Deadly Currents Page 6

  Rob laughed. “I’d love to see your version of that dance. What’re you mad about?”

  “Tom King’s widow is suing Uncle Bill.”

  “I heard that on the river rumor circuit. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Yeah, stop stealing his customers.”

  “I’m not stealing your uncle’s customers.”

  “What do you call it then, when he gets cancellations and people call you instead?”

  “Mandy, most callers don’t say why they’re calling. They don’t tell me they’ve just cancelled a trip with your uncle’s company.”

  “What about the ones who do? You could tell them they’ve got their facts wrong and they should go back to my uncle’s company.”

  “I could, but I don’t because then we would both lose their business. People who’ve cancelled on your uncle have already made up their minds. I can’t change that. All I’d do is piss them off enough that they’d call someone else. How would that help Bill?”

  “How is booking his customers yourself helping him?”

  “For one thing, I’m giving work to his guides, so they don’t leave him.” Rob paused. “Look, I can understand why this whole situation’s upsetting you. But there’s nothing you can do to fix it, so you might as well relax. It’s Saturday evening. Let’s go see a movie or something, then we can talk about this. I’ll even buy you one of those toffee-coffee shakes you like at the ice cream store.”

  “Oh, no. You’re not bribing me with treats.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “I’m too upset to go out with you tonight. Besides, I’ve got to work tomorrow, and I’m sure you’re busy managing all those extra customers you’ve booked.” Too late, she realized she had spit out the last sentence with too much venom.

  “That’s not fair, Mandy,” Rob shot back, “and you know it. Stop being such an idiot.”

  Idiot! She opened her mouth to reply, but the line was dead. Rob had hung up.

  _____

  At a quarter to five, Cynthia poked her head into Mandy’s office. “Hi. Thought I’d stop in on my way to work. Ready for the latest blonde joke?”

  Mandy felt drained after the meeting with the park managers, but she rolled her eyes, the expected response to Cynthia’s friendly jabs at Mandy’s natural hair color. “Go ahead.”

  “A blind guy on a barstool shouts to the bartender, ‘Wanna hear a blonde joke?’ The guy next to him says, ‘Before you tell that joke, you should know something. Our bartender is blonde, the bouncer is blonde. I’m a six-foot-tall, two-hundred-pound black belt. The guy next to me weighs two thirty, and he’s a rugby player. The fellow to your right is six-five, pushing three hundred, and he’s a wrestler. Each of us is blonde. Think about it, mister. Do you still want to tell the joke?’”

  Cynthia paused for effect. “The blind guy says, ‘Nah, not if I’m gonna have to explain it five times.’”

  Mandy gave out a little snort, but couldn’t bring herself to actually laugh.

  After a long look at Mandy’s face, Cynthia propped a butt cheek on the corner of Mandy’s desk. “Okay, spill it. I heard about Paula King’s lawsuit. Is that what’s bugging you?”

  That opened the floodgates. Mandy launched into a twenty-minute rant about stupid paperwork, stupid rafting customers blaming her uncle for King’s death, and stupid Rob for stealing her uncle’s customers.

  Cynthia folded her arms. “C’mon, Mandy. Rob’s not stealing your uncle’s customers.”

  “It sure looks that way to me.” Mandy folded her own arms across her chest.

  “Why would he do that to your uncle? Rob’s obviously got the hots for you. Why would he mess that up?”

  “Money. Why else?”

  Cynthia cocked her head. “Is something else going on between you and Rob?”

  “Oh, no, you aren’t turning this into some relationship thing. It’s business. Underhanded, sneaky business, but just business.”

  Though the unresolved issue of Rob wanting to take care of her still grated on Mandy’s nerves, she wasn’t going to let Cynthia sidetrack her from what really mattered. “Trouble is, Rob’s not thinking about how much this hurts Uncle Bill, what with the complaint and lawsuit from King’s widow to deal with.”

  Cynthia’s brow wrinkled. “You know, her suing him doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “Why?”

  “Last I heard, Paula and Tom King were estranged. She shouldn’t be all that upset and wounded over his death. In fact, she might even think he got what he deserved. He’s been having an affair with Evie Olson.”

  Mandy remembered the passenger list for the rafting trip King was on. “Daughter of Hank Olson, the city councilman?”

  “One and the same. You’ve seen her around town. It’s hard to miss the gauzy skirts, clanking bracelets, and all that long crinkly brown hair.”

  Mandy nodded. “Yeah, a throwback to the flower children of the sixties. She’s too young for that stuff, must be in her thirties, right?”

  With a smirk, Cynthia said, “She’s well-preserved. Celebrated her thirty-ninth birthday more than once at the bar. That reminds me of another blonde joke. What do blondes and cow pies have in common?”

  Mandy gave a theatrical shrug.

  “The older they get, the easier they are to pick up.”

  “Okay, enough with the jokes.” Mandy flashed a smile at Cynthia, though, to show she wasn’t really bothered. “Back to Evie. Both she and her father came on that rafting trip.”

  Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “That couldn’t have been too comfortable for Paula King. I’m surprised she put up with having her husband’s lover along, even if he wasn’t living with her anymore.”

