“A handful of grande dames have run the whole Christmas celebration until recently. Now a few people are bucking the dragons and coming up with new and interesting ideas. The return of the flotilla met a lot of resistance because those biddies had killed it back in the 1990s. They didn’t care whether it was a good idea or a bad one. It wasn’t their idea. Kathleen was telling me about it in the beauty parlor just last week.”
“Did she name names?” I asked with as much subtly as I could muster.
“Clarissa Olson, for one. She’s opposed to anything that doesn’t up the value of her many properties, and as far as I know, she doesn’t own anything on the river. Ironic that Clarissa went in the river with Kathleen.”
The driver was right about that. “Do you know Clarissa Olson?” I asked.
“Nope, and I don’t want to. Nothing stands in the way of her getting what she wants, or at least that’s the word on the street. I steer clear of bulldozers when I see one coming.”
We were approaching the rescue site and soon our talkative driver would be gone. “Did you hear about Bart Crenshaw’s tumble down the stairs at Clarissa’s house?” I asked.
She chuckled. “I did. I won a three-hundred-dollar pot that Clarissa would get even with Bart before Christmas was over. It was all over town that he dumped her.”
“I was at the house and Clarissa was nowhere close to the stairs when he took a header down them.” I had to be honest.
“Doesn’t mean she wasn’t involved. When we made our bets, I was smart enough to make the distinction that Clarissa would be nearby or implicated if Bart was hurt. That’s the premise I won the bet on.” She laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t do something to the stairs to guarantee he’d tumble. I would have won more if he’d broken his neck.”
Tinkie and I exchanged horrified looks. Betting on someone’s death was unseemly. Amusing but unseemly.
“What about the other accidents around town?” Tinkie asked. “Is Clarissa involved?”
The driver shrugged. “Who knows. Tulla Tarbutton and Bricey Presley aren’t even in the same category of cougar that Clarissa is. I find it hard to believe she’d waste her time in revenge on them. But you never know.”
She pulled up to the parking lot. “That’ll be five dollars.”
Tinkie gave her a twenty. “Keep the change. Could we have your number in case we need another ride?”
“Sure.”
Tinkie programmed it into her phone. Dallas Sweeney, our driver, was a valuable asset to have.
We watched her pull away. “That girl knows more about what’s going on in Columbus than anyone else,” Tinkie said. “We’ll call her again.”
“Roger that,” I said as we were hailed from the dock area by Jerry Goode.
17
“Ladies, I have some questions,” Goode called out.
“And so do we,” Tinkie sang back to him, earning a smile.
We met in the middle of the dock, and Jerry graciously gave us an update right off the bat. “Tell Sheriff Peters that Clarissa and Bart Crenshaw are both out of the hospital.”
“Any sign of Kathleen?” Tinkie asked. She tried not to sound hopeful, but I could read it in her expression.
Jerry shook his head. “She simply disappeared. She should have washed up right around here on the shore where you gals were looking yesterday. The current pulls everything from the river to the right and deposits it along the west bank there where you were looking.”
“Why would she sink so fast?” I asked. “Clarissa was able to stay afloat for a few minutes at least.” It hadn’t taken Coleman long to leap in and grab her.
“Maybe the clothes she was wearing. Some things absorb water more quickly. The weight then would drag her down.”
“She had on a poly-filled vest and a cotton sweater.” I recalled because I liked the snowman on her red sweater and her hat. They had been happy garments. “Blue jeans and what looked like hiking boots.”
“That could have sunk her,” Jerry said with a frown. “They’re going to drag the river to see if they can find the body.”
“Has her next of kin been notified?” I asked.
“She doesn’t have anyone. Kathleen came to Columbus awhile back. She’s made friends, but there was no next of kin listed on her medical forms. Just Darla Lofton, who had her medical power of attorney.”
So Darla was both Kathleen’s friend and adopted family. No wonder Kathleen was there all the time.
“I can’t believe she’s dead.” Tinkie stared out at the river where the sun had just begun to sparkle on the water. “This is just wrong.”
“Believe me, I’m hoping she turns up,” Goode said. “Maybe she was bumped in the head and floated in to land somewhere and can’t remember who she is.”
Jerry Goode was weaving a complicated fairy tale, but it was one with potentially a happy ending, so I didn’t say a word.
“Do you really think that’s possible?” Tinkie was grasping at straws.
“Maybe,” Goode said. “Let’s focus on that. Better to expect a good outcome than a sad one.”
I glanced at him. I would never have taken him for a Pollyanna type, but he seemed genuinely saddened by Kathleen’s fate. “Jerry, has anyone ascertained what went wrong with the boat or how the accident happened?”
“We had a diver inspect the bottom of the boat and the propeller was badly bent. Looks like the boat hit a partially sunken log.”
“So it was an accident.” I sighed. That was a load off my mind. “And what about how both Kathleen and Clarissa went over the rail?”
Jerry shook his head. “Mixed bag. Some say Clarissa stumbled and took Kathleen, and some say Kathleen was knocked off-balance when the boat lurched and bumped into Clarissa.”
“And what does Clarissa say?” I asked.
“That Kathleen is a clumsy ox and knocked her over the
