Where the River Ends - Charles Martin [92]
“Good. I actually slept.”
The yellowish tint of her skin had receded in her cheeks to give way to some color I’d not seen in a while. She stood, placing her hand on my shoulder. “You two talk, I’m going to take a bath.”
Bob pointed down the hall. “Towels are in that closet. And be careful, the water’s hot.”
She closed the door and I heard water running. A second later, she called for me. “Doss?”
Her tone of voice didn’t say, “I need you,” but rather sounded like “Hey, come take a look at this,” or, “I want something.” Live with a designer long enough and your ear can pick these things out. I pushed open the door and she sat chin-deep in one of those big cast-iron, ivory tubs with huge lion’s feet. The edges rolled over the side and the back was high and made a pretty good headrest. Her left arm rested on the edge. She smiled, but didn’t bother to open her eyes. “When we get home…I want one of these.”
I felt the temperature of the water and said, “Deal.”
When I walked back into the kitchen, Bob was hand-feeding his eggs to Rocket. “Thanks for what you did. I’d be in a mess if you hadn’t come across us.”
He nodded while Rocket licked the palm of his hand. “Rocket likes his salted. Petey won’t touch them unless I load them up with cheddar cheese.”
“How is it that you showed up when you did?”
“Gus.” He shrugged. “I’ve known him a long time. He was kind to me when others were not.”
“That’d be Gus.”
He continued, “He knows I know the river and, given my occupation, I’m able to cover it, end to end, more quickly than most.”
“Occupation?”
“I fly…a bit.”
I looked more closely and put two and two together. “That was you at the gas station, in the rain?”
He laughed. “Yeah, thanks for the push. Gus called me the next day. Asked me to take a bird’s-eye view of you from time to time. Make sure you were getting along. Wasn’t too hard to spot a mango-colored canoe.”
“Guess that explains why you’ve buzzed us every day for a week.”
He nodded. “Once I clued in to how fast you were paddling, I could guess your progress to within a mile or so. You paddle well.”
“Practice.”
“That’s what I hear.”
More news about us. “I was afraid of that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know Fisher’s?”
Fisher’s General Store was a public-access boat ramp on the Florida side. They sold beer, soda, candy bars, crickets, worms, life jackets, whatever somebody might need on the river. A handy little place. They also had public bathrooms, which weren’t the cleanest in the world but when you’re guiding folks, especially women, who’ve never squatted in the woods, it makes for a helpful stop. It was a routine stop on one of our legs downriver.
“I grew up guiding on this river, so I’ve been in a time or two.”
“I stopped in to deliver a bill to the guy who owns the place. He owns a farm west of here. Anyway, these four guys were milling around out front, being a little too loud. Between their tone of voice and what Gus had told me, I had a feeling they were up to no good. So yesterday afternoon I took off and started looking south of Pinckney’s.”
“You did all that based on a tone of voice?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice. Once I caught sight of you, they weren’t too far behind. The White Oak has a runway I’ve used once or twice. I set her down, made my way to the river and you came to me.”
“Any idea who they are?”
He shook his head. “Four idiots looking for trouble.”
“Why’d they choose us?”
“Hyenas always target the weak.”
“How do you know they’re not circling the house now?”
“They could be, but”—he smiled—“I highly doubt it.”
“Speaking of house…” I turned in my seat. “Where are we?”
“You remember the river?”
I shrugged. “Sort of hard to forget.”
“A few miles south of Trader’s.”
My heart sank. “South of the powerline?”
“You do know the river.” He nodded. “Two miles.” I did the math. We had just lost sixteen miles. Or rather, had them tacked back on. Now we were every bit of forty-six to Cedar