Deadly Currents (5 page)

Cynthia sat down across from Mandy. “You don’t look so good.”

Mandy’s stomach gave a flop, and she burped up some beer gas. “I don’t feel so good either.”

“You got a ride home?”

Mandy sank her chin down on her hand and shook her head. The walls shimmied in her vision, and she held her head still to combat the dizziness. “Gonzo and Kendra can’t drive me home. They’re as bad off as I am, though they’re probably more used to being ‘victimized.’ And Gonzo’s pissed at me anyway.”

“Wait here.” Cynthia stood. “I’ll bring you some water and see what I can do.”

After Cynthia returned with a big glass clinking with ice cubes, Mandy leaned against the wall and sipped the water. The room spun lazy circles around her, and the rock rhythms of the band’s last set pounded a mammoth headache into her brain.

A muscular pair of jeans-clad legs stepped into her field of vision. “Hey, ranger gal.”

It was Rob.

“Cynthia called. I’m taking you home.”

Feeling too awful to fight about being rescued and secretly glad to hand over control to someone else, Mandy staggered to her feet. “Okay, Robbie boy.”

He looped an arm around her waist and, with a nod to Cynthia, steered Mandy toward the door. “Maybe I should have hung around this morning.”

Mandy kept her mouth shut, not willing to admit she might have been wrong. Plus, just putting one foot in front of the other took her full concentration.

She dozed in Rob’s truck on the way home, and woke up as he laid her on her bed. She felt her shoes being eased off, and a blanket being pulled over her, then a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Sleep well,
mi querida
.”

She mumbled something, she didn’t know what, and listened to the front door close behind Rob. The river was already reaching for her when her eyes rolled back in her head.

There is nothing—absolutely nothing—half so much worth
doing as simply messing about in boats … or with boats …
In or out of ’em, it doesn’t matter.

—
The Wind in the Willows
, Kenneth Grahame

The sound of a
car pulling into her driveway roused Mandy from her disturbed slumber. She reached the front window in time to see Rob climb out of her Subaru and into the driver’s seat of his truck after the driver, probably one of his guides, slid over to the passenger side. They drove off in a cloud of dust, which is what her throat felt like.

Mandy leaned her head against the cool glass. Rob sure knew how to worm his way into a woman’s heart. Deeply grateful that he had brought her home last night and her car home this morning, she couldn’t help feeling a smidgen of resentment that he assumed she needed taking care of.

C’mon, he’s doing you a favor. Thank him and move on.

She checked her watch—thirty minutes to get into work. If not for Rob bringing her car, she would have been late. Mandy gave Lucky a thorough head-scratching and let him outside then downed four aspirin, two for her muscle aches and two for her throbbing head. After feeding the dog, she donned her off-the-water ranger uniform consisting of black jeans and a black shirt with the AHRA logo. Then she grabbed a yogurt and ran outside to the Subaru. She scrabbled around under the floor mat until she found the keys and took off.

When she arrived at the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area headquarters building, she went in search of coffee, drank half a cup standing in front of the pot, then refilled her cup. Before she could reach the four-desk cubbyhole she shared with half of the eight river rangers, Steve cornered her.

“Let’s go into my office.”

Mandy followed her boss into his private cubicle. Blond and blue-eyed, he had broken a lot of hearts in Salida when he married nine years ago. But as evidenced by the collection of family photos on his desk, he doted on his two young boys, and his devotion to his wife never wavered. That didn’t mean he didn’t care about his staff, though.

Once they were seated, Steve said, “How do you feel?”

“Lousy.”

“Hey, you pulled two people out of the river.”

“But one died.”

“And Hannah Fowler’s thanking the river gods that you were there.”

“I guess.” Mandy took a gulp of her coffee.

Steve cocked his head. “So you knew exactly what to do, total confidence, and made no mistakes, right?”

Mandy jerked her head up and saw the wry half-smile on his face. “Hell, no.”

“’Course not. You had to think on the fly in the middle of danger, chaos, and huge uncertainties. Now that you’ve had a chance to sleep on it, do you think you should have done anything differently?”

