River Bones

by Mary Deal

  Sara and Daphine slipped into others' conversations. Many talked about the string of murders. With the most recent finding as close as Stone Lake, people were scared again.

  “Hiya, Sara,” Zoki said quietly as he leaned into the group and rested his chin on her shoulder. Then he turned and punched Daphine's shoulder gently.

  “Why isn't anyone dancing?” Sara asked.

  Zoki, half a head shorter, swept her out to the dance floor. The tune was slow and Zoki had learned to waltz. So had she.

  Dinner was announced. People sat in their little groups at rows of tables and Sara wondered if any of them had ever spent much time completely away from everyone who knew them.

  After dinner, tables were cleared and the music blared again. Finally, Sara felt relaxed. A grinning man with beautiful teeth came through the doorway, looked around, and then headed straight toward Daphine. He used a walking stick and had a slight limp. His white hair glowed blue from the indirect lights beaming down over the dance floor.

  “Daph,” the man said. “Great to see you.” They hugged.

  He glanced over and then tried to see Sara's nametag. She felt embarrassed that someone was interested, the same embarrassment as when someone paid her attention in school. When she looked again, Daphine was smiling like a caricature for a toothpaste advertisement.

  “It's gotta be the hair,” the man said.

  “Pierce was struck by lightning,” Daphine said.

  “Went white almost overnight,” he said.

  “Pierce?” Sara asked, dumbfounded. “Pierce Newton?” In high school, Pierce had black hair, a slightly crooked nose and a front tooth chipped from a sporting accident. His young face was full and strong, his stature robust and suited to the game of football, which he loved. Now his cheeks were chiseled, his body a bit too lean. In a new way, he was still handsome because nothing had changed those same baby-blue eyes. “Is that you?” she asked. His eyes didn't shine as brightly as she remembered, but she had loved him in high school and wished then for more than friendship. Taking care of alcoholic parents and a precocious pre-school sister left no time for friendships. After their deaths, her life was in shambles. She retreated inward, struggling to make it through to graduation.

  “Sara,” he said. His voice was full and warm.

  Daphine couldn't stand still. She had known all along what would happen. She turned quickly and grabbed Zoki's arm and dragged him across the room to talk to someone else.

  “So tell me what happened,” Sara said.

  “Storm came up fast. I saw lightning hit the ground. Next thing I knew, I woke in the hospital with two weeks of my life gone.” He swallowed hard. “They told me I died.”

  While recovering, he was surprised to see how much his facial hair had grown in two weeks. It, too, had turned snowy, as did his brows, to which he presently added some color, he said, to put some life back into his image.

  “So this is what you've been left with?” She gestured to his cane.

  Pierce went on to say that several of his vertebrae had to be fused because of the damage to his spine. He had not been able to work since, at least not at anything physical. The lightning had also connected with the metal in his fillings and shattered his teeth. “Plates,” he said, snapping them together.

  “I'm so sorry.” Sara felt emotional and touched his hand. “I'm glad you made it through that ordeal.”

  “I've written a few books about my experiences.” He squirmed, like he didn't want to go on. He was about to say something when the former class President, Herbert Frayne, walked onto the stage.

  As the evening progressed, prizes of wine, DVDs, and videos, were awarded for the most absurd reasons: To the person who had lost the most hair, and the person with the biggest potbelly. They measured two guys just to make sure. They gave gifts to the people with the most kids or grandkids, a prize for the person with the youngest child. Sara shuddered. Were her classmates really old enough to have grandkids? Evidently some got an early start, while some were still at it. The gifts went on and on, inciting much hilarity. Then the surprise Sara had planned was announced.

  “You remember Sara Mason, don't you?” Herbert asked.

  Sara cringed at hearing her name over the microphone. She just wanted friends, not adoration. The room had quieted.

