Deadly Currents

by Beth Groundwater

  Jeff stuffed the armload of rope he had picked up on top of the rest of the rope she had pushed into the bag. “I should apologize for Mom’s behavior at Dad’s memorial service.”

  Mandy shrugged. “She was upset about your father, I’m sure.”

  “Still. And she didn’t even thank you for trying to save Dad.” Jeff stuck out his hand. “Thanks. Gonzo told me what you went through to pull Dad out of the water and give him CPR.”

  Mandy’s face flushed with embarrassment while she shook Jeff’s hand. “Just doing my job. I only wish …”

  “He had lived? Yeah, well.” Jeff stared down the river.

  He didn’t say he wished his father had lived, too. Mandy’s gaze went upriver, tracking the next heat of kayaks splashing through the rapid. They all made it through safely.

  Jeff faced her, a hang-dog expression on his face. “My boat’s a goner.”

  “We’ve got volunteers at the finish line who should be able to retrieve your boat. Maybe your paddle, too.”

  “This was going to be the last race for that boat, and for sure it is now. I doubt it’ll survive the bashing it’ll get. Duct tape won’t heal the wounds this time.” A sheepish smile teased his lips. “I suppose you saw all the patching.”

  Mandy nodded. “Gonzo told me you really wanted to win that Wave Sport.”

  “Needed to win it,” Jeff corrected. “That was a thousand-dollar boat. I could have sold it, bought a cheaper used one, and had some money to live on. I’m flat broke. Suppose I’ll have to get a job now that I’ve blown the race.”

  “Working for your father’s company?”

  “No way. I have absolutely no interest in real estate.”

  “Will your mom help you out?”

  Jeff shook his head and frowned. “She told me I could live at home, but she’s not giving me one cent of cash. Dad got to her, won her over to the dark side. Even though he’s gone now, she’s not budging.”

  Mandy assessed him. Could he have poisoned his own father? He certainly didn’t sound very broken up about his father’s death. He hadn’t said one word about missing him. “Will you get any inheritance money?”

  “I wish! I thought I would, was looking forward to it. But Dad’s will locked up my money in a trust. I can’t touch it until I’m thirty, and then there’s conditions attached.”

  “Conditions?”

  “Yeah, becoming an upstanding citizen, a contributing member of society, and all that bull.” Jeff kicked the pebbles at his feet, his mouth curled in distaste. “I’ll eat dirt before that happens.”

  “What’re you going to do?”

  “Why are you so interested? You don’t even know me.”

  “We’ve got some connection. I just pulled you out of the water.”

  He stared at her. “Like my Dad.”

  Mandy’s radio squawked, “Next heat coming down.”

  Seizing this opportunity to extricate herself from the conversation, she said, “Gotta go,” and ran to her station on the bank, allowing the other rescuer to return to his station downriver. She shouted to Jeff, “I hope your boat’s okay.”

  He gave her a dismissive wave and started trudging up the trail to the upper edge of the gorge, shoulders slumped. If he had killed his father, the financial outcome certainly wasn’t what he expected.

  _____

  After shuffling paperwork all afternoon in the AHRA ranger office, Mandy was more than ready to head outside. She called David at her uncle’s office, and he assured her he could check in the afternoon trip without her. So, she could fulfill her promise to volunteer as a river rescuer for the Media Challenge race in the Salida Whitewater Park.

  The race was an excuse for spectators to jeer at local media celebrities and reporters for outdoor adventure magazines as they tried to navigate bright blue or yellow inflatable duckies through the gentle rapids. Most of the contestants took it in stride, hamming it up for the crowd.

  To make it more difficult for them, ropes were strung across the river, from which hung paired-pole “gates” through which they were supposed to navigate their skittish craft. Since many were neophytes to whitewater, just staying upright and dry was usually the main goal. Mandy expected to have to fish quite a few out of the water.