Mandy reviewed the rescue in her mind. “I wish I hadn’t hit Tom King with the boat. And trying to steer the cat with two people on the pods was almost impossible. I guess I should have tried to get them up on the oaring seat frame.” She scratched her head. “But I don’t see how I could have done that with Tom King unconscious. What would you have done?”

Steve pursed his lips as if hesitant to continue. “I would have stopped with Hannah Fowler. Would have helped her onto the frame, then ferried her to shore.”

“And left Tom King to ride out Number Five, alone and unconscious?”

Steve gave a solemn nod. “You made contact with Hannah, so her safety was your first responsibility. Tom King’s wasn’t yet. You thought you could save both of them, but I don’t think I would have been so confident.”

Mandy slumped in her chair. “So I screwed up.”

“No, you pulled it off.” Steve steepled his fingers under his chin. “But if you hadn’t, and she got hurt, we might be having a different conversation. You made a judgment call, based on what you thought you could do. And it worked. I can’t fault you for that. I’m only saying my call would have been different. Neither approach is right or wrong, Mandy, and our manuals can’t possibly cover every situation that can arise on the river. That’s the lesson. You trust your gut and go with it.”

Mandy bit her lip and nodded. Problem was, she and her gut hadn’t been sure she could pull it off. “Tell me, how did you feel after your first death on the river?”

“Lousy.” A troubled, faraway look came into Steve’s eyes. “The first time someone died on me wasn’t while I was a ranger. It happened while I was still guiding. I pulled an older guy out of the river after our raft flipped, and he couldn’t get a breath. Sure, cold water can shock someone, but this was weird. He was gasping like a fish out of water.”

“Was he having a heart attack?”

Steve shook his head. “The guy hadn’t listed any medical problems on his release form, but I pressured his wife as he lay sputtering in her lap. I said there must be something medically wrong with him. She admitted he had emphysema, but he hadn’t wanted to divulge it because he didn’t want to be kicked off the trip. He’d left his oxygen tank in the car.”

Pulled in by the tale, Mandy leaned forward. “What did you do?”

“We paddled like heck to the next takeout, and I called 9-1-1. By the time the ambulance arrived, two of us were doing CPR, but the old guy didn’t make it.”

“Bummer.”

“Yep, but there was nothing I could have done differently, just like you.” Steve shook his shoulders, as if shaking off the bad memory, and resumed a businesslike tone. “You need to start writing your incident report today, before your memory gets fuzzy. And you need to review the outfitter boat accident report your uncle dropped off yesterday. If he left anything out, I want you to include the missing information in your report. We’ll be briefing the park managers at the end of the day, and I want both of us to be as prepared as possible.”

Like most of the rangers, who chose the occupation for the opportunity to work in the great outdoors, Mandy hated reports. And she could bet she would be pinned behind a desk all day working on them. She downed the rest of the coffee in her cup. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. King’s widow filed a complaint against your uncle.”

“I’m not surprised. I guess filing a lawsuit wasn’t enough.”

“She mentioned that in the complaint. Sorry to hear about it. Look, I’ll address the complaint myself, but I want you to look it over for any factual errors.” Steve held up a hand. “Now don’t go ballistic when you read it. You know I’ll investigate it fairly.”

“Is that why you took a urine sample from Gonzo?”

Steve nodded. “Partly. Gonzo’s got a rep for packing the booze away, but I’d try to get one from any rafting guide who had a customer death. I’m kind of surprised Gonzo did it, frankly, because most of the outfitters’ legal counsels advise the guides not to honor our requests.”

Mandy rubbed her forehead, which had started aching again. “Good God.”

Peering at her, Steve said, “You don’t look so hot. Should you have taken another day off?”

“No, this I did to myself. Got victimized at the Vic last night.” She glanced at the bottom of her empty coffee cup. “If I could mainline a pot of this stuff into my vein, that might help.”

“Relaxing with friends last night was probably a good thing—stress reliever. Though I know the hangovers afterward are no fun.” With a wink, he turned toward his desk.

Mandy refilled her cup and returned to her own desk.
Trouble was, last night didn’t relieve any stress. It only added to it.

