Deadly Currents (19 page)

“How’s Rob?” was the first thing out of his mouth.

“He lost a lot of blood but seemed okay this morning,” Mandy replied. “He won’t be able to use his left arm for a while, though.”

“Bummer. He’ll hate not being able to paddle.” Steve shaded his eyes and studied her. “You stayed up all night with him, didn’t you?”

“Do I look that bad?”

“Just bushed. Look, why don’t you take today off? Most of the rangers are out on the river, some in a volunteer capacity like me. We can probably limp along without you for a day while you catch up on your sleep.”

“I already took last Friday off. I hate to do it again so soon. What will the other rangers think?”

“They haven’t had to deal with two deaths and a near-miss in the space of ten days, Mandy. Why was someone shooting through your window anyway?”

“Detective Quintana and I think it’s because I’ve been asking too many inconvenient questions about Tom King’s death.”

“So he thinks Tom King’s killer is out to get you, too?”

Mandy bit her lip. “Maybe.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Damn. How’s he going to protect you?”

“He can’t. Doesn’t have the manpower. I’ll just have to lay low for a while. I won’t be sleeping at my house for a few nights. Hopefully, Quintana will find the killer by then.”

“You going to stay with your brother in the Springs? That’s an awfully long commute to work.”

“No, I can’t abandon Uncle Bill’s business. Or Rob. He needs me to take care of him.”

“Ah.” Steve gave a knowing nod. “So you’ll be at Rob’s.”

“It’s not what you think. And don’t tell anyone.” Mandy spotted a kayaker working his way through the slalom gates hanging over the river. His orange helmet and sun-faded green PFD looked familiar. “Isn’t that Jeff King?”

Steve peered upriver. “Yep.”

“Where’d he get a kayak? His was bashed up in the Pine Creek Boater X Thursday.”

“He came by my place last night. Talked me into loaning him one of the demo boats that we use for rescue drills.”

As Jeff executed a tight turn around one of the gate poles, the bottom of his blue kayak rolled up out of the water.

Mandy spotted a familiar white patch. “The one that went through Royal Gorge by itself. It got pretty bashed up. Doesn’t it still leak?”

“Not that much. The duct tape Jeff patched the holes with should hold for the length of the race. He’s desperate for either a prize boat or money and kept begging until I finally gave in. He agreed to clean out our boat garage in exchange for the loan.”

An image of a muddy floor, dusty shelves, spider webs, and muddled gear popped into Mandy’s mind. “He really is desperate.” Then a realization hit her. “You said he came by last night. What time?”

“A little after nine.”

“How long did he stay?”

“He was on a rant about the unfairness of life, how the river gods were against him. Not just for crunching his boat, but also for what he claimed was the false arrest of his mother. He was incensed by that, called Quintana an incompetent boob. It took me a while to get him to say what he really wanted. Then, by the time we got the kayak out of the boat garage, it was after ten.”

“And you were with him the whole time?”

“Yeah.” Steve raised a brow at her. “You suspect Jeff of killing his father and shooting Rob?”

“Well, from what you’ve just told me, he certainly didn’t shoot Rob.”

Mandy stood and watched Jeff King negotiate the last two gates in the course. As far as she could tell, he had nailed every gate, even the next-to-last tricky red one that had to be navigated in an upstream direction. If his speed was good, he might actually place in the money.

When Jeff passed Steve’s kayak, he flashed a thumbs-up at them, his wide grin showing he was satisfied with his performance.

He sure isn’t acting like someone who orchestrated a shooting last night.
An image of scowling Paula King sprang into her mind.
Hiring a shooter would be more Mama’s style.

My great-grandfather was but a waterman,
looking one way, and rowing another.

—John Bunyan

When Cynthia wandered up
with her free beer, Mandy said her thanks and goodbyes to Steve. After walking away, she pulled Cynthia aside to fill her in on what Steve had said about Jeff King, finishing up with, “So that means Nate Fowler, Lenny Preble, and Evie Olson are the top suspects for shooting Rob now.”

“And for killing Tom King?” Cynthia asked.

“Likely. Do you know if any of them own a rifle or go hunting?”

Cynthia thought for a moment. “I remember Evie saying her dad took her hunting a few years back with some goofy idea of it being a bonding experience. Evie totally hated the whole trip, from sleeping on the ground, to overdosing on Dinty Moore stew and jerky, to shooting innocent animals.”

“But did she learn how to shoot? Does she own a rifle?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s try another tack. Do you think Evie knows enough about plants to make—” Mandy stopped. She wasn’t supposed to reveal what type of poison Tom King was killed with to anyone, not even Cynthia.

Cynthia drank the last of her beer and crumpled the plastic cup. “To make what?”

“A poison of some type.”

With a shrug, Cynthia said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was into gardening, but do you think she’s sophisticated enough to figure out how to make poison? Isn’t a bunch of chemistry involved?”

