Deadly Currents

by Beth Groundwater

  He shot a sheepish glance at Mandy. “Sorry about the language. The callousness of some people irritates the he … heck out of me.”

  “That’s okay,” Mandy replied. “Frankly, I agree with you.” She held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced, though I’ve seen you around town. I’m Mandy Tanner.”

  In the process of reaching out his own hand, Lenny stopped, then recovered and grasped hers firmly. “I heard about your uncle. Good man, Bill Tanner. Cared about the river.”

  Past tense. Mandy mumbled her thanks.

  “My friend here is Kurt Maxxon.” Lenny clapped a hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. “Kurt is a retired race driver who now cares for the environment.”

  With an abashed grin, Kurt shook hands with Mandy and Steve. “Trying to make up for some of the damage done by all that oil I burned in my youth.”

  Lenny introduced his other two companions across the river, who waved and continued on with their work. “We’re all members of ‘Citizens for the Arkansas,’ my nonprofit.” He pointed at the logo on his shirt.

  “Sorry, I’ve got to take a leak, so I’m going to find some privacy.” Kurt walked toward a grove of cottonwoods downstream.

  Before she could give in to her grief, Mandy dove on this opportunity to find out more about the people on the fatal rafting trip, one of whom could have killed Tom King. “So you organized the trip that Tom King was on when he died. How’d the trip come about? Why’d you pick Uncle Bill’s company to run it?”

  Lenny shifted his gaze around, as if looking for an escape route.

  The realization struck Mandy that he probably felt uncomfortable talking to the grieving niece of a man who just died. A lot of people would probably react this way around her in the days to come. Unlike Cynthia and Steve, thank God.

  After an awkward pause, Lenny said, “Your uncle cared as much as I did about securing high-priority recreation water rights on the Arkansas. I asked him for a donation a while back. He said he was strapped, but he’d do whatever he could to help out. When I decided that Councilman Saunders and the two developers needed to see firsthand the environmental damage that low flows cause, I called your uncle.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d be on the same side as the river runners,” Steve said.

  “Ideally, this river should be left alone,” Lenny replied, “to recover from the damage humans have inflicted on it. But the high muckety-mucks in your office aren’t about to yank outfitter licenses. I’ve talked to them until I’ve gone purple in the face, but no luck. So, I’ve had to resort to Plan B.”

  He waved a hand at the bulging bag he had set on the ground. “I hate the trash the tourists leave all over the place, but that’s minor compared to fisheries disruption from low flows and pollution from agricultural runoff. I decided recreational use of the river is the least of a whole host of evils. I’m focusing now on trying to convert some of the old agricultural rights to recreation.”

  “Were you making any progress with Tom King and Nate Fowler?” Mandy asked.

  “More with Fowler than with King. King insisted that he needed a golf course in his development plans, which is downright dumb. Everyone knows the river, not smacking little white balls, is why people come to Chaffee County.”

  “So you hoped Fowler would win the bid for the land down south.”

  Lenny nodded. “The lesser of two evils. Didn’t look like his chances were good, though. I can’t tell you who, but a source told me the city council was more favorable toward Tom King’s plan. Had more homes, thus more tax dollars. It all comes down to money, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess so.” And with Tom King out of the picture, Nate Fowler’s lone remaining bid could sail right through the council. How convenient for Nate. “Did you notice anyone acting suspicious toward Tom King on the trip?”

  Lenny narrowed his eyes at her. “You working with the cops?”

  Mandy shook her head. “Not really. The case got turned over to them once the rescue operation was done. I’m just curious. Now, about my question?”

  “The only weird thing was the ugly looks Paula King and Evie Olson kept shooting at each other. You’d think the man would be smart enough to keep his wife and his mistress apart. I was surprised when Evie’s father asked if she could come along, but I couldn’t say no at that point. At least I kept the two women from getting in the same raft. Got downright awkward, you know?”

  Kurt came tromping back up the bank. “There’s a big pile of garbage down past those trees. Looks like someone’s picnic leavings.”

