8
AFTER AN EXCELLENT DINNER, the three men let April talk them into trying dessert. When she left, Gordon, feeling full and sluggish from the meal, excused himself from the table to get a breath of fresh air. Walking past the corner table where Rachel and Stuart had been sitting, he unlatched the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck.
Night had descended completely. In the enveloping darkness, Gordon would not have been able to make out the river a short distance away, had it not been for the lights from the five cabins, reflected on the calm water. The air, even colder than before, had taken on an almost liquid quality, and when a breeze kicked up, it seemed to be wafting a fine spray onto his face. The breeze, which lasted less than a minute, went straight through his clothing, chilling the body underneath. He zipped his parka all the way up, pulled the hood over his head, and crossed his arms in front of his body in an attempt to keep warm. Holding that position, he focused, trance-like on the lights reflecting on the river and on the vapor of his breath as he exhaled.
Behind him, he heard the sound of the glass door sliding open again.
“A penny for your thoughts,” said Sharon.
“The price is too high, but thanks. I’m in a food coma from that fine lamb stew of yours, and I’m afraid my mind is entirely empty.”
She laughed. “I’m glad you liked the food, anyway. Do you mind if I sneak a quick smoke? This is the first time all night I’ve been able to get a little break.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” She lit up, inhaled deeply, then exhaled at the same time Gordon breathed out, her cigarette smoke and his breath both exuding a fog into the air.
“So it’s been busy?” he asked.
“We had a good crowd this weekend. I have two more girls who come in and help on weekends, but today I figured I’d pick up the slack. Now the weekend before this, opening day, was really crazy.”
“Usually is. I try to wait a week now before I start fishing.”
“It was the weekend before this one, last Saturday and Sunday of April. Every room was booked, lodge and cabins, and there was a lot of restaurant trade. One of the waitresses was new, and I had to hold her hand, plus a lot of guests stayed through Sunday night and left Monday morning. I had a night out with the girls on Sunday and almost didn’t make it.”
“I guess it’s good that business is humming.”
“Can’t complain. And the summer is shaping up nicely.”
“That’s what your husband was saying.”
“Don’s really happy here. This place means the world to him. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same way about it myself, but I’m liking it a lot more. And there is something spiritual about this place.”
“Maybe the Native Americans considered it sacred.”
“Maybe. There’s something about it, anyway.”
“Has to be good for Harry’s, I guess.”
They stood silently for a moment, and with another drag, her cigarette burned past the halfway point.
“There’s just one thing, though.” Gordon nodded without saying a word, and Sharon continued, “I guess you’ve heard about the curse?”
“It’s common knowledge.”
“I don’t know if it’s because it’s on my mind, but it does seem like there’s been a lot of romantic sadness since we came here. With the guests, I mean.”
“Like Mr. and Mrs. Jones — married, but not to each other?”
“That, and obviously married men bringing their mistresses here …”
“Mistress. You don’t hear that too much, any more.”
“Would you rather I said whores? And some fooling around among the guests. Last summer, one of the maids didn’t show up one day so I filled in. I went into Pale Morning Dun without knocking because I thought it was empty and found the lady in bed with her husband’s best friend. Or so her husband thought.”
“Part of the lodging business, I suppose.”
“That’s what Don always says. He’s very matter of fact about it — says people will be people and there’s no point in worrying or being disapproving. He’s a good man himself, but it’s almost as if he’s cynical about marriage in principle. All that fooling around, and I don’t know that it makes anyone any happier.”
“Probably doesn’t most of the time. I think we have a culture where it’s easy to yield to temptation, but hard to enjoy it much. Puritan hangover.”
“Puritan or not, a marriage is a marriage. The vows should be taken seriously.”
“That’s an experience I’ve yet to try, but when I do, I hope I’ll feel that way.”
“I think you will. Your friend, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about. But none of my business.” She walked over to a standing ashtray and ground her cigarette butt into the sand. “Nice talking to you, Gordon, but I have to get back to work.”