  While she meandered through the milling crowds and past the craft and food booths to reach the river, the tantalizing aromas of cotton candy, kettle corn, and roasted turkey legs reminded her that she’d skipped lunch. Maybe she could grab something to eat after the race.

  A Frisbee sailed by, and Ajax leapt up to snag it. Yelling, “Catch, Mandy,” he tossed it to her.

  She caught it, flipped it back to him and waved goodbye. “Gotta go fishing.”

  Once she reached the river, Mandy teamed up with Kendra in one of her uncle’s rafts. They waited in an eddy below the biggest drop, the most likely place for racers to wash out. Kendra paddled while Mandy grabbed swimmers by the shoulder straps of their PFDs and hauled them in. They often landed right on top of her, so she was soon soaked. She didn’t mind, though. The dampness cut the heat of the warm, sunny day. After ferrying the sheepish reporter or news anchor to shore, she and Kendra would head back to their post to catch their next fish.

  Everyone along the banks was enjoying themselves, clapping and hollering at the racers, and the beer was flowing as freely as the river. Mandy kept a sharp eye trained on the crowded banks on either side. A drunken spectator stumbling and falling in the fast-moving water, with no PFD or helmet and possibly no inkling of how to swim, was even more of a concern to her than the safety of the race participants.

  During a lull between heats, Kendra rested her arms on the paddle across her knees. “What’s going to happen to your uncle’s company, Mandy?”

  Mandy shot her a sharp glance. “Why do you ask?”

  “There’ve been rumors among the guides that the business is in trouble and might close.” She held out her palms. “Not that I want it to happen at all, but if it’s going to, I need to know. All of us do. We’re living paycheck to paycheck, most of us, and gotta start hustling for new work if the moola’s gonna stop.”

  While Kendra talked, Mandy spotted Lenny Preble and a small group of followers passing through the crowd on the opposite bank. The environmentalists were thrusting flyers into people’s hands. Often as not, once they had moved on, the flyers were dropped on the ground. Another trash cleanup job for Lenny was in the works—one of his own making.

  Mandy looked back at Kendra and saw the deep concern furrowing the young woman’s brow. “We don’t have plans to close the business anytime soon. David and I are looking for someone to manage it when I can’t be there. I promise you, if for any reason we have to close before the end of the season, I’ll make sure you guides have at least three weeks’ notice.”

  Kendra blew out a breath. “That’s a relief.”

  Mandy returned to checking the crowd. A tow-headed little boy, about five or six years old, chased a springer spaniel with a Frisbee clenched in its mouth onto a pile of rocks jutting out into the current. Just as Mandy was about to holler, “Get off those rocks,” the boy stumbled and fell in the water.

  “Let’s go,” Mandy yelled to Kendra.

  As the boy’s head popped up out of the water and the current swept him toward the bridge, a man leapt in the water after him with a big sploosh.

  A collective gasp went up from the people nearby.

  Damn, now there are two of them. Mandy kept her gaze trained on both heads while Kendra shoved on the paddles.

  They reached the man first, but he refused to be hauled in. “Get my son!” he sputtered. Before Mandy could grab him, he kicked off from the side of the raft.

  Steve’s advice after the Tom King incident would point to saving the man first. Given the man’s refusal, however, Mandy had no ch
oice but to do what he said. She yelled at Kendra, “Head for the boy.”

  Not much of a swimmer himself, the man’s arms flailed in the current while he strained to catch up to his son.

  Kendra’s paddle power was more effective, and the raft nudged ahead of him.

  After two more strokes, Mandy could reach the boy. She grabbed him under the armpits and hauled back. With his light weight, he almost flew out of the water and landed on the other side of the raft.

  He laughed. “That was awesome!”

  “Glad you think so,” Mandy said with a grin and turned to Kendra. “Let’s pick up his father.”

  Kendra nodded and back-paddled to slow the raft and ease up next to the floundering man.

  He grabbed onto the side of the raft. Breathing heavily, he coughed a couple of times. “My son. Is he okay?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mandy said. “Let’s get you in the raft now. When I pull under your arms, kick your legs as hard as you can to help me lift you in.”