  “Damn tourists.” Lenny picked up his trash bag. “Sorry. Seems I can’t say the word ‘tourists’ without the adjective they deserve. Good day to you.” He tipped his sun hat and left with his friend in tow.

  “He’s pretty serious about taking care of the river, isn’t he?” Mandy asked Steve.

  “Yep. His nonprofit seems to eat up all his time. I’ve never seen him with a woman or even just out drinking a beer.” Steve dropped his sandwich bag and apple core in his waterproof case and buckled it shut. “Ready to do some chain-sawing?”

  After they donned protective chaps, Steve showed Mandy how to undercut limbs from below before finishing the cut from above, so they would break off cleanly. “Keep the trunk between your legs and the saw blade. And make sure that when the limbs fall off, you aren’t standing in the way.”

  “This sounds dangerous.”

  “The biggest danger is kickback, when the chain catches on something and kicks the blade back toward you. Don’t ever cut with the nose of the blade, only the middle.” Steve paused and peered at her. “Think you can handle it?”

  Mandy wasn’t about to admit her fear of the noisy machine. If this was something river rangers had to do, she would do it. “I’ll watch you first, then I’ll give it a try.”

  The process was slower in the afternoon, with three ropes involved. One was tied to the chain saw and a tree on shore, so they could retrieve the saw if it fell in the water. A second ran from Steve’s PFD to Mandy. A third was tied around each larger limb before Steve sawed through it, so the two of them could tug the limb to shore afterward.

  By the time they took a rest break, Mandy felt confident she knew what to do, though she was less confident she could actually do it. But with butterflies fluttering in her stomach, she said, “My turn.”

  Steve gave her a thumbs-up and attached a rope to her PFD.

  Mandy walked out along the cottonwood trunk to a large limb, tied on a rope then returned for the chain saw, started it up, and carried it, idling, with her. She braced her feet, positioned the center of the blade under the limb and glanced at Steve for confirmation.

  He flashed an okay sign.

  The chain whined and ground into the wood, spitting sawdust out the back. When she’d cut through about an inch, she extracted the blade and started from the top. The saw broke through the limb with a loud crack, and the sudden release of pressure against the blade threw her off balance. She stumbled and scampered sideways. Hell, if I can’t get this balance thing, I’ll fall in the river for sure.

  She shut off the machine, clipped it with a carabiner to a nearby branch, then hauled on the rope tied to the cut limb to help Steve pull it to shore. After she untied the rope, she asked Steve, “You never seem to have any problem keeping your balance out there. Any hints?”

  “Practice wading in the river,” Steve said with a grin. “That’ll tune up your core muscles for all kinds of balance situations. And bend your knees a little before starting a cut. If you feel yourself falling, throw the chain saw in the river. The water will shut off the engine, and we can retrieve it with the rope. We won’t be able to use it again today, but that’s why we brought two. I’d rather clean and repair the saw than patch up your leg.”

  “Me, too.” Mandy surveyed the mut
ilated tree. “Well, one down, about a dozen to go.” She took the end of the rope and walked out again to the next limb.

  After Mandy had cut a few more limbs, a flotilla of bright yellow inflatable kayaks, called duckies, bobbed and weaved through the riffles on the other side of the river, their riders madly paddling with varying degrees of control.

  One of the guides yelled out to her covey, “Stay far away from that tree!” then to Mandy, “Thanks, ranger!”

  Mandy gave her a wave and fired up the chain saw again. As she touched the blade to wood, something bumped the cottonwood trunk. She lost her balance and tossed the machine aside. It splashed into the water. She fell to her knees, hard, and looped her free arm around the limb she’d been about to saw to stop herself from plunging headfirst into the river. The rope on her PFD went taut as Steve tensed to haul her in if she fell.

  Once the sharp pains zinging up from her knees subsided, and she knew she wasn’t going to take a dive into the swirling water, she turned her head to see what bumped the tree.

