Serial Waves

By Jill Pritchett

The New River Gorge in West Virginia draws rafters, hikers, rock climbers, and adrenaline junkies from all over the world. But this year there is a killer among them.
Bonnie Franca, adventurer and whitewater guide, thinks her worst problem is her amorous admirer and fellow guide, Dwight David Dennison III. But another problem haunts her. Should she quit guiding after a harrowing incident on the river shattered her confidence? Guiding on the New River helped bring her back from past tragedies in her life, and her entire world revolves around the star called WestVirginiaWhitewater. But, as she debates the confusion in her life, an ominous disaster seizes her attention. A fellow WWW guide and his customer are the victims of a fatal rafting accident. But is it actually an accident?
WWW is rocked to its core with the deaths of John Boy and Sally Miller, but the accident is deemed just that—an accident. Suspicious from the beginning, Bonnie is determined to discover the real reason behind the horrifying incident. Video of rafting trips is standard with all rafting companies, but what the startling video of this doomed trip reveals just creates more frightening questions. Skeptical and baffled by the actions of the guide, Bonnie is determined to find the answers before a series of lawsuits puts WWW’s destiny in jeopardy.
Then Veronica Bailey, the curvy, seductive attorney who was once Dwight’s lover, becomes a huge distraction. Just when Bonnie is starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, she and Dwight could make a serious go of it, Veronica is just as determined to get him back.
Even as she attempts to solve the mysterious river deaths, there are other discoveries in store for Bonnie and Dwight, and these may just seal the future of their relationship one way or another.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Pritchett
• Release date: May 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370274185

Jill Pritchett

Jill Pritchett’s first short story was published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and she is a member of the Mystery Writers of America. A professional watercolorist, Jill finds that the careers of writing and painting complement each other.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Sally Miller stared at the placid, tea- colored water of West Virginia’s New River and shivered. Looking up, she searched through the treetops for the sun. Golden rays streamed down in a haphazard pattern, stippling light and shadow on the sand. But nothing could reassure Sally. The needle pricks of fear that had tormented her all morning were actually heightened by the sight of the river. A remnant of ancient streams in ancient mountains, it meandered through a deep, wide gorge. Ironically, the New was one of the oldest rivers in the world. Here, at the put-in, it was flat-surfaced and benign, with sunlit water-diamonds dancing across its surface. But Sally knew what lay ahead. She had seen the photos. Of course, so had all her friends, and they were bursting with excitement. The four college girls had driven five hours from Ohio for the thrill of a whitewater rafting trip. And they were finally here! Sally had been accepted into the Tri-Sigs. It was the sorority on campus, and the girls were very exclusive. Never mind that she was admitted in the last semester of her junior year. Never mind that her family couldn’t afford this quest of hers. She had a night job at Burger King to pay for the dues and the necessary Delt accessories that proved she was one of them. This was important if you were going to get anywhere in life. And she was going somewhere. She was the first person in her family to go to college, and Sally needed to fit in because she had plans--she was going to be a nurse. She wanted to help people, and the Tri-Sigs could help her get there. So she’d allowed herself to be talked into this whitewater trip by her new sorority sisters--and now she regretted it. Even the bus ride down to the river was scary. A bus laden with noisy rafters barely managed a narrow, twisting road that descended into the depths of the gorge. Staring out the bus window, she had watched the steep cliff drop away, and wished she were back safe in her dorm.

Sally took a deep breath, grabbed her paddle, and summoned the tenacity that had gotten her into college. She wasn’t a strong swimmer, but, watching her smiling sorority sisters, she arranged her face to accommodate the majority, and stepped into the raft. With hands that shook, she checked the buckles on her lifejacket and helmet. Her girlfriends, plus three men from New York, had claimed the tube seats at the front of the boat, so Sally felt some relief when she was able to sit beside the guide. It seemed to be the safest place—right beside the whitewater guide. Besides, he was really cute. Sally studied him as he helped them practice their paddle strokes. He was tanned, with tight muscles and razor sharp eyes that took in everyone in his boat with a confident sweep. His name was John. Sally smiled and decided that this could turn out to be a fun trip after all.

She dipped her paddle into the river and looked around. The high walls of the gorge were dressed in bright green. It was early June in the mountains, and the leaves had yet to turn into the rich, dark greens of summer. Trees at the river’s edge dipped their branches gracefully into the water as a mallard and her ducklings swam along the shore. The other rafters floated around Sally’s boat, practicing their paddle techniques. They laughed and joked. Some had squirt guns and made war on the unwary. She practiced her paddle strokes as they proceeded down the river, but she had never become as confident as the others. They sported wild grins, the air around them electric with excitement. Sally put on her brave face, paddled hard, and, when they encountered little riffles, tried to make her screams sound more thrilled than scared.