Cynthia’s reference to gardening gave Mandy an idea. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. I should check out everyone’s garden, see if any poisonous plants are growing in them.”

“I didn’t know you were such an expert on poisonous plants.” Cynthia cocked her head and studied Mandy, as if she could sense that Mandy was keeping something from her.

“Detective Quintana showed me literature about them. I can recognize some of the common ones, I think.”

“So you think Tom King’s killer had been planning to kill him for months, long enough to grow the plants?”

“No, not necessarily. Quintana told me some of the most common garden flowers are poisonous, so the killer may have already had the plants handy. They may even have given him or her the idea of using poison.” Mandy grabbed Cynthia’s crushed cup and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “C’mon. I have a phone book in the car. You can look up addresses for me, so we can scout out these people’s gardens.”

With a wistful glance at the slalom course on the river, Cynthia said, “There goes my plan to enjoy the races this morning.”

When they reached Mandy’s car, Cynthia looked up Evie Olson’s address in the telephone book, and Mandy headed off in that direction. She hadn’t driven more than five blocks when she came upon a line of red traffic cones blocking the next intersection. Two police cars glided slowly past them with lights flashing and sirens blaring. The mobile van from the KBVC radio station followed, blasting a jaunty tune.

Mandy groaned. “Oh no, I forgot about the parade.”

“Maybe we can turn around.”

Mandy looked in her rearview mirror. Already, two cars had pulled up behind her, side-by-side. Their occupants were climbing out to watch the FIBArk parade. “Too late.”

“Well, if I can’t watch the slalom races, at least I can watch the parade.” Cynthia opened her car door.

With her fingers drumming on the steering wheel, Mandy considered asking the other drivers to move their cars.

“Those flower gardens aren’t going anywhere,” Cynthia said. “Might as well enjoy the parade. It’s never very long anyway.”

Mandy let out a sigh and followed Cynthia to the cones.

Clowns and a gaggle of energetic pre-teen cheerleaders followed the radio van. A motley collection of floats motored by. Their occupants ranged from Collegiate Peaks Anglers to the local chapter of the Red Hat Society, the ladies on board dressed in purple and sporting all manner of clashing red hats. Many of the makeshift rafts that would compete in the Hooligan Race that afternoon had been hauled onto flatbed trucks. Their costumed crews tossed candy and waved enthusiastically to the crowds lining the route.

Cynthia hollered encouragement to all of them and jumped up and down while begging for candy. About fifteen minutes into the parade, she grabbed Mandy’s arm. “Look, there’s Rob’s gang. They went for a pirate theme this year.”

A chorus of hearty “Avast, mateys!” greeted Mandy’s ears. Among the guides in swashbuckler costumes, she spied Gonzo in his well-endowed Elena costume, now transformed into a well-endowed pirate wench. When she waved at the float, one of Rob’s rafting guides recognized her. He held up a hand-lettered sign that read, “Win one for the Robster.”

“Rob’s going to hate missing out on the Hooligan race,” Mandy said. Wondering if he had been successful in convincing his doctor to discharge him, she checked her watch. It was still midmorning, ten thirty, so maybe Rob’s doctor hadn’t come by to see him yet. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket to make sure she hadn’t missed his call, since it was set to vibrate, but there was no message.

A shower of hard objects pelted her head. Mandy instinctively ducked and threw up her arms. “Ouch. What the heck are those?”

“Jolly Ranchers,” Cynthia answered as she bent down to scoop the colorful hard candy off the ground. “Though, since pirates are throwing them, maybe they’re supposed to be Jolly Rogers.”

Mandy looked up and saw Gonzo grinning at her, an evil glint in his eye. Did he hit her on purpose? She soon received her answer when he pulled his arm out of a bag and pitched a handful straight at her face.

Mandy spun and ducked again. The hard candies pinged off her back. “Gonzo’s obviously still mad at me.”

“Nah, he’s just having fun.” Cynthia stuffed candies in her pocket with one hand and waved at Gonzo with the other.

Mandy rubbed her sore head. “Some fun.”

Soon, the appearance of the Salida high school marching band signaled the beginning of the end. Sweat poured down the faces of the tuba players. A horse troop followed them, and a street sweeper brought up the rear, cleaning up whatever the pooper-scooper duo missed.

Mandy headed back to her car.

Cynthia followed, unwrapping one of the Jolly Rancher candies. “That was nice of Gonzo to throw us so much candy.”

Yeah, right.
Not wanting to voice her disagreement and upset Cynthia, Mandy just climbed in the car and started it up while she waited for her friend to get in. “We should hurry to Evie’s house. Hopefully, she’s out watching the parade, too, and we can check her garden before she gets back.”

A volunteer came by and picked up the traffic cones, and Mandy stepped on the gas. A few minutes later, they were parked on the street beside Evie’s small, two-storied clapboard house, which sat on a corner lot.