  A wide-eyed teenage boy with an orange Mohawk gaped at her. He sat in his duckie, gripping the end of the trunk. “So-sorry. Are you hurt?”

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Mandy yelled, all her training about being polite to river users overwhelmed by her pain and anger.

  “Get away from there!” his guide yelled.

  “Let go of the tree!” Steve hollered.

  “I-I just wanted to see what you—”

  “Oh, shut up.” She was about to say more, but the chagrin on the boy’s face cooled her anger enough for her to remember she was a professional. She counted to three and took a deep breath.

  “Listen to me carefully,” Mandy said with a deliberately fierce tone. “If the water sweeps you under this tree, you could be trapped and drown. Push off now and paddle like hell toward the other side of the river.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  The boy pushed off and, with head down, windmilled his paddle madly to propel his boat over to the rest of his group. As soon as he was out of danger, his guide started chewing him out.

  Mandy sat up and checked her pants legs. One was torn, and blood oozed out where the bark had scraped her skin. Great, another sewing job.

  “You hurt?” Steve called.

  “Just a scrape.” Shakily, she clambered to her feet.

  “Sorry about that,” the guide yelled. “I’ll keep a close eye on this kid for the rest of the trip.”

  “Tell him he’s lucky he didn’t kill two people,” Steve shouted back. “Himself and a river ranger.”

  The boy’s face flamed red. He focused his gaze resolutely straight ahead, so he couldn’t see all the derisive stares directed at him. His hunched back showed he felt them, though.

  Mandy hobbled to shore and sat down next to her first aid kit while Steve hauled in the drenched chain saw. “I don’t think the kid will do anything that stupid again.”

  “No, you can count on that imbecile causing trouble again real soon.” Steve dug in the kit and pulled out alcohol wipes. “Stupidity and teenage hormones are as volatile a combination as lightning and scrub oak.”

  The alcohol burned her scraped skin, and Mandy sucked in a breath. Worried that she had let her emotions get away from her, she asked, “You think I was too hard on him?”

  “No. In fact, I’m surprised you didn’t really let him have it, especially after … everything.”

  “Uncle Bill, you mean.”

  “Yeah.” Steve handed her a couple of gauze pads and ripped off a length of first aid tape. After they finished doctoring her knee, he repacked the first aid kit. “Why don’t I finish up the job?”

  “I can do it.”

  Steve grabbed the second chain saw, attached a rope to his PFD quick release harness, and handed the other end to Mandy. “I know you can.”

  After a trip with particularly badly behaved kids,

  one guide rushes to the drugstore to buy more condoms.

  —What The River Says, Jeff Wallach

  It took another couple of hours to saw the remaining limbs off, section the trunk and limbs into two-foot lengths, and split the large sections with a chisel and maul on shore. Since Steve had commandeered the one working chain saw, then the maul, Mandy took on the job of throwing hunks of wood into the river.

  By the time they finished, every muscle of her body was crying, “Enough!” She had bandaged the blisters on her hands during their last break, but they still stung. She smelled pretty ripe, too, but she welcomed the physical exhaustion, hoping it would help her sleep that night.

  While they paddled downriver to the Parkdale takeout, Mandy reviewed her conversation with Lenny Preble about Nate Fowler. The developer had a viable profit motive to kill Tom King, his rival for the land south of Salida, but King’s mistress, Evie Olson, and his wife, Paula King, also had motives of a more personal nature. If what Cynthia had found out about Evie was true, she was the woman scorned. But after Mandy’s run-in with Paula at the memorial service, she could easily visualize that woman having enough venom in her to kill someone, especially a philandering husband.

  Hopefully, she would be able to get a better idea about Evie Olson the next day at the day spa, but how could she scope out Nate Fowler? The FIBArk kickoff! He would probably be there. Mandy now had yet another reason to attend.

  As she dragged her cataraft onto shore, the sounds of honking horns and shouts drifted down to the river.

  Steve heaved a great sigh. “Let’s go. Must be another parking lot altercation.” He trudged uphill, his shoulders drooping.

