Death By Drowning

by Abigail Keam

  This was stupid, I told myself. I had no backup. But it might be my only chance to know for sure, the devil on my left shoulder whispered to me. Getting closer, I inspected the fishing boat. Reaching out, I pulled on the boat’s rope bringing it next to the pontoon boat. Carefully I climbed into the rocking fishing boat. I searched the insides but found nothing. Then I ran my hand on the outside of the boat feeling for scratches or dents. Success! I found a large dent on the right side. Leaning over, I saw some kind of paint. Thrusting my hand about in a rusty toolbox, I found a knife, which I used to scrape the dented area, and placed the residue in a handkerchief from my pocket.

  “Whadda ya think you’re doing?”

  My head jerked up.

  Rod Tavis was standing on the bank with his shotgun folded in his arms. He looked big and mean. I heard the devil laughing.

  “I was loo . . . looking for you,” I stuttered, stuffing the handkerchief in my pocket.

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to ask you more questions about Jamie Dunne.”

  “Like I said. Never saw him that night.”

  I swallowed. “Okay. I best be going then.” I started to climb back into my boat.

  Rod Tavis made a quick move with his foot and pushed the pontoon boat out of my reach. “Whatcha got in your pocket?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I saw you scrape my boat. Whadja do that for?”

  I couldn’t think of anything to reply so I kept quiet.

  “Cat got your tongue, lady?”

  “Please, my leg is hurting awful bad. Let me go to my boat.”

  He shook his head “You act like you got something on me. So until you tell me what, you gonna stay with me. He pulled his boat line toward him. I almost fell from the rocking boat into the river – with all those river snakes. Yuk!

  “You met Jamie Dunne on the river!” I blurted. “It was an accident, but you killed him nevertheless. You said you never saw him that night. The paper makes no reference what part of the day Jamie drowned but that his body was found in the morning. Only the person who would know that he was out at night was the person who killed him.”

  Tavis eyes narrowed, as he swung around his shotgun. “You don’t know nothing.”

  “I know and Sarah Dunne knows too. I told her about an hour ago, so you holding me here won’t help you. She’ll call the police if I don’t return in a half an hour.”

  “Lots can happen in thirty minutes.”

  “Like what?”

  “You can have an accident.”

  “Like Jamie? I think you didn’t mean to harm him. You were watching your fishnets trying to catch the person who was stealing from you. You see Jamie. Maybe his kayak got tangled up in them. Anyway, you confront him. He denies it, but he’s in a hurry to get away. This just increases your belief that he is guilty. He is really trying to get away from a fire he had started, but you didn’t know that though. You try to stop him and his kayak turns over accidentally. Jamie comes back up furiously, and in the melee, hits his head on your boat and drowns because he wasn’t wearing his life jacket.

  “Those dents, on your boat, have paint on them. I think the test results will show that it is paint from Jamie’s kayak.”

  “That is not going to happen as no test is going to be taken. You step up here now.”

  “I can’t. I won’t.”

  He turned the gun around with the butt ready to knock me up side the head. Before the wood made contact, I jumped into the chilly water and began swimming towards the Jessamine County side of the river. My strokes were swift and sure. Thank God, Jake had me swim for months. I didn’t even think about the cold water rippling across my face. Then I heard the boat’s motor start up. Fast as I was, I would never make it to the shore in time, as the current was too fast and pulling me downstream. Looking over my shoulder, I could see Tavis was gaining on me.

  Suddenly Brannon was before me, floating on top of the water. “Now?”

  I thought, Get the hell out of my way, Brannon. For the last time, I’m not coming.

  Brannon gave me a disappointed look before he sank below the river current.

  Feeling something brush against my leg, I turned my head to see a watersnake wiggle away from me. I gasped and started to go down.

  “REACH OUT!” I heard. Instinctively my hand shot out and felt a rough rope bobbing on the water.

