Deadly Currents Read online

  “Shit.”

  Mandy threw down her toast. Now her uncle’s business would be hurt, and him, too. If only she’d been able to save Tom King. She leaned her chin on her hands and stared into her coffee cup, running the rescue attempt through her mind.

  Rob reached over and traced his fingertip along her cheek. “You want me to hang out with you for a while?” Mandy knew he meant just to offer comfort and company, but the prospect of more was lingering in his hopeful gaze.

  The proposition was enticing, and she considered it for a moment. Then she shook her head. “I’ll be okay. And we’ve both got things to do.”

  Lucky whined at the back door, so she got up to let the dog in. As soon as Lucky spotted Rob, he flounced over to his new friend.

  Rob leaned over to tousle Lucky’s floppy ears while the dog gave him a hearty welcome crotch sniff. “While I’m here, I should take a look at the toaster for you. And is that toilet still giving you problems?”

  Slight annoyance tugged the edges of Mandy’s smile down into a frown. “I’ve lived in this place for three years now. I can take care of it myself. I only need the time. And speaking of time, you need to get to work, and Lucky’s looking for me to take him for a run.”

  Rob rose and held up his hands in mock surrender. “All right. I can tell when I’m not wanted.”

  Mandy blew out a breath. “You know it’s not that. I want you plenty.” She ran a hand along Rob’s tattooed bicep and savored the little thrill she felt whenever she touched his warm, bronzed skin. “I just want to fix my own stuff—and recover in my own way.”

  Rob shot her a skeptical look. “Okay, but I plan to check on you later.”

  Mandy led him to the door. “I’m not someone who needs to be checked on, Rob.”

  “But I’m the kind of guy who likes to do it. See you later, mi querida.” Rob gave her a playful chuck under the chin and walked out, whistling down the path.

  I’m not the kind of gal who likes it, though. Mandy watched him climb into his battered black Ford pickup. But man, oh man, does that man fill out a pair of jeans.

  _____

  An hour later, Mandy climbed into her Subaru all-wheel drive wagon, its blue color muted by road dust and mud spatters. Lucky whined at her, with his nose stuck through the chain-link fence. He was obviously disappointed in their halfhearted jog around two blocks of small ranch-style homes and cottages similar to her own. But that was all Mandy could manage before stumbling into the shower to pelt her sore muscles with water as hot as she could stand.

  When the nine-year-old car started right up, Mandy yelled “All right!” and high-fived the steering wheel. With a working shower and transportation, why worry about a cranky toilet and toaster? She threw the car into gear and drove out of her gravel driveway.

  On the way to her uncle’s place, she replayed her conversation with Rob. How could people blame Uncle Bill’s company for Tom King’s death? They must know whitewater rafting is an inherently dangerous activity, especially in the most difficult class IV and V rapids.

  Duh, girl. She had been there when customers asked for guarantees that they wouldn’t fall out of a raft. Then they would snooze through the safety talk and complain that wearing a helmet, mandatory on a Numbers or Royal Gorge run, would ruin their hair.

  Customers would refuse to blame the beautiful but deadly river, because that would mean accepting the risks they themselves took on. So they would cast the blame on Uncle Bill, his equipment, the training or the management he gave his guides, whatever. Unless …

  Unless King had a heart attack. Then the death wouldn’t be the fault of the Arkansas River or Uncle Bill.

  Or me.

  Mandy turned the car around and headed for the Chaffee County building on Crestone Avenue. It was almost noon. Maybe Quintana would have the autopsy results by now. He should be willing to share them with her, given the close working relationship between the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area (AHRA) rangers and the Chaffee County Sheriff’s Office deputies. They trained together, lunched at the same hangouts, and jointly investigated crimes that occurred within the park boundaries. Heck, Tom King’s accident was her case until she turned it over to Quintana. She would need whatever new information he had come up with for her own incident report.

