After they'd rigged two lines through D-rings on either side of Mandy and Frank's raft, Lance ferried his raft to the other side of the river, with Janice playing out the rope. They set up, with Janice holding onto the rope with work gloves, her feet firmly planted, followed by Lance acting as an anchor with the rope wrapped around his back. The remaining length lay coiled in an open bag at Lance's feet, so he could pick it up and carry it with them as they progressed downstream. Steve and George set up a similar configuration on their side of the river.

Mandy put on a pair of heavy latex gloves, hoping there wouldn't be a need for them, then a pair of work gloves to protect her hands from the fibers in the long fiberglass probe pole. She climbed into the tied raft with Frank and shouted, “Ready.” She really wasn't. Her hands had started to perspire inside the gloves and her mouth had gone dry, but she wasn't going to admit that to the others.

With the raft pointed upstream and his back pointing downstream, Frank paddled out into the current. He let the raft slip over the tongue of water for the first part of the S, then blew once on his whistle and held his arm up, signaling a stop. Mandy held on while the two belayers on the shore leaned back on their ropes, halting the raft's progress. Then she leaned out over the front of the raft, resting her chest on the pontoon, and started probing the downriver side of the rapid with the end of her pole.

Using whistle blows and hand signals to the belayers, Frank signaled them to move the raft to the far right shore, then back across the current to the far river left until Mandy had probed under all the rocks and in all the deep eddies that might hold a body. “Nothing,” she said to Frank, wiping sweat off her brow with her forearm. “Let's move on to the next drop.”

“Good,” he said, while he gripped his paddle. “I'm hoping this whole thing is a wild goose chase and the guy is holed up with a mistress somewhere.”

Mandy cracked her first smile since getting on the river. “Wouldn't
that be nice? Though, not so nice for the wife.”

Frank snorted. “Yeah, then she might be wishing for him to be dead.” With whistle and hand signals to the belayers, he ferried the raft over to the standing waves on the left side of the river, let it slip backward over the next drop, and signaled for another stop.

Mandy poked the pole in gravel and under the large boulders on either side of the river until her arms ached. She turned and sat back, shook out each arm, splashed some cool river water on her shoulders, and took a swig of her water bottle. “One more to go.”

Frank nodded and ferried right. The last drop was the biggest, so Mandy hunkered down and held on tight while they bounced over the edge. Another whistle blast, and they shuddered to a stop. The current had carried them beyond the edge of the drop, so Frank blew two blasts, signaling the belayers to pull in rope, moving them upriver until Mandy could reach under the boulders with her pole.

She focused on a massive undercut boulder in the left center of the river. It had a deep pool behind it and was the most likely place in Pinball for something to be stuck. When she probed, she dislodged a couple of water-logged branches that popped to the surface. Her tense muscles jumped, too.

She soon settled down when she recognized what the branches were. While they floated downstream, she thought,
Phew, maybe that'll be all we find.

Then a ghostly white shadow wavered on the bottom.

Her heart rate accelerating, Mandy bent over the side of the raft to get a better look. With the bright sunlight glinting off the ripples in the water, it was hard to get a fix on the underwater phantom.
Is it another branch, a fish, or something else?

“What?” Frank asked, his voice rising. “What do you see?”

“Something whitish,” she replied, then licked her dry lips and gave him a worried glance. “Might be an arm or a leg.”

“Christ,” he whispered. Then he blew three long blasts on his whistle, the emergency signal, to alert their teammates, who could neither see them behind the boulder nor hear their voices over the roar of the rapid, that they'd found something. Or someone.

Mandy regripped the fiberglass pole and ran it along the underside of the boulder, then back again deeper, until something softer than rock pushed back. The white shadow moved.

A shudder coursed through her.

She followed the contours of the soft mass under the boulder, trying to dislodge it with the tip of the pole, but with no luck. She pulled the pole out of the water and turned it around so the nasty-looking hook on the other end, the one she'd avoided looking at, faced the water.