  Grabbing it, I was immediately pulled towards shore. My eyes closed as I sped through the water until my feet began making contact with the rocks and debris in the riverbed. Then two strong hands pulled at my hair and shirt dragging me up on the riverbank. Coughing, I attempted to wipe the water from my burning eyes until I puked and began choking on my own vomit. Someone turned me over and wiped out my mouth with their fingers looking for river debris. Then someone hit me on the back, causing me to spit out a lump of half-decayed leaves. Exhausted, I laid my head down on a bed of vomit, wet leaves and river stones.

  Another boat was coming down the river – fast. I flopped over on my side and saw Tavis look towards the other boat and then veer his boat to the west, disappearing around a bend. The motor became louder until it cut off abruptly. Jake was on the prow of my rusty johnboat holding an assault rifle while Cody manned its ancient motor. As the boat made contact with the bank, Jake threw the gun to Cody and jumped onto the shore. In three long strides he was beside me and pulled me into a sitting position, pushing my wet hair back. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so. Just scared.” My chest was heaving.

  “Here, take this,” he said, trying to push the abuterol spray into my mouth.

  I pushed it away. “I’m okay. Really. Just give me a minute.” Slowly my heavy breathing began to subside.

  “Can you talk?”

  I nodded, letting him take my pulse.

  “I jumped in the water, but couldn’t make it to the shore fast enough. Someone threw me a rope – literally a lifeline pulling me to shore. Saved me from Tavis.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I couldn’t see, but I think it was Moshe Goren.”

  Cody was now hanging over me. He held the rope. “Look at it. It’s homemade from natural fibers.”

  “It seems like your Boo Radley has appointed himself as your guardian angel,” smiled Jake.

  I returned his smile. “I have many angels on my side,” I replied pressing his hand.

  For once Cody did not look bored. “Let’s get you back,” he said.

  Since I still wasn’t my college weight, I pooh-poohed the idea of one of them carrying me to the pontoon boat. I made it on my own steam with occasional help. Cody tied the john boat to the back of the pontoon boat. Jake stood at the bow scanning the banks holding his rifle. His black hair fluttered in the wind. For the first time I noticed he had let it grow out from its military crew cut. It looked unruly . . . and sexy. It gave me pleasure to imagine Jake dressed in feathers and war paint, or tight jeans with a soft, white cotton shirt rolled up to the elbows and opened at the throat . . . or nothing at all.

  For the first time in many years, I really cared about how I looked. I glanced down. Covered in mud, I smelled like a wet dog. I had lost my shoes and my wet summer dress clung to me exposing the last of my fat rolls. Oh dear, I thought. That damn river wants me like it wanted Jamie. I almost died again, but I’m can’t stop thinking that it’s time to dust off my high heels and give life one last spin before the river claims me.

  I looked down at the dark, green river being sliced in two by the boat making its way back home. I looked again at Jake’s stern profile and felt safe. He turned to check on me. His expression softened when I gave him a thumbs-up. The river wouldn’t get me today. I smiled at the fading sun. Life surely takes strange turns.

  *

  I was safely tucked in bed watching Jaws when the phone rang. It was 10 pm.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the States. I’m coming home.”

  “Good. We need to talk.”

 
“I hear you had a successful day. Don’t tell me the details but you’re happy?”

  “Not happy, but satisfied. Irene came over and I gave my story to her. I filed an assault report against Rod Tavis for myself, but what she does with her information is up to her.”

  “I also hear that you caused a man to have a stress attack so severe he thought he had a heart attack?”

  “Yeah. I’m rather pleased with myself. Like I said, it’s been a successful day.”

  “Hmmmm. Like going AWOL.”

  “If we talk about that, then we will have to delve into Afghanistan.”

  “I was in Amsterdam.”

  “Sure you were.”

  “Changing the subject. My team traced someone who looked like O’nan to a small town in Brazil but he disappeared after the twentieth of this month. No sightings anywhere.”

  “Could he be in Lexington?”

  “Doubt it, but you might want to think twice about ditching your bodyguard team again.”