  She parked outside the old blond-brick office building that sat next to a brand-new jail and entered the lobby. Travel posters on the walls proclaimed the merits of Chaffee County, with the most 14,000-foot mountains in the United States, and the small communities nestled along the Arkansas River valley—Buena Vista, Nathrop, Salida, Poncha Springs. Her favorite poster showed a crown of jagged peaks ranged against a brilliant blue sky with the white waves of the Arkansas River slapping against dampened rocks below. Somehow the artist had captured both the playfulness and exhilarating power of the moving water.

  Mandy hiked up the wide, worn stairs to the third floor, where the sheriff’s detectives’ offices were situated. She hadn’t ever been to Quintana’s office, so she had to snoop a little before she found the frosted glass door with his nameplate beside it. She knocked on the glass.

  “Come in.”

  Quintana stood up from his desk when she entered. “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you today. I heard Steve tell you to take the day off. Thought you’d be resting up.”

  Mandy shook his hand then took the seat he offered. “I did sleep in a little. I’m kind of sore, too, but curiosity got me moving.”

  Quintana’s desk was crammed full with a computer and stacks of case files. A bookshelf overflowed with law enforcement textbooks, statutes, bound documentation, and more files. Every bit of wall space seemed to be covered by some plaque or photo of Quintana shaking someone’s hand or posing with a group. In one photo, she recognized the mayor with his arm draped companionably over Quintana’s shoulders. In another, Quintana stood next to someone who looked like Elvis—in his later, pudgy years.

  She pointed at the photo. “Who’s that?”

  Settling back into his chair, Quintana smiled. “My older brother. He’s an Elvis impersonator on the weekends. Does shows at retirement and nursing homes. Pretty successful at it, too.”

  “Cool. I’ll have to catch one of his shows sometime. Rocking out to some Elvis tunes would be fun.”

  “Is my photo collection what you’re curious about?”

  “It’s a great collection, but no. I’m wondering if you’ve got any autopsy results yet, if you know what caused King’s death.”

  Quintana pulled a couple of handwritten pages out of the top file folder on his desk. “Your timing’s good. We sent King’s body to the Pueblo coroner’s office yesterday. Since the forensic pathologist had no other cases waiting, he did the autopsy this morning.”

  “Has he finished the report?”

  “Not yet, but he called me with some preliminary results, and I made these notes. He doesn’t have a firm cause of death yet, but he ruled out some possibilities.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like drowning.” Quintana looked up at her. “Not enough water in the lungs. And like a head wound. King’s skull was intact, and the brain was in good shape.”

  “What about hypothermia or heart attack?”

  “Hypothermia’s a no. And he said King had arteriosclerosis, but he didn’t find a clot in a coronary artery.”

  Mandy sank back in her chair. “Oh, so no heart attack?”

  “Not necessarily. The coroner said you often don’t find direct evidence of heart failure.”

  “Really?” Mandy sat up straighter.

  Quintana smoothed his mustache. “Clots can flush out or dissolve, and heart tissue damage that causes death looks very similar to the damage that occurs postmortem. As he explained to me, it’s more a case of ruling out everything else. If there’s no other cause, you blame it on heart
failure.”

  “When will he know for sure?”

  “After the toxicology and blood test results come in, in a day or two.”

  “Toxicology?”

  “It’s standard. Could show evidence of alcohol or drugs. And the blood test could reveal diabetes or some other disease, though King’s wife said his last physical two years ago was clear.” Quintana put down his notes. “Want to tell me why you’re so anxious to know?”

  Mandy blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m afraid King’s death will hurt Uncle Bill’s business. I hoped I could deliver news to him today that it was caused by a heart attack. Then he could tell that to any anxious customers who might blame him.”

  “Or you.”

  Mandy shot Quintana a look, but the man’s expression wasn’t accusatory. Instead, she read … compassion?

  Her hands went cold and her mouth dried up, but she had to face this. “Or me.”

