Blue Smoke and Murder Read Free

the knife. She hoped she never would. “You don’t fight the water, you just float with it. That’s why everyone wears the harness you’re always complaining about.”
    “It’s too narrow across the shoulders.”
    “Your dad’s is worse, but you don’t hear him complaining.”
    Faroe smiled. The float harness was more comfortable than body armor, but he wasn’t going to point that out.
    “Mom would have enjoyed this,” Lane said, watching the river with eyes that were just like his father’s.
    “Not nearly nine months pregnant, she wouldn’t,” Faroe said dryly. “She was real clear on that. Wanted us to do the male bonding thing while she did the female gestating thing.”
    “Hope she waits to have it until we get home.”
    “She’s not due for almost a month.”
    “She’s huge.”
    “Don’t tell her that,” Faroe said.
    They were the last raft in their party to take on Lava Falls. While the other rafts entered the current with whoops and shouts, Lane and Faroe followed Jill to their own small craft. They sat on the inflated gunwale and swished their feet in the water, making sure their gritty sandals were well rinsed before swinging their legs aboard. Then both passengers went to work on the straps securing their individual float harness.
    “Ready?” Jill asked.
    They answered with a thumbs-up.
    Lane had the front of the raft, Faroe the back. Jill sat on the hard rowing bench in the center, facing forward, oars poised above the water. The rapids ahead was clearing of other rafters. She watched the river intently, correcting the angle of the raft as she entered the current. The approach to Lava Falls was crucial.
    Do it right and get an adrenaline ride.
    Do it wrong and suck rocks.
    The current picked up, shoving the raft off to one side. She dipped her left oar and stroked once, correcting the line. The front of the raft started to buck gently as it picked up the first of the waves. She glanced quickly at her passengers, giving a last check to life vests. Sometimes Lane was careless about his. He resented the confinement.
    The roar of the coming cataract was like a jet taking off.
    “You buckled up, Lane?” she shouted.
    He turned toward her, showing that he had pulled two of the three straps tight across his chest. The loose end of the third strap dangled free, eighteen inches of woven fabric ending with a tough plastic buckle.
    “Fix it,” she shouted, nodding toward the trailing strap.
    He looked down, saw the problem, and took one hand off the safety grip to tuck the buckle up out of the way. The strap was stiff, and stubborn, which was how it had worked free in the first place.
    The front of the raft plunged into the first hole in the water, then pitched up in the air like a rearing horse. Cold water sprayed Lane as the raft sideslipped. He gave a rebel yell of delight.
    Grinning, Jill worked the oars, port ahead, starboard reverse, snapping the raft back into the correct line. The shift in direction and momentum caught Lane off balance. He slammed forward, bounced off the round, slick flotation tube, and was mostly airborne when the second swell caught the raft.
    He shot over the side and into the roaring cataract.
    Faroe leaned out and grabbed, but Lane’s dark hair was snatched away from his grasp by the boiling current. The slick raft was faster than the leg-dragging swimmer.
    “Float with it!” Jill shouted to Lane. “Don’t fight it!”
    She marked the spot where she’d seen him go in, then leaned hard on both oars, abandoning the carnival ride for a back eddy on the right-hand shore. The raft shot forward, angled off the current, and slowed as she caught the eddy behind a big bolder. She pinned the raft’s nose against the back of the boulder and stared at the cataract upstream of them.
    “There!” Faroe said, pointing.
    Lane’s red life vest winked against the frothing water. He lifted his hand and waved.
    Jill let out a long breath.
    The river sucked him under again for