  There was a click on the line. “Gotta go. See you in a couple of days.”

  Dead air.

  22

  I was working at the Farmers’ Market when Shaneika surprised me. “Howdy,” I said, happy to see her. I wanted her to come back to the farm. I missed seeing Comanche in the fields, and having Shaneika stop by for coffee and verbally wrangle with Jake over history.

  “I’ve got the city’s response to the lawsuit,” she said solemnly. “These are the terms.” She hand me a folder.

  My hands were shaking as I opened it. I skimmed over the highlighted parts and looked at her in disbelief. “Is this accurate? They agree to the stuff highlighted in yellow?”

  “Yes, they did. You were right. The mayor wants to run for governor and doesn’t want you mucking that up with interviews two years from now or writing a book about O’nan,” she said.

  “You know that for sure?”

  “Let’s say I surmised that from listening to two secretaries gossiping in the ladies’ room who didn’t realize I was in a stall.”

  “Thank you Jesus. Thank you.”

  “No – thank me. Jesus wasn’t at the negotiating table. Here’s your first check.” She handed me a check for a million and half dollars. This was the first installment. “Once you endorse this check, you can never publicly make any type of statement disparaging the police department or the city regarding this incident. You can never discuss the details of the settlement with the city or what happened the night you were attacked.”

  “Give me a pen. I’ll sign the check right now. I don’t care who is to blame. I just need to pay my medical bills, and not worry about the future if my health goes south.”

  I began to cry. I was solvent again. “I gotta go to the bank,” I said, tearing off my apron. I frantically looked around for my purse.

  “Slow down or you’ll fall,” advised Shaneika. “My son will watch your booth while I drive you to the bank.”

  “Your son?”

  Behind Shaneika, emerged a young boy on the verge of puberty. He smiled with perfect white teeth like his mother. I offered my hand. “I’m Mrs. Reynolds and you are?”

  “Lincoln Warfield Clark Todd. Everyone calls me Linc.” He took my hand and shook it. His hands were warm and dry – full of living energy. They felt good to touch. “This is gonna be great. I’ve been watching you and I know what to do. When you get back, I’ll have everything packed up for you. Yeah. This is gonna be great.”

  “Okay, you’re in charge. If you will hand me my purse, I’ll be off. Oh, will you tell Mr. Dosh, when he comes back, where I’ve gone? He looks like Sitting Bull with a grudge on a bad hair day.”

  “A real Indian! Cool,” replied Linc, grinning.

  “My car is over there,” said Shaneika. “Let’s get that check in the bank. The bank’s only open twenty more minutes. It makes me nervous to have that much money based on a small piece of paper that can get lost or stolen.” We hopped into her SUV and sped down the few blocks to the bank. On the way over, Shaneika didn’t offer any details on her son, so I didn’t ask.

  I deposited the check five minutes before the bank closed. Shaneika told me to hang on to the receipt. I put it down my bosom causing Shaneika to grimace and mouth the word “nasty.” I thought it was the safest place in town.

  23

  A knock sounded on Officer Kelly’s front door. A dark-haired woman, with two small children trailing behind her, went to answer. She peered through the peephole, backed up in surprise and then opened the door tentatively. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  A tall woman, with black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail trailing down her back, stood at the door. She was dressed in a black leather car coat with black pants and black ankle boots. To complete the outfit, she was wearing dark aviator sunglasses and large diamond post earrings. On the street waited a black Expedition with a driver.

  “Are you Batman’s wife?” asked the older of the two boys.

  The stranger gave a thin-lipped smile. “Cute.” She turned her attention to the mother. “I am . . .”

  “I . . . know who you are,” replied Mrs. Kelly. “He’s not here. He’s at Al’s Bar working on his poems.”

  The stranger appraised the woman who had taken her place in Kelly’s affections, noticing that they both looked very similar. Both were dark. Both were beautiful. Both were extremely athletic. Both were dangerous when crossed. But only one had found happiness.

