Biting the Moon (23 page)

Mary looked over at Andi. Translucent, she'd have said. Yes, she was pale, all right.

“It's the sunscreen,” said Andi. “I wear tons of it. Skin cancer.”

Reuel, who'd been silent through all of this, spoke up, and his tone was angry. “Just one damn minute, Harry. Before you and these two little ninnies here—”

One
ninny, Mary wanted to shout, glaring up at him, so tall it was like trying to talk to the top of a tree.

“—before you get into all this callin' and fixin' up for a float trip, I just wonder if everybody's on to the fact that the Salmon can be dangerous. If you ever upend in a boat or you spill out and your raft flips over atop you, well, that ain't no picnic. Or you hit one of them eddy walls the wrong way, or land in one of them deep pools at flood stage, you could find yourself going round and round in a damned whirlpool.”

“That's what
he's
for,” Andi said, hooking a thumb in Harry's direction.

Reuel grunted.

“You're making the Salmon out to be a lot more treacherous than it is.”

“Rivers themselves ain't treacherous. Not being prepared is.”

“Oh, come on, Reuel. I don't lose clients.” He laughed.

Slowly Reuel worked over his gum. “Not but one, no.”

Harry Wine flushed, but more in anger than embarrassment, Mary thought. What had Reuel meant? And she wondered if Reuel sensed neither of them had ever as much as seen the inside of a raft, despite Andi's facile recounting of life on the Gauley. Mary wasn't really prepared when Harry Wine turned to her.

“You too? It's the both of you want to go?”

And here a strange feeling came over Mary. Suddenly, she felt cornered, not by them, oddly—for with them it really was a question, not a buried command—but by herself. Her answer hinged on some idea of herself, although she wasn't sure what that idea was. It was not so simple as the thought of being “courageous” or “cowardly.” It hinged
on nothing beyond herself: on no one's good opinion, on no reward or punishment. She thought of Mel in Cripple Creek, sitting there dealing out blackjack hands to an empty table. It was like that, like playing blackjack at an empty table. You win, nobody'd know besides yourself. But on the other hand, she had come this far; she had done enough, hadn't she? It wasn't in her plan to drown in the cold currents of the River of Fucking No Return.

Mary didn't realize until she started in chewing her gum again that she'd stopped. Like holding your breath. She was (admit it) terrified of going out in that roiling water with its hundred rapids.

“The both of us.” She went on chewing her gum.

When they got back to Salmon, Reuel took them to the Coffee Shop for hamburgers and coffee. The light inside was harsh, a washday glare, light reflected back off white Formica tabletops and the waitresses' starched aprons. A jukebox, its front dizzy with dissolving colors, was playing an old Willie Nelson song. Set into the wall in each booth was a menu of the jukebox offerings.

The three of them took a booth, Mary and Andi sitting across from Reuel. The tables were preset with knives and forks wrapped in paper napkins lying beside paper place mats scalloped around the edges. They were covered with join-the-dots puzzles, and objects buried in clouds, and differences between two cartoon pictures that looked the same but weren't.

Kids' games, Mary thought. Oh, well. . . .

As she was joining dots, a waitress came over to the booth to take their order. She and Reuel exchanged a few pleasant words, and they ordered burgers and coffee and chocolate milkshakes. After this, Mary went back to the place mat. The games were so easy, she couldn't imagine they'd hold a kid's interest for more than ten minutes. She
completed all of them in seven, while Andi and Reuel sat talking about trapping and poaching.

Mary wished they wouldn't, for it only took her back to the awful incident in Medicine Bow. Distracting herself with the place mat hadn't lasted long. She could hardly bear thinking about the coyote pups. If you thought about it too long, you could wind up thinking you had to do something.

Andi was talking about Harry Wine. “When he said he'd never lost anyone yet, what did you mean by ‘except one'?”

Reuel didn't answer right away. He had fitted himself back against the wall, one arm thrown across the top of the bloodred Naugahyde seat as his long fingers turned a matchbook cover around and around on its edge. “Young girl name of Atkins, Peggy Atkins. Can't recall exactly where she was from, somewhere back east—”

“That's the one!” Mary said to Andi.