“Get ready,” she said to Frank, who was staring at the hook. “If I get this out, whatever it is—” She didn't want to admit yet to what her brain was telling her and swallowed back the bile that had risen in her throat. “—and it pops up, you need to help me hold it next to the raft so it doesn't float downstream.”

He licked his lips and nodded, then pulled a pair of heavy latex gloves out of his fanny pack and slipped them on. He picked up his paddle and positioned it over the water.

She dipped the hook under the surface, aiming for the same spot. When it pushed against the trapped mass, she closed her eyes to focus on the feel of the pole in her hands. Running the curve of the hook along the form, she twisted the hook back and forth as she went, groping for a hold.

Suddenly, the end of the hook slid under something. She turned it and tugged gently. It wedged. “I've got it.”

Steve appeared on the river bank nearest them, after scrambling down the shoreline. He had put on his latex gloves, too, and carried the other probe hook. “Take your time, Mandy,” he yelled. “Make sure you've got a good grip on it.”

“I do,” Mandy yelled back, sounding more confident than she really felt. She took a deep breath and said to Frank, “Here goes.”

She yanked hard, but her hands just slipped up the pole. She repositioned them, planted her feet against an inflated gunwale, and yanked again.

The mass moved. Another tree branch and some leaves and pine needles floated to the surface and bobbed downstream. And another white shadow, larger this time, emerged underwater.

Mandy was sure she saw a foot on the end. “Jesus!”

“What? What?” Frank yelped.

“Another limb, a leg.” She glanced back at Frank, whose wide eyes probably mirrored her own. “We've definitely got a body.”

Her heart hammering now, she pulled again, felt the hook slipping, stopped for a moment to reset it, then yanked hard.

With a sudden release that sent Mandy sprawling back, the body came free and floated to the surface. It was completely naked and face-down, the torso slightly bloated, with the hook wrapped around a thigh.

Before she could discern much else, Frank scooped his paddle against the body's shoulder and pulled it against the side of the raft. He reached out and grabbed the nearest arm.

Mandy quickly righted herself and pulled the legs in toward the side of the raft, too, with her hook. She held onto the hook with one hand and grabbed the nearest ankle with her other hand.

As soon as she made contact, even though her hand was gloved, a violent shudder ran through her. She gritted her teeth until it passed.

“You got it secured?” Steve hollered.

“Yes,” Frank yelled back.

The two of them gaped silently at the body while Steve directed the belayers with whistle commands and arm signals to ferry the raft toward him.

Mandy gripped her pole and the ankle with clenched hands. Slowly, while she stared at the body, observations registered in her mind.

The person was too short and too thin to be Arnold Crawford.

Even from the back and with the torso bloating, the body appeared feminine.

Long brown hair, not short black hair, swirled around the head.

When their raft entered the eddy at the bank beside Steve, he splashed into the thigh-deep water and slid his hook gently around the body's waist. “Okay, we're going to turn it over.”

With Mandy and Frank's help, he used a gloved hand and his hook to gently roll the body face up. Small breasts and a pubic mound appeared above the water surface. The body was that of a young woman.

Mandy's gaze traveled to the bruised face as Steve brushed the hair away. The young woman's expression was serene, the eyes closed as if she was peacefully sleeping. A large mole was visible under her left eye.

Slack-jawed, Mandy dropped her pole.

Six

The fishing was good; it was the catching that was bad.

—A. K. BEST

Faith Ellis is dead,
Faith Ellis is dead.

The morbid mantra repeated itself over and over in Mandy's mind until she thought it would drive her mad. Her sweaty hands slipped on the steering wheel of her Subaru when she made a turn. Thursday was one of Cynthia's nights off at the bar, so Mandy was driving to Cynthia's apartment on the west side of Salida. As soon as she'd seen Faith's face, Mandy knew she would have to be the one to tell Cynthia.