Mandy approached the four-foot slatted wood fence surrounding the back yard. A vegetable garden was staked out on the other side of the yard. Next to the fence on the street side, a long flower garden had been planted. Funky sunflower sculptures made out of brass with a mature green patina stood among the real things. However, the staked, nodding heads of the real sunflowers didn’t have the disturbing facial expressions of twisted fear, anger, and gaping pain that their brass cousins did.

Mandy slowly stepped toward the rear of the lot, studying the varieties of the flowers in the bed as she went. She recognized daisies, Indian blanket flowers, coneflowers, and lupine. Then she stopped.

Next to a bunch of blooming foxglove, also a poisonous plant, stood some plants about three feet tall with palmate leaves. She crouched down to get a closer look. A few buds had appeared. One had a sliver of blue petal peeking out from underneath the bud casing.
Bingo!

“Find anything?” Cynthia had come up behind Mandy and spoke right in her ear.

Mandy started. “Jesus, Cynthia, you spooked me.”

To throw Cynthia off track, Mandy pointed at the foxglove. “You familiar with that flower?”

“Yeah, foxglove, where digitalis, the heart medicine, comes from.” Cynthia drew in a breath. “Oh, that could be poisonous, couldn’t it?”

A car drove by, and the occupant stared at the two women.

“Let’s go,” Mandy said. “We don’t want Evie’s neighbors getting suspicious.”

After they got back in the car, Mandy said, “Now look up Nate Fowler’s address.”

After they arrived at Fowler’s home, Mandy slowly coasted past it. She parked in front of a house two doors down. Nate’s home had no fence, but it sat between two houses on either side, all facing a park across the street. The three homes looked quiet, with no cars outside, no one in the yards, and no discernable movement in the windows.

Mandy peered out the windshield at the large, stucco-and-tile Southwestern-styled home. “There are a few flowers out front that we can check from the street, but to see the back yard, we’ll have to walk around.”

Cynthia leaned forward to stare at the house. “What if someone’s home and catches us snooping around in the yard?”

“That would not be a good thing.”

“So what do we do?”

“We certainly can’t go up and ring their doorbell and ask permission to search their yard.”

“What about ringing the doorbell and running, just to see if anyone comes to the door?”

“If Nate’s home and if he’s the one who shot Rob, the last thing I want is for him to see me.”

“I’ll do it, then. Keep the car door open for me.” Cynthia climbed out before Mandy could object.

Mandy held her breath while Cynthia sauntered nonchalantly up to the stoop, looked around to check that no one was on the street, and rang the doorbell. She loped across the lawns and dove into the car. “Get down!”

While Cynthia awkwardly pulled the car door shut from her slumped position on the seat, Mandy slid down in the driver’s seat. Slowly, she raised her head enough to see the front door. After counting to ten, then twenty, then thirty, she let out a slow breath.

“Looks like no one’s home. Let’s go.”

Cynthia followed her to the front yard and kept a lookout while Mandy examined the flower beds below the front windows.

“Nothing,” Mandy said. “Let’s check the back yard.”

She led the way around the side of the house. A number of large urn-shaped planters filled with flowers were stationed around the colored concrete patio. Two tall blue spruces flanked a long rainbow-shaped flower bed between them at the far end of the lot. While Cynthia headed for the flower bed, Mandy checked the urns but saw no monkshood. She joined Cynthia, and again none of the flowers had the right characteristics.

Mandy pointed toward a garden shed in the far corner of the lot. “Might as well search around that.” She circled the shed to check for more flowers. As she was rounding the far corner, she heard the door of the shed creak open.

Cynthia let out a low whistle. “Check this out.”

Mandy hurried to the doorway and looked in. Cynthia stood next to the left wall and lifted a rifle by its barrel, holding it up for Mandy to see.

“Put that down!” Mandy yelled. “Don’t you know not to touch evidence?”

Eyes, wide, Cynthia let the rifle drop back onto its stock to lean against the wall. “Evidence? What do you mean?”

“What if that’s the gun that was used to shoot Rob?”

“Criminy!” Cynthia stepped away from the rifle.

“Let’s get out of here. Now!” Mandy wheeled. She had just started toward the house with Cynthia when she heard the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and a garage door opening. “Shit,” she whispered.

Cynthia froze. “What do we do?”

“Run for the spruces and hide.” Mandy took off for the nearest one.

Cynthia panted behind her. They both ended up squatting behind the same spruce, but it was large enough to cloak them from the view of anyone in the house.

“I’m so nervous, I’m about to pee my pants,” Cynthia whispered. “How are we going to get out of here?”

Mandy spread apart a couple of the spruce’s lower limbs and peeked in the house windows. Nate’s wife was unloading grocery bags in the kitchen. “I think it’s only Nate’s wife, not the man himself, but I still don’t want her to see us. Let’s wait a bit and see where she goes.”