She sat down next to him and put her hand on his arm. “How can they do that?”
“I gave them no choice.”
“You did everything they asked for, served on every committee they asked you to, and churned out papers like a madman.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but those people don’t give a rat’s ass about the faculty.”
“What will we do now?”
“I’ve got a year to find another job. Don’t worry; a criminologist can always get work in a town run by corrupt politicians.”
Beth looked around the kitchen. “Will we have to leave this house?”
He took her hand. “Not unless you want to.”
After Beth retreated upstairs to her studio, Carlyle finished cleaning the kitchen. He snuffed out the candles in the dining room and walked out to the front yard. As he approached the barn, a dark four-door sedan cruised slowly past their driveway.
Inside the barn, he threw his rafting gear, helmet, dry suit, pile jacket, two pair of socks, and river boots into a mesh bag. A Spyderco knife, throw bag, protein bar, and Blast whistle got tucked into a small waterproof satchel.
Outside the barn, he checked the gas gauge in his truck, entered the house, and locked the front door behind him.
The phone rang just as he turned out the lights in the kitchen. “Carlyle? It’s Ryan Marshall. Listen to this. I managed to line up a group to run the gorge tomorrow. Forty-eight people.”
“Good. This will help keep your permit valid. You better use it before Raines decides she’s had enough of you. Got a crew ready to go?”
“Betts, Nash, and two guys I borrowed from Burton. He says you still can’t interview them.”
“I won’t even ask them what time it is.” Carlyle hesitated for several seconds. “Either of them from that short list I gave you?”
“Both. Who are they anyway?”
“Guys I’ve heard are decent guides.”
“I’ve got five boats and all the equipment sitting on the trailer outside my front door right now. But I can’t do this without you. DEC and the state police say you’re the reason I’m still in business.”
“I’ll be there at seven tomorrow morning.” Marshall hung up. Carlyle stared at the woods surrounding his house.
Carlyle got a pot of coffee ready for the morning, shut off the lights, and wrote a note for Beth. He reminded himself to move those books down to the basement when he got home tomorrow.
Fifteen
Monday
Because traffic was backed up on the Northway, Carlyle drove straight to the put-in. He got out of his truck, pulled on his dry suit, grabbed his gear, and found Marshall at the top of the slope overlooking the basin. “Where’s everyone?”
“Nash is down below, getting our crews prepped. Betts is taking a piss, and we’re waiting on two more guides.”
A rusted-out ’73 jeep, with a busted headlight and Bondo on both side panels, slid into a parking space. Two men Carlyle didn’t recognize threw their rafting gear out the back hatch.
“These our other two guides?” Carlyle said.
“On the left, Al Sayers. The other’s Dave Sutcliffe.”
“You know anything about these two?”
“They’re breathing and they come cheap.”
“What else?”
“The tall dude, Sayers, works at the ski mountain. He’s a gofer on the equipment crew. Sutcliffe’s been around boats forever. But don’t expect him to say much.”
Betts appeared out of the woods wearing a new dry suit and a high-float life vest instead of his ragged squirt boat PFD.
Marshall punched Betts’s life vest. “You expecting to swim today?”
“Don’t give me that. The gauge climbed to nine feet last night. Another hour from now, it’ll hit flood stage. You sure you want to go through with this?”
“If you want to back out,” Marshall said, “do it now.”
“Have you looked at the river? It’s fucking insane.”
“When did you turn pussy?”
Betts looked over at Sutcliffe. “Hey, you think we should take these people through the gorge today?”
Sutcliffe shrugged. “These idiots pay good money to get scared shitless. Who am I to ruin their fun?”
“The Gorge is going to look like a washing machine,” Betts said. “How are inexperienced people supposed to handle something like that?”
“You want to run back to mommy,” Marshall said, “just let me know.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Marshall handed each guide a list of the people in their boats. “Listen up. I’m leading us through the gorge. Alex will be right behind me. Sutcliffe and Sayers follow him. Nash runs sweep, as usual.”
Sayers stared at the meadow. “Where are the other outfitters?”
“It’s Monday,” Marshall said. “We’re the only company that does weekdays.”
“You’re going out there with no backup?” Sayers said.
“You want police protection or something?”
“I was hoping you’d pay us before we took off. Your safety record’s in the toilet right now.”
“Do your job and you’ll get paid, same as everyone.” He looked over at Carlyle. “Who do you want to ride with?”
“Surprise me.”
“You better go with me, then,” Marshall said.
“Boss?” Sutcliffe said. “I’m a person short. He can come in my boat.”
“Fine,” Marshall said. “I’m sick of being spied on.”
Carlyle and Sutcliffe grabbed their paddles and personal gear and began picking their way down the path toward the basin. “You sure you don’t mind me looking over your shoulder?” Carlyle said.
“I did you a favor,” Sutcliffe said. “You don’t want to be trailblazing through these rapids today.”
When they reached the basin, Sutcliffe marched up to a couple of burly guys sitting on his raft. “You two, up front. The rest of you, three on each side.” He gave his clients the standard safety speech. “Any questions? Nobody’s going to ask me anything? It’s your funeral, then. Let’s take off.”
After each guide took his crew for a spin around the basin, Marshall raised his right arm, the signal that they were ready to go.
Sutcliffe yelled, “Forward one stroke!” The boat edged away from the trees surrounding the basin.