Her stomach tightened while she mentally rehearsed and discarded what she might say to her friend about the death of her young cousin. The taste of cheddar cheese and tomato rose in her throat, from the sandwich hurriedly eaten at home while changing out of her wet river clothes and taking care of
Lucky before getting in the car. To keep anything more from
coming up, Mandy took a deep breath and blew it out slowly while she hit the brakes at a stop sign. She'd just have to trust that the right words would come at the right time.

While she accelerated, she flashed back to that afternoon. After they'd pulled Faith's body out of the Arkansas River and quietly zipped her up in the body bag that Steve had stowed aboard his raft, they radioed in the find. The other team continued down the river, searching for Arnold Crawford. Mandy later heard they had found nothing.

Lucky bastards.

She had already started thinking about Cynthia while they waited for a rail car to bring a fire department rescue crew to carry the body out. A sheriff's office detective also rode out on the rail car to see if he could retrieve anything else from the scene. Steve went back out in the raft with Frank to probe for clothing under the boulder, but only a few more branches, leaves, and other natural debris had surfaced.

The detective had brought a photo of Faith with him. It was clear to everyone that the body was hers. When he said he would notify the Ellis family, Mandy volunteered to tell Cynthia. It was the least she could do for her best friend—especially given what Cynthia had done for Mandy after her Uncle Bill died.

Mandy turned her Subaru onto the asphalt driveway that led to the detached two-car garage over which Cynthia's studio apartment sat. She parked on the left side, behind the bay allocated to Cynthia and not the homeowners, who were out in the yard, returning to their house with gardening tools and a half-full plastic bag.

The retired couple waved at Mandy when she got out of her car. “Dead heading,” the husband said and held up the bag. They were meticulous gardeners.

Not wanting to get into a discussion with them, Mandy just nodded and gave them a return wave before they turned and went inside.

The last rays of the dying sunset picked out the pink and yellow zinnias blooming in front of delicate red penstemon spikes and blue caryopteris shrubs along the front of the main house. The beautiful combination was ideal for attracting butterflies and hummingbirds. As she walked to the garage, a hummingbird trilled past Mandy overhead on its way to the flower feast. In the deepening twilight, she couldn't tell if it was ruby-throated or rufous. She almost wished she could follow the tiny bird back to its nest and sink into a torpor with it, rather than face the heart-wrenching task ahead of her.

Mandy hadn't called in advance, but looking up, she saw that the lights were on in Cynthia's place. She took another couple of deep breaths while she climbed the wooden stairs leading up to the narrow deck running along one side of the garage. She stepped past Cynthia's small gas grill, a couple of plastic chairs, and pots of red geraniums. A tranquil scene, soon to be shattered.

Mandy knocked on the door.

Cynthia opened it, dressed in an extra large T-shirt and sweatpants. She held her calico cat, Mittens, draped over her arm. “Mandy! This is a surprise. Come in, come in.” She stepped aside.

Mandy reluctantly entered the familiar cozy room with its brown plaid sofa and mismatched pink paisley side chair, both yard-sale finds. A small TV sat on a cinder block and pine board bookcase, and a square wooden table and two matching chairs filled the other end of the room. On the table were the remains of Cynthia's dinner, an empty pot that had held some kind of soup, and half a package of Ritz crackers.

Cynthia closed the door and turned off the TV. She let Mittens leap out of her arms to rub against Mandy's ankles. “So, what brings you here tonight?”

Mandy sat on the sofa and clenched her hands in her lap. “I'm afraid I've got bad news. Maybe you should sit down.”

Brow furrowed, Cynthia sat next to her and covered Mandy's hand with her own. “Mandy, your hands are like ice. What is it?”

Mandy licked her lips. “We were out on the river today, searching for a missing fisherman. We didn't find his body, but we found someone else's.”

Eyes widening with sick, dawning realization, Cynthia said, “Oh, God. Who?”