  “Tom King had moved out?”

  “About a month ago. Right after Paula found out about Evie. One of their neighbors told me the scene was straight out of the movies. Paula’s tossing his clothes out the second-story window, and he’s running around picking them up and yelling at her to stop being an idiot.”

  “Like that’s going to work.” The memory of how mad she had been at Rob for calling her the same thing ate at Mandy’s nerves.

  “Yeah, next came his bowling ball, right through a window that she hadn’t opened yet.” Cynthia arced her hand through the air. “Glass flew everywhere. He was ducking and running for cover. When he yelled that she could have killed him, she hollered, ‘You’re a dead man’.”

  When Kansas and Colorado have a quarrel over the water

  in the Arkansas River, they don’t call out the National Guard

  in each state and go to war over it. They bring a suit

  in the Supreme Court of the United States and

  abide by the decision. There isn’t a reason in the world

  why we cannot do that internationally.”

  —Speech, kansas city (april, 1945), harry s truman

  Mandy was still mulling over the disconnect between the scene Cynthia described and Paula King’s lawsuit when she went out on the river the next day with Steve Hadley. In contrast to her gloomy mood, the weather was clear and sunny, with only a few puff-ball clouds in the brilliant blue sky. She lathered the sunscreen on thick, even though no matter what she used, or how often, by the end of the season she ended up as brown as a chestnut mare.

  They launched their catarafts at the Buena Vista town ramp and intended to take out at AHRA headquarters in Salida, about thirty miles downriver. By ten o’clock, they were tied up a few yards upstream of the Fisherman’s Bridge put-in for the Brown’s Canyon run and bobbing in the undulating water. The spot was the busiest on the river, especially on weekend days. This Sunday was no exception.

  River Runners, one of the largest outfitters on the river, was launching four pods of four rafts each from their land on the west bank. The lead guide shouted out
names from his clipboard, divvying up the tourists among the rafts.

  At the public boat access site on the east side, other outfitters and private boaters guided rafts down the waist-high metal rails in the center of the wide concrete steps. Everyone was in high spirits, anticipating the most popular whitewater section of the river. The water sparkled, and so did the tourists, chattering with excitement and snapping photographs.

  With all the happiness around her, Mandy’s mood brightened. She rolled her shoulders to relax them and stretched out her legs to soak up some of the sun’s warmth. In deference to the hot weather, she wore a sleeveless neoprene shortie wetsuit under her official ranger PFD with the AHRA logo.

  Steve capped his water bottle after taking a swig. “Wonder what Pike would think of the Arkansas these days.”

  “Zebulon Pike?” Mandy asked. “I didn’t know he made it out this far west.”

  “On a second expedition after he failed to reach the top of Pikes Peak, he and his crew explored the headwaters of the Arkansas. First white men to do so. He’d probably be shocked by the hustle and bustle now.”

  Mandy nodded and returned her attention to the teeming masses. She knew she and Steve were there more as a preventative measure, reminding the outfitters and private boaters to pay attention to both river-running etiquette and basic safety rules. The outfitters choreographed the timing of their launches fairly well, letting pods form up and float a ways downstream before launching the next group. And all their customers were required to wear PFDs.

  The private boaters were the ones who needed the most minding.

  She watched a father buckle his young daughter into her PFD. He hefted her into the middle of the family raft. Then he tied a Pelican bag, a large waterproof case that likely held their lunch and hopefully some emergency supplies as well, to the middle thwart.

  When he glanced in her direction, Mandy gave him a thumbs-up. This guy knew what he was doing. While he and his wife launched their raft, Mandy let her troubled mind wander back to the conversation with Cynthia. She remembered that Steve had grown up in Salida. He was a few years younger than Evie, may have even gone to school with her.

  “Steve, do you know Evie Olson?”

  “Just to say hi to. We only overlapped in high school one year when she was a senior and I was a freshman. She ran in a different crowd than I did, too.”

  “What crowd?”

  “The one that hung around the woods behind the school after the bell rang to smoke pot.”

  Mandy smiled. “And I suppose you never indulged.”

  “I’m pleading the fifth. But I can tell you, playing football and smoking weed don’t mix. And now eradicating marijuana plots on park land is part of our mission. Why are you asking about Evie Olson?”

  “Did you know she was having an affair with Tom King?”

  Steve shook his head. “Not surprised, though. She’s got a reputation for being kind of a drama queen, always on the lookout for the next prince to carry her off on his white horse—or in his luxury SUV. What’s it to you?”

  “I can’t figure out why Paula King is incensed enough over her husband’s death to sue Uncle Bill, given that she was estranged from Tom King.”

  “Must be pure greed. She’s rolling in money already, but the richer you are, the more you want, I guess,” Steve said while scanning the activity on the banks. “I know more about Tom King’s business affairs than his personal ones. I’m on the Water Issues Board with Nate Fowler, and he and King were bidding on the same land.”

  “I heard about that. Uncle Bill said that’s why Lenny Preble took them on the trip, to see if whoever winds up with the land could be convinced to donate some of its water rights for recreational use.”