  She rested her knees against the side of the raft, slid her hands under his armpits. “Now.”

  It took all her strength, but with him kicking, she was able to haul him halfway in. She grabbed his belt and spun his legs into the raft.

  He flopped on the bottom of the raft, coughed a few more times, and held out his arms to the boy. “Come here, Ricky.”

  The boy fell on his father’s chest, making the man gag again, and hugged him tightly. The boy seemed to be fine, but Mandy worried about the father, who seemed to be having trouble catching his breath. She observed them both carefully while she and Kendra ferried them to shore.

  After the man and his son climbed out and thanked them, Mandy said to Kendra, “I’m going with them. Once I’m sure they’re okay, I’ll catch up with you.”

  “No rush,” Kendra replied. “We’ve got plenty of rescuers here hoping for a chance to pull a celebrity out of the water.”

  Mandy trotted after the wheezing man and his son. “Sir, I’d feel a lot better if you two came with me to the first aid station.”

  “Why? We’re fine. What I need to do is find our dog and get my son home so we can change out of these wet clothes.”

  Typical macho male. Knowing he wouldn’t go for himself, she appealed to his fatherly concern. “I’d like to have the paramedics check your son. Make sure he didn’t swallow too much water. Then you can look for your dog. The tent’s this way.”

  To prevent further argument, she took hold of the boy’s hand. “I hear they have lollipops, too.”

  “Cool!”

  With the boy skipping excitedly at her side, Mandy started walking toward the first aid tent. He didn’t seem to care a whit that he was soaking wet. At least it was warm enough in the sun that Mandy didn’t have to worry about hypothermia.

  The man followed, though his steps seemed slow and reluctant. He kept looking around, searching for the dog.

  One of Lenny’s flyers blew across the grass and stuck to Mandy’s calf. She pulled the paper off and stuffed it in her pocket. I’ve got to get Lenny to clean these up.

  About the time they reached the first aid tent, the family dog ran up to them, its fur drenched. The plastic blue Frisbee was still clutched in its mouth.

  The father plopped down on a chair and petted the dog while a first-aid staffer checked out his son and handed the boy his much-anticipated lollipop.

  “No problems here,” the staffer said to her.

  She pointed her chin at the boy’s father. “Check the dad.”

  “I don’t need to be checked.” The father stood, and his hand went to his chest.

  “Did you happen to swallow or breathe in any water when you were in the river?” Mandy asked him.

  “Yeah, I think so.” He gestured to the boy. “C’mon, son, time to go.”

  The attendant who had checked the boy was hearing all this, but he didn’t seem to have the same alarm bells ringing in his head that Mandy did. He busied himself with stowing supplies.

  Am I being overcautious? Am I going to make this father angry for no good reason? Mandy’s stomach rumbled. She was hungry, the man wasn’t cooperative, and having handed him over to the first aid tent, he wasn’t her responsibility any longer. Maybe she should just let him go on his way. Then she could grab something to eat.

  The father and son turned to leave.

  Mandy bit her lip and reviewed the symptoms in her mind. The feeling that something wasn’t right nagged at her again. No, I’ve got to stop him.

  She put a hand on the man’s arm to prevent him from leaving. “What’s it feel like when you take a deep breath?”

  The man looked at her with annoyance, but she kept her hand on his arm. “Take one now.”

  He drew in a deep breath. He promptly started coughing and clenched his chest. When he got his breath back, he said, “It feels like a fire burning in my chest.”

  “Please sit down.”

  “Oh, c’mon.”

  Mandy made her voice more forceful. “Please sit down, sir.” She stared at him until he slid back into his chair.

  The attendant, who had been listening, pulled Mandy aside, out of hearing of the father. “You think this is a parking lot drowning?”

  Mandy nodded. “If we don’t get him to a hospital, he could die.”

  “Keep him here. I’ll call an ambulance.” The attendant walked over to the phone on the check-in table.