“I wish I knew how to tell you this so it wouldn't hurt as much, but I don't, so I'm just going to say it.” Mandy paused, her eyes already starting to burn with unshed tears. “It was Faith. We found Faith's body in the river.”

Cynthia's hand dropped. Her body crumpled, and her face with it. “No. No. Not Faith.”

Mandy put an arm around her friend's shoulders. “I saw her. I recognized her. It was Faith. I'm really, really sorry, Cynthia.”

While she stared at Mandy in horror, tears welled up in Cynthia's eyes and overflowed down her cheeks. Her mouth dropped open, and out came a wail of pure misery. Starting softly, it rose in volume, growing into a howling scream that went on and on, raising the hairs on the back of Mandy's neck.

Cynthia gulped in a breath and screamed again. And again, her hands stiffened into claws raised to the heavens.

Shaken by the depth of Cynthia's reaction, Mandy grabbed her friend's shoulders and gave her a shake. “Cynthia?”

Staring at her without seeing, Cynthia went on screaming.

Mandy gave her another shake. “Cynthia.”

Finally, Cynthia's gaze focused on Mandy, and she collapsed against Mandy's shoulders, deep sobs shaking her frame.

Mandy just held Cynthia and stroked her back and her hair,
letting her tears soak into Mandy's long-sleeved T-shirt until it stuck
to her chest. Mandy's own tears slid down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

Mittens meowed plaintively and rubbed against her mistress's legs, but Cynthia paid her no attention.

Finally, as the sobs subsided, Mandy gently extracted herself from Cynthia's clutches. She stood up and grabbed the tissue box next to the TV, took a tissue for herself, and brought the box to the sofa.

After snatching a couple of tissues, Cynthia wiped her face, and blew her nose. She dropped them onto the floor and repeated the process. Her face was blotchy red and swollen and looked awful.

Cynthia pulled Mandy down next to her. “Tell me everything. Please.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

Cynthia's grip tightened on Mandy's arm until it hurt. “Yes, tell me.”

“I was the one who found her,” Mandy said, while loosening Cynthia's grip. “Under the last huge boulder in Pinball Rapid.”

“Do you know how she died? If she drowned or if someone killed her and threw her in?”

“No, we really don't know. Her body was bruised and scraped, but the river could have done that. I didn't see any large wounds, or a bullet hole or anything. Maybe the autopsy will tell us something.”

Cynthia gasped. “They're going to carve her up?”

Mandy put her hands on her friend's arms and gently rubbed them. “It's not Faith anymore. She's gone.” She sent up a silent prayer to her Uncle Bill, asking him to guide and comfort Faith's soul on her journey, if that was possible.

“What did she look like, besides the bruises and scrapes?”

“She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping. Her skin was so white and her hair was floating in the water, like a drowned princess or nymph or something. Beautiful, even though …”

Cynthia dabbed at fresh tears. “Her skin? What was she wearing?”

“Um, nothing, actually.” When Cynthia looked aghast, Mandy quickly added, “That's typical, though, for bodies found in the river. The rapids. They tumble the body. And …” Unable to find a delicate way to word it, Mandy shrugged. “The clothes end up being torn off.”

“Oh, God.” Cynthia stuffed her knuckles in her mouth and took a moment to compose herself. Then she got up and started
pacing the room. “I should have done something, something more.
Warning her wasn't enough. Now she's dead.”

“Warning her? What are you talking about?”

Cynthia stopped and stared at Mandy. Her mouth opened and closed, as if she were debating whether or not to say something. Then Mittens meowed at her and batted her leg. Cynthia reached down, scooped up the cat, and started petting it, her lips pursed.

“Nothing,” she said finally. “Faith was depressed. I tried to help her, but not enough. She wasn't safe yet, and now it's too late.”

Before Mandy could ask more, a knock sounded on the door. The plaintive voice of Cynthia's landlady asked, “What's going on, Cynthia? Are you okay?”

When Cynthia rose, Mandy stood, too. “What do you mean Faith
wasn't safe yet? Do you think she committed suicide? Was she depressed enough to throw herself in the river?”