  “Nate Fowler probably would. He and I have had some talks about the importance of river recreation to real estate development in the valley. He knows most people move into Chaffee County for one reason or another related to the river. And, he knows that right now, the RICD is low man on the totem pole.”

  “What’s RICD?”

  “The Recreational In-Channel Diversion right established for the Salida Water Park. It’s only for 250 CFS, and—”

  “That’s nothing,” Mandy knew the best flows for rafting the river were between 1500 and 2200 cubic feet per second. “250 CFS isn’t even enough to support the trout population. What recreation does that support?”

  “It doesn’t matter what the amount is, because it’s the most junior water right on the Arkansas now. When it comes time to dole out limited water in a drought situation, everyone else’s rights will be satisfied first anyway.”

  “How would donating more water rights for recreation help?”

  Steve tucked his oar handles under his thighs and leaned on his knees. “Water rights are ranked by issue date, with the oldest ones issued having the highest priority. Because the RICD was granted in 2006, it’s the youngest, and thus the lowest ranked. Most agricultural water rights were granted in the late eighteen hundreds, when ranches and farms first got established in the valley.”

  “So if King or Fowler donated the agricultural rights for recreation, then they’d have higher priority, and during a drought, some water would have to remain in the river for boating and fishing.”

  “Right. Then the lawsuits would start flying, because farmers with dying crops and homeowners with dying lawns would argue their needs are more important than those of the boaters and fishermen.”

  And how can you quantify the need of people to reacquaint themselves with the natural world they live in, to feel the flow of life around them, and to reenergize with that flow like Mandy was doing now? “Did Tom King feel the same way as Nate Fowler about the issue?”

  “I don’t think so. I never talked to him directly about it, but Nate said Tom King’s planned project included a golf course, which uses a heck of a lot of water.”

  As she was about to ask for more information about the Water Issues Board, Steve said, “Would you look at that?”

  A skinny, middle-aged guy with a gray ponytail and wearing faded, sagging swim trunks loped down the concrete steps. He had an inner tube slung over his shoulder. No companions, no PFD, no water bottle, nothing. He stepped into the water then paused to observe a trio of river guides herd their gaggle of tourists into the appropriate rafts.

  “You talk to him, Mandy.” A smile twitched across Steve’s lips. “See what you can do. I’ll observe.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  Mandy loosed her stern line and swung the cat out into the current. After a couple of deft strokes, she had positioned herself next to the man and hopped out into the shallow water. She heaved her cat up onto the bank then held out her hand to the tube rider.

  “Hi there. My name’s Mandy Tanner, Arkansas River ranger.”

  The man hesitated, then shook her hand, but didn’t give his name.

  “You waiting for some friends?” Mandy asked.

  “Nope.”

  “So you intend to float down by yourself?”

  “Yep.”

  The guy had been real communicative so far. “You know this section has class III and IV rapids, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Everyone on the river in the Arkansas Headwaters Recreation Area is required to wear a PFD. You got one?”

  “Nope.”

  She glanced at Steve and got a blank look in response. PFDs were required, but most rangers preferred to convince private boaters to wear them than flex their muscles and issue citations.

  Mandy waved a hand at the procession coming down the steps. “I’m sure one of these outfitters has an extra PFD you can use. Cost you only a few dollars for the day, I bet. It could save your life.”

  A scowl crossed the man’s face. “Got no money. Left it in the car at Stone Bridge. I rode my bike
here.”

  Great. Taking out at Stone Bridge meant the man intended to run Siedel’s Suckhole, the meanest rapid in the canyon, one the outfitters avoided on their half-day trips. After seeing rafts mangled from getting caught in the rapid’s recirculating hydraulic, she couldn’t imagine what it would do to a guy in an inner tube.

  “I see.” Mandy rubbed her chin. “Can I talk you out of running Seidel’s Suckhole? It’s pretty hairy for someone in an inner tube to run.”

  “Nope. Gonna do it.”

  Mandy looked at her cat. She always carried two extra PFDs on her raft, her backup and one to use for rescues, in case a swimmer lost his. She tugged one out of the gear basket in the back of the cat and held out the PFD to him.

  “How about borrowing this PFD from me? I’d feel a lot better about your chances for making it out of the river alive today if you did.”

  When the man just stared at her, she pushed it closer. “You can leave it for me beside the big, gray rock next to the takeout.”

  Reluctantly, the guy took the PFD and shrugged it on. “Okay.” He stepped farther into the river.

  “May I?” Mandy reached over and buckled the PFD. “Next time, please bring one of your own. And bring at least one friend, preferably two, to go tubing with you.”

  The guy gave a grim nod, then sank his butt into the tube and swirled out into the current. He paddled his arms and kicked his feet, as if trying to get as far away from her as quickly as he could.

  When Mandy returned to her station next to Steve, she asked, “Well, how’d I do?”

  “Pretty good. You were polite and nonconfrontational, got him to listen to some advice, which he might apply next time he rides the river. I doubt I could have done any better, given how uncommunicative he was.”

  Pride swelled Mandy’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, she was getting the hang of this job. “I doubt I’ll see that PFD again, though.”

  “Hey, at least you got him to take it,” Steve said. “And here’s hoping that if we do see it again, it’s not on his dead body.”