  Herbert put a hand up to shield his eyes from the stage lights and searched the audience till he found her and pointed. “Sara's developed a couple of Sci-Fi computer games.” He held up a copy of both games. “Star and Black Hole. She sold the copyrights,” he said. “These copies are all that's left of the old label with these names. There's enough for everyone to have one copy of each.” He pointed to the side table where Zoki lifted the cover off the stacks of DVDs. “Get your hands on these, everybody. They're sure to become collector's items under these labels.” The noise level rose as people jumped from their chairs. After the DVD table was laid bare, people returned to dancing and mingling. No one sought her out, and for a moment, she felt invisible but wouldn't dwell on it.

  Sara wondered why she had never come across any of Pierce's books. But then, her life revolved around the Caribbean, which became her haven, and then computers. Her curiosity had not taken her far outside those areas.

  Sara remembered the crush she once had on Pierce. She stared deep into his eyes, but the surge of emotion she thought she might feel at seeing him again did not happen.

  Chapter 21

  Weeks passed as Sara waited while the County caused delay after delay. Most of the renovations were cosmetic. The major approvals needed were for rebuilding the bathrooms and removing the dining room fireplace in order to redesign the rear stairwell.

  The pace of life in the Delta moved slower, more fixed and sure than that of San Juan, where tourists scrambled to get in all the sights in a week or two before heading home. Now on Delta time, Sara felt the crawl seeping in. Boats lazed along shady banks with people clad for water activities. Endless numbers of fishermen and women moving at a snail's pace drove the point home. Surely, the lackadaisical attitude had gripped the County as well when it came to making decisions. Sara had to return to the drawing board each time her plans were not approved. She heard a rumor that people wanted Talbot House either torn down or completely renovated. Why, then, were her remodeling plans being picked apart room by room?

  Both Linette and Daphine employed hired help in their shops. Each year, they trained students who were out of school for the summer.

  Sara had time to spare. Good sources to learn about the Delta were the historical articles in the Delta Gazette, tourist brochures, or to surf the Internet. Current goings-on she learned by simply getting out and enjoying the area and people.

  The three-day Isleton Crawdad Festival began that weekend. Each year, some fifty thousand people crowded into town: an area that housed under nine hundred permanent residents. Roads became glutted and parking non-existent.

  “The largest Cajun festival outside of New Orleans,” Daphine said. With sales help in her booth, she was free to roam. “It's best to stay in the street.”

  “Is there some place else to be?” Sara asked.

  “The saloons are jam-packed already. It'll get messy.”

  Coronation of the Festival King and Queen set the parade in motion. Twenty-two bands were scheduled on the festival's four stages over the weekend, the first already playing. The noise level and vibration was enough to bring the decaying, historic Tong Building to test. Tantalizing smells of Cajun cooking permeated the air. They arrived at yet another booth that offered food samples.

  “You ever had these?” Daphine asked, salivating as she bit into pan-fried okra on a toothpick.

  “What a breakfast.” Sara stirred her red rice and beans together in the Styrofoam cup.

  “You've traveled around. What's your favorite food?”

  Sara picked up a sample of okra. “Anything that doesn't come back up,” she said between bites.

  They sampled Alligator Tails and Bu
ffalo Skins while wandering about discussing recipes with street cooks. When they happened upon Daphine's acquaintances, quick hellos and mild banter limited socializing. The festival offered too much to miss so people kept moving.

  “I meant to ask,” Daphine said. “Did anyone thank you for the DVDs you handed out?

  Sara shrugged. “It's not something I expected.” In reality, she was drawn to revisit teenage emotions, seeking approval from classmates. The recognition she sought, unrealized in high school, had not happened to any extent at the reunion. It was a wake-up call that said she could be looking in the wrong places for belongingness and relationships.

  Live music blared. People tried to talk over the noise. Sound raised a few decibels.

  “C'mon, anyone contact you?” Daphine asked, struggling to be heard over the noise.

  “I received a couple of thank you cards.”

  “A couple?” Daphine asked as someone bumped her hard in passing. “Only a couple?”

  Most everyone wore a tee shirt bearing the copyrighted Festival logo: Pinch Tails and Suck Heads. Many who didn't have a shirt stopped anyone who wore one to ask where they could be purchased.

