Read Online Wicked Eddies by Beth Groundwater - Free Book Online

it as you should have. That’s suspicious in and of itself.”
    â€œWith my priors, would you have reported it?”
    Quintana just frowned, then thanked Newt for coming in, and escorted him out to be fingerprinted. He came in the observation room a few minutes later. “So, what do you think?”
    â€œDoesn’t sound like he’s our killer,” Thompson said.
    â€œI agree,” Mandy added. “He didn’t seem to have any reason to kill Howie Abbott.”
    â€œNot that we know of yet.” Quintana smoothed his mustache. “We’ve got some work to do before we rule him out, though.”
    He turned to Deputy Thompson. “Drive over to Vallie Bridge and see if you can retrieve that can of pepper spray. If so, bag it and bring it in. Then go to the Hecla Junction campground and see if you can find anyone who saw Newt picking up trash on Sunday. I’ll take care of interviewing Newt’s camping buddies and Gonzo Gordon.”
    The deputy nodded and left.
    â€œDid Newt’s description match your recollection of what you saw?” Quintana asked Mandy.
    â€œYes, and I really couldn’t come up with anything more from listening to him. He actually saw more of Howie’s fishing equipment than I did. Sorry.”
    â€œSomething may still come to you later, and if it does, I want you to contact me.” Quintana closed his notebook and slapped it against his thigh. “In the meantime, after I verify Newt’s activities, I’m going to track down Ira Porter and have a nice long conversation with him. Fingerprint him, too.”
    _____
    Mandy treated herself to her favorite turkey avocado sandwich for lunch at the Salida Cafe. She ate it while sitting on the restaurant’s deck overlooking the water park on the Arkansas River. Kayakers practiced their twirls and turns in their tiny play kayaks in the man-made rapids. She shucked her jacket to soak up some of the afternoon sunshine that had burned off the clouds and warmed up the air enough for folks to be in shirtsleeves again. This was the “Banana Belt” of Colorado, after all.
    After lunch, she rendezvoused with Steve at the Stone Bridge campground to patrol the Arkansas River above Salida. Called the “Milk Run” by rafters, this slow section only contained one Class II-III rapid worth noting on the whitewater map. Thus, it provided some ideal fly-fishing spots. The upper half was designated as the wading section for the tournament, and teams would be dispersed along the bank at various beats marked with yellow-flagged stakes. Today, though, no competitors were supposed to be on the section, and Steve told Mandy that they had been asked to check for that.
    When Mandy and Steve carried their raft to the put-in, they encountered Rob, Kendra, and Gonzo with two fly-fishing rods. All three wore waders that were belted at the waist. The neoprene booties of the waders were stuffed into waterproof boots. Rob wore a chest pack stuffed full of gear, and the handle of a cotton fish net was stuck through the waistband at his back.
    Gonzo was trying to untangle a fly hooked on a bush. Kendra furrowed her brow while she concentrated on tying a fly on the end of her line, with Rob coaching her over her shoulder.
    Mandy eased her end of the raft onto the river bank, in sync with Steve and his end. “Hi guys. What’s up?”
    Rob looked up and grinned. “I’m training these two how to fly fish. I’m hoping I can turn them into float-fishing guides, so they can work into the fall after the water levels drop and the summer rafters go back to school. I’ll need to buy a couple of raft fishing frames, too.”
    Mandy met Rob’s even gaze and nodded to show she’d received the implied message, though she didn’t necessarily like it. Those aluminum frames provided raised, padded forward and aft swivel seats for fly fishermen, leaving a middle oaring seat free for a