“And there seems to be a slice of apple pie waiting for me.” He opened the door for her and followed her back into the restaurant. Dessert had just arrived. The crust of the apple pie was a golden caramel color and the whipped cream on top of it was clearly homemade. The coffee was black and steaming hot. The three men dug in and enjoyed their pie and coffee in silence. After Peter had drained the last of his coffee, he turned to the guide.
“So, Johnny, at what ungodly hour do we have to get up tomorrow?”
“You don’t have to rise before the rooster, doctor. No need for that. The fish in this river are real gentlemen. Almost keep banker’s hours, they do. Don’t start their breakfast until 8:30 or nine o’clock. If we cast off by eight, we should be fine.”
“Want to join us for breakfast?” Gordon said. “Say seven o’clock.”
“You could make it 7:15 if you like. Breakfast is a buffet, and we only need ten minutes afterward to get the boat ready.”
“Seven fifteen it is.” Gordon stood up and extended his hand. “We’re looking forward to it.”
9
BACK IN THE WARMTH of the cabin, Gordon was feeling drowsy, despite the coffee, and declined when Peter pulled a bottle of Courvoisier from his duffel bag and offered it. Peter poured three fingers for himself into a standard-issue eight-ounce motel glass as the men settled into their respective beds.
“It’ll be nice to be on the water tomorrow,” Gordon said. “It’s been five and a half months since the last fishing trip.”
“Longer for me. Are you sure it’s not too cold for fishing? The trout might get frostbite on their noses if they came up for food.”
Gordon shook his head. “Not at all. Ask Johnny tomorrow, and he’ll tell you why.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?”
“You wouldn’t believe me. Maybe coming from him, you’ll buy it.”
“Johnny seems like a character anyway. Is it customary to take the guide to dinner the night before?”
“Probably not.”
“So why did you do it?”
“Helping out. It’s a way of letting him stretch his paycheck.”
“Really? From what I paid for my half of his fee, he’s doing pretty well. Three-fifty a day, isn’t it?”
“That’s what the Fisherman’s Friend charges, and they keep a big chunk of it. What’s left over isn’t bad money, at least for these parts, but you have to remember Johnny’s only booked for probably a hundred days a year. The rest of the time, and all winter when it’s off-season, he’s doing odd jobs or working for minimum wage. No health benefits, no retirement plan. And it’s a shame, too, because he knows more about Eden River than any Ph.D. does about international finance. It just isn’t valued as much. So, yeah, I’ll buy him dinner and breakfast.”
“When you put it that way, it seems like the least we can do.” Peter took another gulp of cognac, poured a splash more into his glass, and put the bottle, down a quarter, back in his bag.
“So let’s gossip about the other guests. Are you getting the impression that our young Wendy has a bit of an itch that her husband isn’t scratching?”
“I don’t know, Peter. From what my married friends tell me, they don’t always know what’s going on inside their own marriage, so how could I say?”
“Nonetheless, it seemed to me that she was making goo-goo eyes at the half of the Silicon Valley tandem that can say more than three words at a time. And she gave you a good look when she walked into the bar this afternoon. You seeing anybody now, Gordon, or are you available?” Gordon hesitated before answering, and Peter jumped on the silence. “Aha! Has something been going on since I saw you last?”
“It’s complicated.”
“It always is with women.”
“I’ve been out three times the past month with a woman named Jennifer.”
“Age? Occupation?”
“Twenty eight, and a commercial real estate broker. Handles office space in the city. She’s a real live wire, and we had a good first date. In fact, her personality is so bubbly it took me two more dates to figure out she’s incapable of talking about anything but real estate. I was going to sort it out this week, but I don’t think there’s going to be a fourth date.”
“Aw, don’t give up now, Gordon. After the third date is when the perks start getting good.”
“Maybe so, but you still have to have something to talk about.”