Reuel frowned. “What one?”

Andi said, “In the paper I was reading. It was several years ago, wasn't it?”

“Three, maybe four. She'd come here several times to float the Salmon. She joined up with Wine's Outfitters.” His look at Andi was rueful. “I got a feeling it'd be better if I didn't tell you all this.”

Andi shrugged. “You might as well.”

Mary knew the shrug did not imply indifference, unless it was indifference about how she got the information. As long as she got it.

Reuel sighed and went on. “I think she was twenty, give a year, take a year—”

“Nineteen, according to the paper.”

“Yeah. I only saw her three or four times. Twice in here, having a meal with Harry. Pretty girl, real pretty. Once, they were sitting right here in this booth, as a matter of fact.”

Andi's eyes traveled the length and breadth of the booth, then to the floor, as if the ghostly imprint of Peggy Atkins clung to it.

“Now it just seemed to me they were some closer than captain and crew, you know—more'n just business. Not that that's surprising, knowing Harry. Anyway, the Atkins girl came here more than once that summer; she came the beginning and end of it, first part of June
and then September. Hell, she must've run every rapid the Salmon has to offer, seen every drop, every eddy.”

The waitress—whose name was Cookie—or that's what they called her—set down their shakes and coffee. Reuel thanked her.

Mary sat back with her chocolate shake, feeling left out, sorry she'd fooled with those puzzles meant for little kids. Of course, Andi was older, which was part of the reason Reuel seemed to be talking to Andi more than to both of them. But Reuel also seemed to respect Andi, for all his calling her “girl” and being sarcastic. Mary sucked the thick shake up through the straw and slumped on the seat.

“The paper said she drowned. How did she?” asked Andi.

Reuel said, “In an accident on the river. A strainer, I heard, or maybe it was a hole. I don't know the rapids all that much.” He looked at Andi, smiling slightly. “You know what that is—a strainer?”

Mary loved the way she simply disregarded this.

Reuel went on. “Harry claimed her kayak got trapped with her under it.”

Mary frowned. “What about the others? There must've been witnesses.”

“No witnesses. Two of them, two kayaks. No witnesses,” he repeated. “Not much use trying to find anyone in that rough water.”

Andi was ignoring her food and rolling the still-wrapped cutlery back and forth. She stopped. “You don't believe him. Why?”

“Because what I'd heard was, she'd had a lot of experience and was even in the expert category. That's higher than in your league of ‘advanced.' ”

The shot fell wide; Andi's expression didn't change. You couldn't goad her.

“Her mother said she was; it was her mother come to identify the body. I heard her dad was in the hospital having major surgery. So it was left up to her mom. Terrible.”

Mary winced. It made her think of Angela, dying way off in England. “Did the police investigate?”

“Oh, yeah. Some. But didn't find anything untoward. Coroner said she did drown. But some people sure wondered, a boatman experienced as Harry Wine is, how he could've let that happen.”

“Why?” asked Andi.

“Why what?”

“Why did he want her dead?”

“You're sure jumpin' way ahead of me.”

Andi was impatient. It was always as if time were her nemesis, trying to outrun her. “If you don't believe it was accidental, you're saying he made it happen. So I'm just asking. Why would he want her dead?”

Reuel slipped the cigar from its case, flicked it back and forth as he raised his eyebrows, silently soliciting their permission to smoke. Silently, they gave it, nodding. He lit the cigar, puffed in a few times, got the coal going. “I think there was more'n just rafting going on.” He pulled some change from his pocket and started fanning through the offerings on the jukebox. He found what he wanted, thumbed in a quarter.

A drift of music moved toward them slow as fog off a river. It was not country, not rock, and not new. Although Mary couldn't place it, the song sounded sadly familiar.

“. . . I'll come back to you some sunny day . . .”

Maybe the sadness came from the scratchy timber of the male vocalist or a scratchy recording. “What is that?”

“ ‘Mexicali Rose.' You wouldn't remember it. Must be fifty years old.” He gave her a look. “Then again, maybe you are too.”