She opened her blueberry yogurt and started scanning the report form that her uncle had filled out. He had done a thorough job interviewing Gonzo and Dougie and checking the river depth gauges for water levels. She read in the accident description that two paddles had been lost. Yet another expense her uncle could do without right now, but maybe they would be retrieved by another outfitter’s guides downstream and exchanged for the customary can of beer.

When she reached the section describing what had happened to the victim, she decided to call Quintana. After he answered, she said, “I’m working on the boat accident report today. Do you have any more information from Tom King’s autopsy?”

“Not yet.”

“I have some information for you. I talked to Gonzo yesterday, and he said Tom King had been acting woozy right before the spill.” She listed the symptoms Gonzo had given her.

“I’ll relay this information to the pathologist.”

“Given Gonzo’s report, do you think the pathologist could figure out if Tom King was having a heart attack before he hit the water?” Mandy crossed her fingers.

“I’ll ask. Why’s that important?”

“If it’s true, it might mean the King family has no case against Uncle Bill.”

“How’d he take the news that Mrs. King is thinking of suing him?”

“How do you think? He’s already pinching pennies so hard his fingers hurt. Paying a lawyer to deal with the lawsuit is the last thing he needs.”

“I feel for him, but I wouldn’t hold out hope for a definite cause of death from the pathologist. Unless there’s a bullet hole through the heart, he tends to make the ruling pretty general. The best thing for your uncle might be for the insurance company to settle.”

“Then his premiums will go up.” Discouragement and frustration made Mandy’s voice sharp. “He can barely afford them now.”

After that unsatisfactory conversation, she finished reviewing the boat accident report and started on her own report, not ready yet to look at the complaint form. Two hours later, after numerous escape trips to refill her coffee cup and empty her bladder, she had a reasonable rough draft. She e-mailed it to Steve and headed outdoors for a lunch break.

Feeling buzzy and lightheaded from the caffeine, she walked across the street to Bongo Billy’s to order a turkey avocado sandwich from the counter. It was an expensive indulgence, but she hadn’t had time to make her customary PBJ. To avoid returning to the office and second-guessing herself, she took her sandwich down to the town boat-launch ramp and ate it while perched on the rock wall overlooking the river.

A light breeze rustled the leaves of the cottonwoods lining the banks, and the midday sun warmed Mandy’s back, warming her heart, too. A kingfisher perched on a limb overhanging the river until it spotted movement below. It dove in the water and came out with a small fish in its bill for lunch. Three kayakers were executing cartwheels and enders in the manmade rapid upriver from the boat launch. Probably practicing for the kayak rodeo event in the upcoming FIBArk Festival, Mandy thought, mentally translating the acronym: First in Boating on the Ark(ansas).

Soon, the kayaks gave way to a family float trip bobbing through the Salida Whitewater Park. Giggling kids and smiling parents filled four big oar rafts. The adults upped the excitement by yelling “Hold on tight!” and “Here it comes!”

Some of the passengers slapped ineffectively at the water with their paddles. The guides sitting on raised platforms and pulling and pushing on their long oars did all of the actual steering. One guide told his passengers not to paddle at all as they went through the boat ramp rapid, presumably so no one would interfere with his strokes.

Another guide Mandy knew by sight grinned at her as he bounced up and down in his seat, adding some extra thrills for his passengers. Mandy smiled and waved back. Since his group consisted of young girls and women, all screaming with delight, she decided it must be a Brownie Girl Scout troop or mother-daughter outing.

After the four-raft pod sailed through, the kayakers returned to their antics. Reluctantly, Mandy got up to return to work. Watching folks have fun on the river had improved her mood, but only slightly. She wished she could join them, rather than have to deal with the aftereffects of the accident.

Back at her annoying desk, she finally felt up to looking at the complaint Paula King had filed. The woman made outrageous charges that Gonzo must have been drunk or high. Uncle Bill knowingly hired unreliable guides and didn’t train them adequately. The river was running too high for a Numbers run—not! As Mandy read on, the turkey and avocado roiled in her stomach.

Fed up, she stomped into Steve’s office. “That woman burns me up. I’ve never read so many blatant, outrageous lies. I’m surprised she didn’t claim Uncle Bill snuck into the river and moved the rocks in the middle of the night to make the rapid tougher!”

Steve leaned back in his chair. “I seem to remember some advice about not going ballistic.”