  A strong midday sun sizzled. They finally found a place to sit and watch the crawdad-eating contest.

  “I can't imagine that many creatures in my stomach at the same time,” Sara said, rubbing her belly. They left before the winner was announced.

  Later that afternoon, after hours of both roaming and minding Daphine's booth, they decided to leave. “One day is enough sales for me,” Daphine said. “The first day is usually the profitable one.”

  Refuse containers overflowed and crawdad shells filled the gutters and crunched underfoot. Over the weekend, nearly twenty-five thousand pounds of crawdads will be consumed.

  The afternoon heat reminded Sara she was no longer a teenager oblivious to three-digit temperatures. “You have any more drink tickets?”

  “I'm out.”

  “I'm parched.”

  “Hey, you gotta try the fermented crawdad drink.”

  Sara hesitated. “I'll take a sip of yours.”

  “It won't come back up. I promise.”

  Daphine turned away, distracted. “Look over there… by the old Tong building.”

  Sara strained to see through the crowd. “Why? Is it falling down yet?”

  Daphine snickered. “Fredrik, with the Underhills.”

  “Iana's parents?” The couple was elderly, both much too frail and spent looking. Not knowing their daughter's whereabouts must surely have taken its toll.

  “Fredrik used to be outspoken, saying that not enough was done to find that girl right away.”

  “Was he involved with her investigation?”

  “When Iana first went missing, he was real active in the search. Then, suddenly, he stopped his involvement. Word had it he sensed she was dead.”

  “That's a hell of a thing to say,” Sara said. That man was just too preoccupied with death for her liking.

  “Iana's family trusted his help. Been friends ever since.”

  “Friends? He must enjoy watching people suffer.”

  Chapter 22

  Daphine clued her in on some of Pierce's problems. “He lives off Social Security and Disability benefits.”

  “Then he doesn't have much.”

  “He has sporadic income from the books he's written, but I guess that's tapered off.”

  “How do you know so much about him?”

  “His life's no secret. When he was struck, the whole Delta rallied around him.”

  Sara felt glad to hear that. “But so much personal stuff?”

  Daphine hesitated but smiled. “I used to date him. Still see him once in a while, but we're just tight friends.”

  Curious about Pierce, Sara invited him along on one of her jaunts over the levees and sloughs. She needed to pick him up because he couldn't drive. On the way to Isleton, she caught herself again drifting off in thought. She had been doing a lot of that. When she pulled up in front of the property where Pierce lived, she was jolted back to reality.

  He lived behind a home in a tiny cottage in the older section of Isleton. Both structures were weathered and run-down. His cottage had no flowers or shrubs around it. The shanty sat on concrete blocks. A wooden plank walkway led from the concrete side yard of the main house back to his front door. The dry, bare dirt around and underneath the structure probably became soupy mud when it rained. Pierce's parents might have been deceased and could offer no help because, clearly, he was just meeting basic needs.

  Stepping inside the doorway, the old floor creaked and bowed. Healthy, green Creeping Charley plants hung in pots above each front window. A gigantic, healthy Boston fern hung above the sink. Sunlight twinkled through a stained glass mandala that hung in the side window near a makeshift desk. A freestanding space heater surely provided the only warmth in cold weather. From the size of the house and the living area, she envisioned a tiny bedroom. Sara couldn't imagine a man living so confined, a tall guy, at that.

  “You'd think we had enough water around, right?” Pierce asked, smiling. He gestured to a tall hexagonal aquarium sitting on his coffee table, which was a vintage lug box long ago used in pear picking. Tiny brilliantly colored tropical fish swam about.

  His antiquated computer setup was probably slower than one of Linette's garden snails on a vacation.

  Pierce wasn't doing much entertaining in those quarters. He had no way of getting around except short-distance walking. He was probably very lonely. She felt great empathy.

  “Let's rent a boat,” she said. “My dad used to catch tule perch in Snodgrass Slough. Want to go fishing?”