  “I know where he is. I wanted to meet you. And give you this.” A gloved hand extended an envelope. “Go on. Take it. It’s from my mother. Payment for Baby’s bills.”

  Mrs. Kelly gingerly took the thick envelope all the while wondering if she should accept it. The woman standing before her disturbed her. The stranger was overly confident and Mrs. Kelly could see that she was used to getting her way. One could say life’s rules did not apply. The very air moved through her instead of around like for normal people. She did not take up space; she moved through it. Mrs. Kelly rocked on her heels. So this was the famous . . . or infamous, depending on who was doing the talking – Asa Reynolds.

  The stranger started to turn, but stopped. “Oh, my mother also expects to be invited for dinner soon. Ciao.” Giving the children once last look, the stranger walked back to the car, her boots clicking loudly on the sidewalk pavement.

  Mrs. Kelly closed the door in mute surprise. The envelope was addressed to her. She sat on the couch and opened it with her two children clamoring beside her in anticipation. Inside was a warm, personal note from Josiah, a letter from Josiah’s lawyer, Shaneika Mary Todd, explaining the contents and an itemized statement of the vet’s bill plus estimated costs of Baby’s stay with the Kellys. A gift tin dropped from the envelope. Opening it, she discovered a personal gift card loaded with the amount of $20,000. She crossed herself.

  “What is it, Mommy?” asked one little boy, surprised at his mother’s flushed face.

  “The answer to my prayers,” she replied. “My babies gonna get new shoes! And Mommy is going to replace the furniture that the monster dog chewed up and buy something pretty for herself for puttin’ up with Daddy.” The boys looked curiously at the little plastic card, but squealed with delight as their mother tickled their bellies.

  *

  On the other side of town, the black sedan waited on Limestone.

  Ready to go home, Kelly walked out of Al’s Bar with a notebook full of poems. Whistling the tune Hi Ho sung by the seven dwarfs from Snow White, he made a beeline for his vehicle. Several homeless guys, whom he occasionally arrested for disorderly conduct, good-naturedly called out in greeting. Kelly waved to them.

  Inside the sedan, Josiah’s daughter watched Officer Kelly cross the street and unlock his car. She sat silently in the back seat as he drove off. Fingering a recent newspaper account that told how Officer Kelly caught a bank robber by noticing disturbed moss on a pathway, she watched his car disappear around the corner. Carefully, she folded the newspaper article and put it in her
wallet, next to Kelly’s high school senior picture.

  Finally her driver asked, “Where to, ma’am?”

  “Home,” she rasped sadly. “Take me home.”

  24

  Standing outside the massive twin doors, I collected my thoughts. Did I really want to do this?

  I raised my hand to knock on the carved wood and then dropped it, looking back to the black limo waiting for me. Even though I couldn’t forgive, the acts of forgiveness could begin and maybe somewhere down the line I could emotionally follow their trail. I knocked on the door barely making a sound, as I hoped no one would come to answer.

  An older woman opened the door, glancing at me with my shopping bags sitting by my feet while I leaned on my black walking stick. “My name is Josiah Reynolds,” I said to her. “I don’t have an appointment but I would like to see Miss Ellen.”

  The woman looked confused, not knowing what to do. I knew that she recognized my name.

  “Is there somewhere I can sit down,” I asked. “My leg is really hurting!” That line always seemed to do the trick and this time it was true. She immediately let me inside and led me into a small parlor where uncomfortable, mid-nineteenth-century furniture was placed about. Probably family heirlooms. Too ugly to put in a frequented room, but too valuable to throw away. I sat down in a 19th century, walnut Washington Holloway chair.

  Having fetched my shopping bags, the woman sat them by my feet and said she’d go to see if Miss Ellen was in – a nice way of saying Miss Ellen might not want to see me. She closed the painted pocket doors with ornamental gold painted on the white. I looked about the room trying to stifle the urge to swipe something – like a candy dish or silver candlestick.