Peter swallowed some cognac. “That might have been true before Cable TV, but I guess you know your own mind. And it sounds to me like in your own mind you’re available.”
“Not to a married woman.”
“Really? You never struck me as being an exemplar of puritan morality. Should I start calling you Deacon?”
“It’s not so much a question of morality as it is public health. You never know when the husband’s packing heat.”
“I’m not so sure about that, Gordon. I think you just don’t want to admit to being a moral man in an immoral age.”
“There’s a long day ahead tomorrow,” Gordon said after a pause, “and we have to get an early start. Let’s call it a night.”
“Just one more thing. You knew the other couple that’s here. Rachel and Stuart?”
“Just her. From college.”
“Where you both played basketball. So tell me, did you and she ever play a little Horse together,” Gordon shot him a villainous look, “if you know what I mean, and I can see you do. But, hey, you don’t do married women, and you answered my question without saying a thing.”
“Party’s over, Peter. Good night.” Gordon turned off the lamp by his bed and rolled over to face the wall. Peter finished the drink and turned out his light. After a few minutes of silence he had the final word.
“It must have broken Rachel’s heart when you split, Gordon. You’re probably the only man she’s ever had who’s taller than she is.”
Monday May 8
1
THE ALARM CLOCK was set for 6:15, and Gordon, as he often did, woke up five minutes beforehand. An occasional chirp of birdsong outside mingled with sporadic snores from Peter in the next bed, but otherwise it was still. And dark. Looking at the cabin window near his bed, Gordon could see only a slightly lighter shade of darkness on the other side of the blinds, even though sunrise had been at the top of the hour. He lay in bed, momentarily disoriented, then got up, moved to the window, and pulled the blind aside. A dense fog, dropping all the way to ground level, enveloped everything. He could see the Van Holland cabin 20 feet away and a small bit of river beyond that, then the mist obscured everything and seemed to hold all light at bay.
With his friend sound asleep, Gordon decided to shower first, and when he emerged from the bathroom, Peter was working himself into wakefulness.
“You didn’t tell me we had to get up before dawn,” he growled.
“Dawn was half an hour ago. Heavy fog outside, but maybe it’ll burn off and we’ll have a nice day. Don’t be too long in the shower. I need a cup of coffee.”
While Peter showered, Gordon methodically dressed for the day. He pulled on a pair of jeans, wondering if he should have brought long underwear, then put on a pair of light socks, covering them with a heavier pair of wool socks before putting on his hiking boots. For the upper part of his body, he donned a T-shirt, covered it with a flannel shirt, pulled a light sweater over the two, and topped it with a lightweight, waterproof parka. He turned down the heat in the room and figured that during the day he could shed clothing as needed once the sun came out and the temperature got warmer. Peter came out and gave his friend a quizzical look.
“Fishing the Yukon today?”
Gordon let it pass, and Peter dressed similarly, substituting a heavier parka for the sweater. When they stepped out the front door of the cabin, the lodge was visible only in hazy outline. It was still cold, and the mist imparted a chill clamminess that seeped through every breathing space of their clothing and worked through the layers to their skin. The thermometer by the front door of the lodge read 37 degrees Fahrenheit.
Johnny had stayed overnight at the lodge and met them as they came in. April seated them at a window table and began to pour coffee. When she got to Johnny’s cup, he put his hand over it.
“In the water glass if you would, Miss April.” She blinked and froze, so he picked up the water glass with his other hand and set it next to the coffee cup. “On a morning like this, I want to have the coffee in something I can put my hands around and warm them up.” She did as he asked, pointed them to the buffet and told them to help themselves.
They sipped their coffee first, and a moment later, Rachel and Stuart came in.
“Where are you fishing today?” Gordon asked.
“Since you’ve got Johnny, Stuart’s going to take me to the Big Hole River.”
“You fish, too?” Peter asked him.