  Quintana folded his arms, an awkward movement with all the equipment on his uniform belt. “This is your first year as a river ranger, right? And probably your first death.”

  Mandy nodded.

  “I bet you’re having the same reaction patrol officers have when they encounter their first death. And many have it with every one. It’s a wicked combination of emotions. The strongest one is guilt—wondering if you could have prevented the situation or turned it in a different direction somehow.”

  Blood rushed to Mandy’s cheeks, and she smoothed her hands on her jeans to regain her composure. “You nailed it.”

  Quintana leaned forward. “Maybe knowing everyone goes through this, that it’s part of being a public safety officer, will help.”

  Mandy met his gaze, and for the first time that day, felt a little calmer. “Maybe it does.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got the final report.” Quintana leaned back in his chair and frowned. “You’re not the only one who’s anxious. The coroner can’t release the body until he’s drawn a conclusion, and King’s widow has already called me to ask when they can schedule a funeral.”

  “I can’t imagine what she’s going through. It must be awful.”

  Quintana pursed his lips as if debating whether to say something then shook his head. “She sounded more angry than sad. Said she was calling her lawyer.”

  “I don’t understand. Was she wondering about the will?”

  “No. Maybe you should warn your uncle. She said she was going to sue somebody.”

  River guiding is a cowboy sort of job. Guides have inherited

  the legacy of ruggedness and self-reliance once attributed

  to mountain men and pioneers.

  —What the River Says, Jeff Wallach

  Questions whirled in Mandy’s head while she drove to her uncle’s combination home-and-business a few miles north of town. What did King’s widow hope to gain by suing Uncle Bill? Everyone signs a liability release agreement when they go whitewater rafting with a commercial outfitter. If King signed one, too, how could his widow win the case?

  She parked under the ancient cottonwood tree shading the small gravel car park beside the two-story wood-frame house. She got out and made a quick scan of the equipment in the back lot. The bus was still there, with two eight-passenger rafts tied to the top, instead of stowed in the storage shed where they belonged. But the thirteen-passenger van with its attached raft trailer was gone. So, a three- or four-raft trip had been planned and prepared for, but only one or two rafts had gone out, allowing all the customers and their guides to fit in the van.

  Not good.

  Mandy opened the front door that led into a customer check-in entryway, with company logo T-shirts and hats, sunglasses, and sunglass cords hanging on the wall for sale. She looked over the countertop, where those liability forms got signed, into her uncle’s small office on the other side. He sat at the cluttered desk, a phone pressed to his ear.

  He didn’t look happy.

  “But sir, I can’t give full refunds for last-minute cancellations. That’s clearly spelled out in our policies on the website and on the confirmation letter I sent you. I’ve already scheduled guides to work your trip.”

  Bill Tanner swiveled his barrel-shaped torso in his chair, saw Mandy, pointed at the phone and rolled his eyes. He rubbed his lined forehead with sausage-shaped fingers, then picked up his reading glasses to check his computer screen.

  She hiked herself up on the countertop to wait.

  As her uncle listened on the phone, his frown deepened. “No matter which outfitter you use, whitewater rafting is an inherently risky activity. If you check with the rangers at the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area office, you’ll see our safety record is good—as good as any other outfitter’s.”

  He paused, tapping a pencil on his desk. “Yes, even with the recent death. We still don’t know the cause. It could very well have been a heart attack.”

  He listened some more and sighed. “This isn’t Disneyland. We can’t make guarantees because we don’t control the river. We just ride it.” Another pause. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, too. But with only one day’s notice, the best I can do is a fifty-percent refund. There’s sunk costs I can’t recoup. You’ll be missing out on a great run.”

  After a few more nods and um-hums and sips from the can of root beer on his desk, he finally hung up. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That’s the fourth cancellation today.”

  “I saw the bus didn’t go out,” Mandy said. “You get some no-shows this afternoon?”

