Deadly Currents by Beth Groundwater Page A

to her own desk. Trouble was, last night didn’t relieve any stress. It only added to it.
    She opened her blueberry yogurt and started scanning the report form that her uncle had filled out. He had done a thorough job interviewing Gonzo and Dougie and checking the river depth gauges for water levels. She read in the accident description that two paddles had been lost. Yet another expense her uncle could do without right now, but maybe they would be retrieved by another outfitter’s guides downstream and exchanged for the customary can of beer.
    When she reached the section describing what had happened to the victim, she decided to call Quintana. After he answered, she said, “I’m working on the boat accident report today. Do you have any more information from Tom King’s autopsy?”
    “Not yet.”
    “I have some information for you. I talked to Gonzo yesterday, and he said Tom King had been acting woozy right before the spill.” She listed the symptoms Gonzo had given her.
    “I’ll relay this information to the pathologist.”
    “Given Gonzo’s report, do you think the pathologist could figure out if Tom King was having a heart attack before he hit the water?” Mandy crossed her fingers.
    “I’ll ask. Why’s that important?”
    “If it’s true, it might mean the King family has no case against Uncle Bill.”
    “How’d he take the news that Mrs. King is thinking of suing him?”
    “How do you think? He’s already pinching pennies so hard his fingers hurt. Paying a lawyer to deal with the lawsuit is the last thing he needs.”
    “I feel for him, but I wouldn’t hold out hope for a definite cause of death from the pathologist. Unless there’s a bullet hole through the heart, he tends to make the ruling pretty general. The best thing for your uncle might be for the insurance company to settle.”
    “Then his premiums will go up.” Discouragement and frustration made Mandy’s voice sharp. “He can barely afford them now.”
    After that unsatisfactory conversation, she finished reviewing the boat accident report and started on her own report, not ready yet to look at the complaint form. Two hours later, after numerous escape trips to refill her coffee cup and empty her bladder, she had a reasonable rough draft. She e-mailed it to Steve and headed outdoors for a lunch break.
    Feeling buzzy and lightheaded from the caffeine, she walked across the street to Bongo Billy’s to order a turkey avocado sandwich from the counter. It was an expensive indulgence, but she hadn’t had time to make her customary PBJ. To avoid returning to the office and second-guessing herself, she took her sandwich down to the town boat-launch ramp and ate it while perched on the rock wall overlooking the river.
    A light breeze rustled the leaves of the cottonwoods lining the banks, and the midday sun warmed Mandy’s back, warming her heart, too. A kingfisher perched on a limb overhanging the river until it spotted movement below. It dove in the water and came out with a small fish in its bill for lunch. Three kayakers were executing cartwheels and enders in the manmade rapid upriver from the boat launch. Probably practicing for the kayak rodeo event in the upcoming FIBArk Festival, Mandy thought, mentally translating the acronym: First in Boating on the Ark(ansas).
    Soon, the kayaks gave way to a family float trip bobbing through the Salida Whitewater Park. Giggling kids and smiling parents filled four big oar rafts. The adults upped the excitement by yelling “Hold on tight!” and “Here it comes!”
    Some of the passengers slapped ineffectively at the water with their paddles. The guides sitting on raised platforms and pulling and pushing on their long oars did all of the actual steering. One guide told his passengers not to paddle at all as they went through the boat ramp rapid, presumably so no one would interfere with his strokes.
    Another guide Mandy knew by sight grinned at her as he bounced up and down in his seat,