“Maybe. Or she took a risk and someone killed her.” Cynthia's grip on the cat had tightened, and it let out a yowl of pain.

“Sorry, Mittens.” She loosened her hold and let the cat jump out of her arms, then opened the door.

The retired couple stood outside. Wringing her hands, the woman looked from Cynthia to Mandy. “We heard screaming.”

“Mandy just told me that my cousin died,” Cynthia said.

The woman gasped and put a hand to her face, while her
husband gripped her shoulder. “We're so sorry,” he said. “What can we do?”

“I don't know,” Cynthia replied, rubbing her forehead. “I need some time to absorb the shock.”

Mandy touched Cynthia's arm. “What kind of risk was Faith taking? What were you warning her about?”

Cynthia held herself, her fingers making white marks on her arms. “I can't talk about this. Not now.”

“Can I make you some tea, dear?” the woman asked.

Cynthia's gaze flitted across the worried faces surrounding her. “I really need to be alone. Could you all just leave?”

“Sure, sure,” the man said, and he turned to leave.

The woman made to leave with him, then turned back. “You call if you need anything. Anytime. And I'll check on you in the morning.”

Cynthia nodded, then looked expectantly at Mandy, still clutch
ing herself.

“Are you sure you want me to leave?” Mandy asked. “I'll stay the night. I'll do whatever you want or need me to, to help you through this.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. Thank you for coming to tell me. I know it was hard. But right now, I just want to be alone.”

_____

The next morning, Friday, dawned bright and clear with a piercingly blue sky. Worried about Cynthia, Mandy called her and woke her up, but when she offered to bring breakfast by, Cynthia turned her down, saying she was going back to sleep. Mandy felt bad about waking her friend, but at least she knew Cynthia was alive and hadn't succumbed to her grief and done something drastic—like following her cousin into the river.

If that was how Faith died.

After driving to headquarters, Mandy rode with Lance in one of the ranger pickup trucks from Salida north to the Railroad Bridge put-in at the entrance to Wildhorse Canyon. Last Sunday, a commercial rafter had called in a strainer, a dangerous tangle of branches in the water, in the Frog Rock rapid. The river rangers cleared strainers as soon as possible because they could trap and hold a swimmer underwater. But since Wildhorse Canyon wasn't one of the popular runs on the Arkansas, the clearing of that particular strainer had been deferred. With the weekend coming up, though, it needed to be taken care of.

The tools and paddles rattling in the truck bed kept up a percussive beat to Lance's tone-deaf humming with the radio. Mandy tuned him out and watched the landscape of grassy ranchland stream past the window while she reflected on Cynthia's words about Faith the prior evening.

What did she mean when she said Faith wasn't safe yet? Safe from what? Was the teenager using drugs? Did she owe someone money for drugs? Someone who would get violent if they weren't paid? Or was she involved in a gang? Had she been sneaking out of the house to see some boy or to drink at one of the bars that wasn't careful about carding?

And what had Cynthia warned her young cousin about? The dangers of drugs and alcohol? Date rape or safe sex?

Or was Faith suffering from deep depression or some other psychological condition? Maybe it was the demons of her own mind that she wasn't safe from. Cynthia had said that “maybe” Faith committed suicide, as if she felt the girl was capable of it. But the alternative was even weirder. What “risk” would Faith have taken that would have gotten her killed? Mandy vowed to talk to Cynthia again, when she'd had a chance to process her cousin's death.

Lance gave her a poke in the arm when he turned off Highway 24. “We're almost there. What ya' been thinking about? That girl you pulled out of the river yesterday?”

“Yeah, sorta. Sorry I haven't been better company.”

“Hey, I understand. It was a bad scene.” He drove the pickup into the parking lot and maneuvered it so the small flatbed trailer behind them was near the ramp down to the river. He turned off the engine and rested a large hand on her shoulder. “Time on the river will help. It always does.”