  Following, Mandy rubbed her own sore shoulders. The poor guy must be as bushed as me—or even more so, given that he did the majority of the wood splitting.

  When they reached the parking lot, she saw her uncle’s van, with the boat trailer attached, positioned nose-to-nose with a large pickup truck, which was blocking the parking lot exit. A trio of middle-aged men stood beside the truck, their raft half-in and half-out of the truck bed. Gonzo stood nose-to-nose with the middle one, a sunburned heavyweight with clenched hands.

  The man’s hefty beer belly hung over a baggy pair of psychedelic swim trunks. His words were slurred and spittle flew from his lips as he shouted at Gonzo to “move your God-damned vehicle.”

  Gonzo swiped a fleck of spit from his cheek. “Move your own God-damned vehicle! You’ve been blocking the exit for twenty minutes. I’ve got people here who have to leave now.”

  The man folded his arms across his hairy chest. “I’ve got as much right to be here as you do.”

  “Oh yeah, asshole,” Gonzo shot back. “I don’t see a vehicle permit on your dash. You got one? You paid your two-dollar daily pass fee?”

  The man’s face flushed even redder. He took a swing at Gonzo, who easily stepped out of the way. The man’s fist swished through air and pulled him off balance. Staggering, he spluttered and swore again.

  “I’ll take the drunk,” Steve said to Mandy. “You take Gonzo.”

  He stepped up to the man, put a hand under his elbow to steady him and steered him a few feet away from Gonzo. “Sir, let me introduce myself. I’m Steve Hadley, chief river ranger. Now, how can I help solve this problem?”

  As Mandy took Gonzo’s arm and dragged him away, Gonzo glared at her. “Why’s Steve kissing up to that asshole? He should be ticketing him.”

  “He probably will, as soon as he gets the guy calmed down enough so he doesn’t want to kill you anymore. Why’d you egg him on? You know better than that. What kind of impression do you think you’re making on the customers?”

  Gonzo glanced over at his group of rafters, whose faces held a mixture of shock, disgust, impatience, and anger. He swung back to Mandy, a retort on his lips.

  But she had her own ready. “How’s th
is help Uncle Bill’s business, Gonzo?”

  His chest swelled with bluster instantly deflated. “I’m sorry, Mandy. That fat slob made me so mad I couldn’t think straight. I promised these folks we’d be back at the office by five thirty, and it’s past five already. I don’t know what to say to them.”

  Mandy blew out a breath. “I’ll talk to them. Maybe the ranger outfit will help. And I’ll help you load the rafts.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Yes you do. Act like an adult and stop getting into fights with drunks.” Mandy strode off to talk to the customers before she could make the mistake of adding, “like yourself.”

  She introduced herself, explained the situation, and told them that as soon as her supervisor got the other man to move his truck, Gonzo would be able to drive his vehicle to the boat ramp so they could load the rafts. She asked the group to follow her down to shore so they could preload paddles and PFDs into the rafts to speed up the process. With a mixture of diplomacy, assurances that they would be on their way soon, and jokes about wildlife on the river, she soon had the group back in a holiday mood and working together to pack up.

  Twenty minutes later, she was waving goodbye to the customers as they loaded the van. She had an idea and turned to Gonzo. “As soon as I unload our equipment at the ranger station, I’ll head out to Uncle Bill’s. I want to talk to you there, so wait for me.”

  “Okay,” he mumbled and rounded the front of the van to climb in.

  As he drove away, Steve joined her.

  “Did you ticket the drunk?” Mandy asked.

  “I collected the money for his vehicle and pass fees and asked the most sober-looking of his buddies to drive the truck out. Long day, huh?”

  “And it’s not over yet.”

  _____

  Mandy pulled into her uncle’s parking lot and stepped out of the car. All the rafters had gone, and their wetsuits were hanging out back to dry in the long rays of the setting sun. Gonzo and her brother sat in lawn chairs on the back porch, quietly talking and drinking beer.