Ghost River Jon Coon (free reads TXT) 📖

“Zack was right. The family still owns an old villa in Cozumel. Peterson is there with Rogers. So is the daughter.”

Paul bailed from the truck, slammed the door, and stomped off for the office.

“Wow. What’s up with that?” Bob asked. “He’s not a happy camper.”

“He had a blow-up with his mom last night. I’m afraid it was about me.”

“Not good,” Bob said.

“Right. And I’m clueless.”

“Welcome to the club: CPTPT, Clueless Parents of Tantrum-Prone Teens. That’s us.”

“What about Peterson? Can we bring him back, or do we have to question him down there?” Gabe asked, anxious to get back to easier topics like mayhem and murder.

“Bringing him back is going to be complicated. I made some calls yesterday. We’re going to have to convince a judge he’s guilty to go after him.”

“Then we’d better get busy,” Gabe said. “We may not have long.”

Gabe’s cell phone chimed as he read the weekly report. It was Carol, and she was upset. Gabe left his desk and walked outside for privacy.

“Paul called me to come and pick him up. He said he’d finished early and wanted to come home. The minute he got in the car, I got quite a lecture about kissing you. It wasn’t nice.” She began. “He’s demanded we leave and go home.”

“He made it clear to me this morning he doesn’t want me around. I’m supposed to butt out and leave you alone. What did you say to him?”

“I told him I still love his dad, but Charlie’s gone, and there’s nothing wrong with my caring for you. I didn’t tell Paul this, but I think being with you is what Charlie would want. The big thing is Paul doesn’t get to run my life.”

“And?”

“He said some very unkind things and slammed the porch door in my face. I’m surprised it’s still on the hinges.”

“That can’t go unanswered,” Gabe said.

“I know. He asked Zack to drive him into town. I let him go. Maybe tonight . . .”

“Okay, tonight.” I can hardly wait.

“Gabe, this is so hard. I don’t think I could make it without you. Thanks.” She was sobbing.

Before he could answer, she was gone.

It was dusk when Gabe returned to the camp. Carol was alone at the table.

“Where are the troops?” Gabe asked.

“Zack is still with Paul. I think he realized we needed some time apart and was trying to help. Mickey took my car, and she and Emily drove to the mall. It’s been a tough day. I needed some peace and quiet.” She picked up one of several moist tissues from the table and blotted her eyes. “What can I do with him, Gabe? He’s making my life miserable.” She got up, knelt by Gabe’s chair, and sobbed on his arm.

Even dogs who play with skunks aren’t this much grief, he thought.

Gabe held her and said, “This has to stop. If I talk with him, it may not end well, but this has to stop.”

“Not tonight, please. I don’t think I can handle anymore shouting.” She felt limp against him like she was melting and there was nothing left. “I’m going to bed before they come back. Tell them I have a headache.”

He kissed her hair and was angry. No kid has the right to be this much trouble. “I have to leave early because we’re diving tomorrow. Call me. I’ll come back as soon as I get out of the water.”

“Thanks. I’m so sorry to add all this drama to your life. No wonder you’ve stayed single.” She kissed his cheek and went to her bedroom.

CHAPTER 22

0800

The River

The river was still at flood level with the current ripping. Gabe sat on the worn wooden bench preparing to dive. Barges and cranes worked to pull debris from the fallen span. Gabe would recover the truck passenger’s body, and then one of the big cranes would lift the big rig off the bottom. A huge drop hammer, like a pile driver, waited to start busting the concrete span when the debris was cleared. Gabe had insisted on recovering the body before the truck was moved. Clayton Mayweather was waiting, and Mayweather had answers. It was a conversation Gabe was counting on.

The crane barge was anchored in place with four massive anchors. The crane cable, with a wrecking ball and hook attached, was lowered beside the barge, to the bottom for a downline, and the workboat tied off alongside the barge. The dive-com radio sat on a bench, and the umbilical carefully laid in a figure eight on deck. It was a familiar setting for Gabe as he pulled on boots rather than fins. He would dive wearing a Kirby Morgan helmet borrowed from one of the McFarland divers rather than his usual Aga mask. He might well have been back twenty years and a hundred miles offshore, diving the oil rigs.

Jim helped hold the heavy helmet while Gabe eased it over his nose and down onto the mating flange. Jim closed and locked the clamp, then when Gabe stood snapped the helmet wire tie downs into the parachute-like harness with gate clips.

Gabe turned on the air and answered Jim’s request for a com check, “Loud and clear. Let’s go.”

Three steps to the edge of the barge and a ten-foot jump. Gabe pulled his way over to the crane line.

“Descending.”

“Roger that.”

Gabe held for a moment, prayed his prayer, dumped air, and began to drop. The strong current tugged him and spun him on the way down. He held on to the crane cable until his shoulders ached and inched his way to the bottom. Then his boot caught the railing. He dropped and flattened himself against the bridge railing. He adjusted the helmet’s airflow, took two deep breaths, added a small amount of air to the dry suit, and said, “On bottom. I’m on the bridge deck, Jim. Even with all this weight, the currents a bear.”

“Roger that. On the bridge deck,” Jim’s voice, a bit robotic, responded.

Without the sixty-pound weight harness, ankle weights, and heavy helmet