  Mandy squatted beside the gasping father. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but your condition is serious. We’re calling an ambulance for you.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, I’m not. You aspirated some water into your lungs when you were in the river. The water’s breaking down the surfactant in your lungs that keeps fluids from clogging the airways. So now, body fluids are leaking in, filling up your lungs. Pretty soon, you won’t be able to breathe.”

  “It doesn’t feel that bad to me. I don’t really need to go to the hospital, do I?”

  Mandy had to convince him how serious this was. She appealed to his fatherly concern again. “Only if you want to be around tomorrow to play Frisbee with your son.”

  So we beat on, boats against the current,

  borne back ceaselessly into the past.

  —The Great Gatsby, Francis Scott Fitzgerald

  Mandy stayed to ensure that the man and his son were loaded into an ambulance. When he called his wife, Mandy got on the cell phone to explain the urgency of his case. She didn’t hand the phone back until she was sure his wife would take over in nagging her husband to submit to treatment.

  The first-aid attendant promised he would watch the dog, which Mandy had tethered to a nearby tree.

  Once convinced she had done all she could, Mandy set off through the crowd to find Lenny Preble. She picked up a couple of the flyers along the way. Below a muddy smudge, the title of one read, “Save the Arkansas!” A cartoon below it showed a devil dumping a front loader full of uprooted trees into the river. Overkill, but it got the point across.

  While searching a block lined with vendors of outdoor sports equipment, adventure magazines, freeze-dried hiking foods, and high-tech sun protection products, she spotted Lenny and his gang wolfing down granola samples at a natural foods booth. In addition to the forest green T-shirts, they all wore matching baseball caps emblazoned with Lenny’s nonprofit logo. She walked over to them. “Hi, Lenny.”

  “I see you have some of our flyers,” he mumbled, then swallowed his mouthful. “How do you like the devil cartoon? I drew that one myself.”

  Mandy thought she recognized some familiar features in the devil’s face. “Who’d you base the devil on?”

  Lenny grinned and sidled up to her. “Can you keep a secret, since I don’t want to disp
arage the dead? The flyers were printed a couple of weeks ago. I modeled the devil after Tom King. Though Nate Fowler’s not much better. You think the flyers get the message across?”

  “Yes, I do. Unfortunately, a lot of them, like these, are winding up on the ground.”

  “Stupid tourists.” Lenny waved his hand at a nearby trash receptacle. “Can’t they see the trash cans all over the park? If they don’t want to read about how developers are ruining the river, the least they can do is properly dispose of the flyer.”

  Mandy nodded. “No disagreement here. I know how much you care about the river, Lenny, with your litter patrols. I was wondering if your group would be willing to do one along the festival grounds.” She held out the muddy flyers she had picked up. “Since some of the litter, unfortunately, is indirectly coming from you.”

  A scowl crossed Lenny’s face. He pulled out his car keys and handed them to one of his cohorts. “Go get some of the heavy-duty trash bags out of my car.”

  He made a point of deliberately walking over to the trash can next to the granola stand and throwing his bowl in there. He glared at all the tourists around him and cleared his throat loudly at two teenage girls who had gotten up from a table and left their bowls.

  They sheepishly returned and threw the bowls in the can.

  “Thank you very much.” Lenny’s voice dripped with sarcasm. He took the flyers out of Mandy’s hand and dropped them on top of the granola bowls.

  “And thank you, Lenny. I knew I could count on you,” Mandy said. “Just like you picked up all the trash from the donuts and drinks you served on the trip last week.”

  “How’d you know about the snacks?”

  Rather than reveal that the police now had the trash, Mandy told a white lie. “Gonzo told me. He loves donuts. Were you the one who handed them out, and the drinks?”

  Lenny’s eyes narrowed. “Noooo, not all of them. A lot of people helped themselves or passed things to others in their family or raft.”

  “Who gave Tom King his?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Lenny said with a shrug. “I wasn’t paying attention. Why’s it matter to you, anyway?”