Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [81]
“Harrison, you’ve got to bring her in,” he said.
“I know that,” I shouted a little harsher than I meant to. I wasn’t sure if I was up to the task, but I didn’t really have a choice. I couldn’t exactly ask Markum to swim out there and get her himself.
I reached behind me and retrieved the rope I kept on board to tie the kayak up while I went exploring some of the Gunpowder River’s coves. I was going to have to get a new tether after this. There was no way I’d ever be able to use it again once this was over. After I had the rope in my hand, I wondered how I was going to tie it to the body securely enough to pull her to shore.
Markum called out, “I hate to bring this up, but you’re drifting away at a pretty good clip. You can stare at it all you want to, but it’s not going to get any easier.”
I hated it, but I knew he was right. Judging from the general area where I’d found her, if I waited much longer, I might not be able to pull her weight through the water back upstream. And if she got away from me and drifted swiftly down the river, I’d be haunted by the memory that I’d let it happen. Where could I attach the rope, though? Should I tie it to her hand? I shuddered at the thought. No way. How about her leg? That was too gruesome to even consider. There was a belt on her dress, maybe it would hold until I got her to shore. I hastily pulled my rope through it and tied it off. My hand had brushed against her waist by accident, and I nearly dropped the rope as the body bobbed gently from my touch. With a grim determination, I started paddling backward toward the steps of the complex.
I’d covered less than a dozen feet when my load suddenly got lighter, Blast it all. The belt had come off and I could see the woman drifting downstream again. I paddled back toward her, not daring to look at Markum.
For some reason I was furious with him, probably because he was safely on land and I was wrestling with this body.
I approached her again, then I saw to my horror that when the belt had come loose, it had somehow flipped her over in the water.
Staring down at a stranger would have been bad enough, but I knew this woman and knew her all too well.
It was Becka Lane, my ex-girlfriend. Her lustrous blonde hair was fanned out around her head in the water like a halo, and the peaceful expression on her face looked more like she was sleeping than dead. Her dress had bunched up near her waist when the belt had come loose, and I had to fight the urge to pull the errant material back down over her legs.
“Harrison,” Markum yelled from the shore. “You have to get moving.”
I ignored him.
Poor Becka. What had led her to this? I hadn’t seen her in nearly a month, but I still felt as though she were a part of my life. We’d gone from dating to animosity to friendship, and I was going to miss not having her around. She had become a presence in my life, and her death was going to leave a hole that might never be filled. In my mind, I could suddenly hear the essence of her laughter and feel the soft tenderness in her touch as I stared down at her.
I did my best to choke back my emotions. I couldn’t grieve yet. I had a job to do. Trying not to think about what I was doing, I tied the tope around Becka’s chest I nearly fell in as I pushed the rope under her shoulder blades, but I managed to steady myself at the last second.
It was miserable towing her back to the steps, but somehow I managed it. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tried to speak to Markum.
“It’s Becka,” I managed between sobs as I climbed out of the kayak and slumped onto the lowest exposed step just above the waterline. Becka’s body was tugging insistently against my boat