“Wipe those big brown eyes and smile, dear . . .
Banish all those tears and please don't cry.”

As it wound down to
good-bye,
Andi set her chin in her hands and looked at Reuel. “I guess it makes you think of Her, doesn't it?”

Mary heard the capital
H
in that. It always surprised her afresh, how sentimental Andi was.

Reuel tapped ash from his cigar into his palm. “Yeah, I guess it does. You girls want to hear anything?” He was fishing another coin from his pocket.

Andi said, “Let's hear ‘Mexicali Rose' again.”

“You say so.” He smiled, slipped the quarter in.

Cookie had come over to wait on a man who'd just sat down in the booth behind them. They were laughing, and she took his order.

The scratchy-voiced singer started in again:

“Mexicali Rose, good-bye, dear . . .”

Andi listened intently, then asked, “Do you think you'll ever see her again?”

“Not likely.”

The man in the booth behind Reuel turned and said, “Reuel? Thought that was your voice.”

“Jack! Hey, come round here, there's some people I want you to meet.”

Jack picked up his coffee cup and eased in beside Reuel, nodding to both girls.

Reuel said, “This here is Jack Kite. You remember, I mentioned him? He's with Fish and Game.”

Andi asked him what he did in his job. “Try to keep poachers out of wildlife reserves, stop canned hunts, coax bears out of folks' backyards, that sort of thing.” He smiled.

“You're kidding?” Andi looked uncertain. “About the bears?”

“No, I'm not. Just got a black bear today out on the edge of town.”

“But how?”

“Shot him with a tranquilizer, got him up on the truck—with help, of course—hoped he wouldn't wake up before I got him home. His, not mine. One did wake up once in the bed of the truck.”

“What did you do?”

“Drove like hell.”

They all laughed.

Andi asked, “You said ‘canned hunt.' What's that?”

“Shooting animals inside cages or in some area been fenced off. People who run 'em charge big bucks. People who go to 'em are willing to pay. These ranches mail out brochures just like ads for any kind of vacation, but instead of pictures of swimming pools and staterooms,
you get pictures of cougars, tigers, antelope—even ones on the endangered species list.”

“Don't tell me
that's
legal.” Mary was shocked.

“No, it's not, but the rest is legal, providing you don't transport the animals over state lines.” Then he asked Reuel, “You hear about what happened over in Medicine Bow National Forest?”

Mary looked quickly at Andi, who didn't even blink.

“One of the government ADC guys—Animal Damage Control is what they call it—” He had to stop and laugh. “It appears—
appears—
this guy got mugged and tied to a tree with barbed wire.”

“Good lord,” said Reuel. “Did they find 'em, the guys that did it?”

Cookie came back and set a tuna sandwich and fries in front of Jack Kite, refilled their coffee cups, walked away.

“No. According to him, it was a motorcycle gang set on him. He says there were eight or nine and he was trying to get them out before they set fire to the whole damn forest or shot the place to hell and gone. All of them had handguns—”

What amazed Mary was that Bub had enough imagination to make this story up. She glanced at Andi, who sat with her arms tensed around her middle as if holding back something.

“So this agent, he said what could he do? They jumped him.”

“All of them?” Andi asked.

“More or less is the impression I got. The damned fool was lucky it wasn't those guys in
Deliverance
.”

“What's that?” asked Andi.

“Movie about some guys go fishing or hunting, and one of them—” Jack glanced at Reuel, the adults conferring silently over the heads of the children as to whether they're too young to deal with some especially salacious material. Apparently, they weren't.

Mary heaved a sigh of annoyance. “One gets it in his butt.”

Jack Kite looked shocked, said, “This ADC guy made the whole damned thing up, start to finish, is my guess. A motorcycle gang in Medicine Bow? Get real. What the hell would they be doing there? Besides, there weren't any tire tracks. And besides
that,
it was a female called the state police and told them this guy was tied up. Probably
some animal activists. They do weird things.” Jack took a bite of his sandwich, looking thoughtful.

Reuel looked from Mary to Andi. “Well. Imagine. You girls didn't chance to go through Medicine Bow, did you?”