He shrugged, and Rachel answered, “He wants to go into Eden Mills and Muirfield and check out the craft shops. Right, darling?”
“Check out the local talent,” Stuart said. “Maybe I’ll find another Stoddard,” referring to the painter who had done the landscape over the fireplace in the bar.
“Good luck,” said Gordon as they moved on.
“Checking out the local talent,” muttered Peter under his breath. “That should take about five minutes.”
Johnny was cradling the water glass full of coffee with both hands. He took another sip and turned to Peter.
“So, doctor. Did Mr. Gordon tell you the story about why you can go fishing on Eden River today?”
“Never got to it,” Gordon said. “Go ahead, Johnny. You tell it better.”
“Well it goes like this. About 25 years ago, the whole river downstream from here was in private hands. More cattle ranches and fewer private homes back then, and the cattlemen were jealous of the water. They put up barriers to keep people from floating downstream, so that part of the river never got fished.”
“Where did Harry’s guests fish?”
“Upstream to the source of the river is National Forest land, and they could always go to the Big Hole or Saddle Creek. But then, a lot of them really weren’t here to fish. Or so I’ve been told. Anyway, a group of local sportsmen didn’t like the situation, and an attorney from the Bay Area who wanted to buy a house here agreed with them. So they filed a lawsuit claiming that under the California Waterways Act, this was a navigable river and the owners had no right to put up barriers. The ranchers were furious and fought it to the bitter end. They won in local court, but when it was appealed, they lost every step along the way. In 1971 the California Supreme Court upheld the appeal, and they had to take down the barriers. And that’s why we get to go where we’re going today.”
“But the land along the river is still private property?”
“Except for a public access easement a few miles downstream. We’ll be in the boat all day because we’d be trespassing if we fished from the shore. So let’s get some food and get to the boat.”
They rose as one and moved to the buffet, loading their plates with eggs, sausage, bacon, potatoes, fruit and toast. While they were a
way, April came by and refilled their coffee cups, including Johnny’s. He emptied the cup into his water glass without comment. Drew and Alan came in.
“A little overcast is good,” Alan was saying. “If it’s too hot and bright, the fish can sit on the bottom and sulk.”
“You know more about that than I do,” Drew replied. “I’m hoping it’ll get a little warmer.”
Don was following them through the door. “Weather forecast on the radio said it should clear up this afternoon. I think you gentlemen are in for a fine day of fishing.”
“What do you say, Johnny?” Gordon asked.
“I’ll tell you when I can see Cavalry Mountain.” Peter gave a look of incomprehension. “That’s a smaller peak, about fifty-five hundred feet, to the northwest. Our weather comes from that direction.”
“You think the mist will lift?”
“Almost always does.”
The Van Hollands arrived several minutes later. She was wearing a pair of snug designer jeans and an off-white pullover that was clingy enough to show the contours of her breasts to good effect. Drew was sitting facing the entrance, and as they walked past his table, he flashed Wendy a smile.
She was at just enough of an angle to her husband that he couldn’t see her face. She returned Drew’s smile.
“Take good care of Johnny today,” Van Holland said. “Tomorrow’s my last day with him, and I don’t want him worn out.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll keep him fresh,” Gordon said. “What are you doing today?”
“Going out with one of the other guides.”
“Bob Barnett?” asked Johnny. When Van Holland nodded, Johnny continued, “Good man. He’ll put you over some fish. And I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“How about you, Mrs. Van Holland?” asked Peter.
“Oh, I’ll just stay here and catch up on my reading, maybe go into town for a bit.” She heaved a theatrical sigh. “It’s so restful here.”
The three men finished their breakfasts and opted for another cup of coffee before departing. As they were finishing, Wendy got up from her table and walked across the dining room to the entrance, then turned right into the hall leading to the restrooms. Gordon couldn’t help following her with his eyes. The woman knew how to walk.
Wash Her Guilt Away (Quill Gordon Mystery Book 2) Page 5