  “Yeah. Then they had the nerve to call and ask for a refund. When I refused, they said they’d complain to the Headwaters office. Fat lot of good that’ll do them, but I’ve lost them as customers. They’ll never raft with me again.”

  “Rob came by this morning and warned me this might happen. At first, I didn’t believe him, but …”

  “Happens all the time. Folks can be skittish.” Uncle Bill pushed himself out of his chair with a grunt. “But enough of my problems, baby.”

  He gave her a hug. Then he stood back and looked her over. “I guess Robbie boy came by to check on you. I should have done that myself, but as you can see, I’ve been busy with the phone. How are you?”

  Mandy slid off the counter into the office. “Sore, tired, but I’ll be okay.”

  “Ah hah. You’re finding out that being a ranger isn’t all fun and glory. It can’t have been easy to deal with a death your second week on patrol.”

  “Sure it isn’t easy, but everyone bringing it up again isn’t making it any easier. Look, I’m fine. I’m more worried about what this is doing to your business.”

  “That’s not your worry. You don’t work here anymore, remember?”

  So, he’s still bugged about that. The thought stirred up old memories. Bill Tanner was a widower with no children of his own when Mandy’s parents had died. Since Mandy was living with and working for her uncle, as she had the previous summer, it was natural for her to stay on and transfer to Salida High School when classes started. She wasn’t eighteen yet, and her brother David couldn’t care for her. Heading into his junior year of college, he had his own education and grief to worry about. He had been relieved to be able to focus on finishing his accounting degree and starting his career.

  Then, it was natural for Mandy to become a full-fledged rafting guide after she graduated. She fell into a pattern of working spring through fall for her uncle and serving on the Monarch Mountain ski patrol during the winters. Whenever she could, she took a course or two at Colorado Mountain College in Buena Vista until she earned an associate’s degree in outdoor education.

  Her uncle had assumed she would take over his business someday. But a few years back, she started itching to prove herself, to tackle some challenge that Uncle Bill didn’t already know everything about. That’s what
led to her moving into her own place, and this year, applying for the seasonal river ranger position.

  And, it’s what led to their first serious argument.

  Mandy put a hand on her uncle’s shoulder. “We’ve been over this before. Just because I’m not here every day doesn’t mean I don’t still care about the business—and you. You know that, you ole grouchy bear.”

  He stared at his feet and scuffed the floor with one bedroom slipper. “I know. But you’ve got to know I still want you here. Who am I going to leave this business to, if not you, baby girl?”

  Mandy noted the slippers. His gout must be bothering him again. She would have to find some way to quiz him about his diet without getting on his nerves.

  “I’m not a baby girl anymore. And you’re not retiring anytime soon that I know of. Are you?”

  Fear stabbed Mandy’s gut as she peered at her uncle. He was in his late fifties, overweight and with high blood pressure. Was he hinting something else was wrong?

  “No, I’ll be manning this desk and driving the shuttle vehicles for quite a few years yet. Got to wait around for you to change your mind.”

  She hugged him. “You’re more stubborn than a black bear trying to get at a hummingbird feeder, you know that?”

  Uncle Bill grinned, showing off a straight row of gleaming teeth, a Tanner trait. “Where do you think you get it from?”

  Mandy slid into the extra chair in his office. “Tell me about yesterday’s trip. Was it all locals?”

  Uncle Bill dropped into his chair while holding one foot out, then gingerly lowered it to the floor. “Yeah. Lenny Preble set it up.”

  “The environmentalist?”

  “He said he wanted to show some developers and local politicians why it was so important to reserve recreation water rights on the Arkansas. He used funds from his nonprofit organization to pay for the trip, plus asked me for a discount.”

  “Did you give it to him?”

  “He was throwing business my way, a three-raft trip, so he and one other staffer rode free. And it was for a good cause. Anyway, he invited Tom King and Nate Fowler, a couple of city councilmen, and any spouses and grown children who wanted to come along, since we don’t take minors down the Numbers.”