  His expression perked up. “Why don't we just rent a boat and explore some waterways this time?” He grabbed up a backpack and threw a few things into it.

  “Okay,” Sara said, reluctant. “But one day soon I'll taste those perch again. You had any?”

  “Not recently.”

  “When Daphine and I were kids, she told me how to cook the ones my dad brought home. I can still hear her words: 'Gut 'em and pan-fry 'em a few minutes on each side. Be careful 'cause they might fall apart.'”

  That was how Daphine's mother prepared them. It sounded easy enough to have a good meal on the table in time for Mom and Dad to skip out and have a drink while Sara did her homework in the car with Starla before the sun went down.

  “Sounds great.” Pierce seemed timid, as if he'd never discussed ordinary things with many people.

  “I remember the taste,” Sara said. “Even picking out the bones was worth it.”

  Pierce directed her back to Walnut Grove for the boat rental. When she was about to head straight past the Isleton Road drawbridge traveling north on the Andrus Island side of the Sacramento River, he said, “Turn! Turn here.”

  Sara wanted to avoid driving on the Grand Island side. It meant having to pass the town of Ryde where she used to live. It meant passing the spot where her family drowned. “The way ahead is shorter.”

  “160's better over there.” He was already leaning forward as if he might turn the steering wheel for her. He seemed enthused about being out on a jaunt.

  A wide farm truck entered the bridge from the other side. The bridge was barely wide enough for two sedans to carefully creep past one another. They waited till the truck exited the bridge and passed them. Pierce waved back at the driver.

  “Why can't you drive anymore? What kind of damage did the lightning do?”

  “Racked up my nerve impulses. My limbs don't always get the proper signals to do what they're supposed to do. Sometimes one leg gives out.” He gestured to the walking stick leaning against the seat between them. “At times, my leg doesn't seem to know what to do.” He smiled, like he was more amused than bothered by it, and he really didn't sound pathetic. He seemed to have adjusted to his inadequacies and gotten on with life, but now he had difficulty relaxing in his seat. “Look over there!” he said, pointing.

  Sara
missed what he pointed to because two large birds flew right across the windshield and out over the river. Her pulse raced. “What were those?”

  “Peregrine falcons!” he said like a young boy as he turned to watch them in flight. “So much nature, right here where we live. It's hard to believe that the Delta hides murder victims.”

  Why, out of nowhere, did he bring that up? Goosebumps raced over Sara's skin. Why did he sound so sure that the Delta hid murder victims?

  The renovated and grand Ryde Hotel came into view, first as a huge block of pink along the levee, then as a memory in its former dilapidated gray. She was about to drive past the point where her parents' car went over the embankment. With both sweating hands gripping the steering wheel, she held her breath and looked away from the river. Then an idea came to her just as she was about to pass the hotel and the junction of Hwy. 220 crossing through Grand Island. She had to do it. She turned suddenly onto the 220 downgrade, and pulled into the parking lot behind the hotel. Finally, she let out her breath.

  Pierce placed his hand on top of hers as she clung tight to the steering wheel. He smiled his approval. “You needed to do this, Sara. You can't avoid this road if you're staying in the Delta.”

  She stared straight ahead. The art deco hotel was built at the height of the Prohibition Era in 1927. It was fully restored with accommodations and amenities befitting any five-star facility. The hotel had a great amount of reputation connected to it, dating back to the original establishment with its ambiance and charm.

  The shanties behind the hotel where Sara once lived had long been torn down. The hotel owners carved out a chunk of the orchard and installed a nine-hole golf course; the teeing off area spread across where her family's rental cottage once stood. Sara sighed and choked back emotion. The soothing expanse of green grass helped prevent hurtful memories from taking over her thoughts.

  Chapter 23

  As they neared the Walnut Grove bascule bridge, the span was lifted open and traffic needed to wait for a tall-mast pleasure boat to sail through. When they finally crossed, the ominous loud hum the tires made on the grated steel floor brought another memory that leaped out of her past; a sound all but forgotten, familiar again.