She’d managed to keep it up all morning, and could even feel herself relax a little. That is, until after the lunch break. That’s when their guide, John, seemed to change. They had pulled the rafts out at a narrow beach, and the river guides had picked a large, flat rock on which to spread out a lunch of ham biscuits, pasta salad, lemonade, and chocolate chip cookies. Wet rafters sat on logs to eat and laugh and talk. Sally took a seat opposite their guide, hoping for some conversation. John had been jovial at first, but, by the time the guides were cleaning up the picnic, Sally noticed something different. John had become quiet and withdrawn. He seemed preoccupied even as they started paddling down the river. His blue eyes had lost their luster, as if they were turned inward. He called the rapids all right, but Sally could tell that something in him had inexplicably changed.

And the river changed, too. The canyon walls narrowed, the current roared faster, and the whitewater became violent waves crashing into the boat. The raft, its bow high in the air, sliced through a huge wave and plunged down into another. Sally began to panic. She tried to paddle, but the rapids were so big that she just bounced around in the boat, grabbing onto anything she could find, as they slammed into walls of whitewater towering above them. More than once, Sally found herself on the floor of the raft, and, even though she wanted to stay there, she pulled herself up and continued to paddle. She hadn’t wanted to come, but she was here now, and had no choice but to continue down this river. Besides, her girlfriends were having a great time, laughing and flirting with the guys from New York. What could she do but keep her brave face on? But it seemed to Sally that she’d struggled down this river her entire life. Silently, she prayed that it would all end soon.

We’re . . . uh . . . about to enter . . . Double Z Rapid, folks, so . . . uh . . . listen up, the guide intoned. They drifted toward an awesome roar, and Sally felt her stomach lurch. John’s voice faltered; then he slowly began to tell the crew how they would enter the rapid. Sally couldn’t listen. Instead, she focused on John’s face. It had become slack somehow. Abruptly, he stopped talking and his eyes grew large, showing the whites. Something was wrong!

Sally glanced around at her friends in the raft. As usual, no one paid any attention to John. Oh, they would paddle, but the girls and guys mainly flirted, relying on John to get them through the whitewater. Now, at this crucial moment, they were talking to each other or gawking at the rapid straight ahead. Sally gripped her paddle and began to shake. The rapid was straight ahead, and John was doing—nothing! No, not nothing—he stood with his paddle in the air while his mouth silently opened and closed.

And no one was paddling!

The crew finally snapped to attention as they drifted down the muddy tongue, and into the mouth of the rapid. But it was too late. The raft hit a rock with a shock and spun sideways. Sally grabbed a strap of webbing and just had time to scream before the boat rolled over a small ledge and flipped, spilling all the passengers. Instantly, she was in the river. For a moment she popped up to the surface, but there was no surface. Sally pushed her hand above her head, felt it bounce back and realized that she was under the inverted raft. Then, in the shadows under the tubes, she saw him. John’s eyes bulged, seeing nothing as he clawed at her and grabbed her wrist. She gulped a thin breath of air before she was pulled under the surface. She pushed at his face and tried to pull away, but John held her tight. Even as she fought, the river kept bashing, bashing her against the rocks—always underwater.

Now her lungs began to burn. No! Not me! Not now! She kicked at John and landed her heel square on his jaw. Shocked, he released her wrist, and she frantically fought her way to the surface. Buoyed by her lifejacket, Sally gulped air. All around her lay water, foam, and waves. Again, she felt him grab her. He had her ankle this time. Together they hit another rock and, once more, Sally was underwater. She kicked and kicked at him. She could see the surface just above her: a watery glimpse of light. She hadn’t much air in her lungs, but maybe it was enough. Kicking hard with all her remaining strength, this time she connected with his groin and broke John’s hold.

YES! She clawed her way to the surface. I’m going to make it!

Sally kicked hard against the current, but she was not moving. She was being sucked down though a long, watery tube. Suddenly, she felt her body forced under a rock, pushed there against something strangely soft. The current held her there, crushing her even as she fought, even as she tore at the rock with her fingernails, even as she released her last, final breath of air.

CHAPTER 2

I can’t stand it anymore! I’m going to get a facelift! Bonnie Franca peered into the mirror pulling her cheeks toward her ears. My God, that’s better! Getting no rise from Kelly, and wishing she could tell her friend the truth, she decided to try again. With that windfall from Archie’s life insurance policy, I can afford to spend some money on myself. After all, I’ve been investing in the house, the barn—everything except me. I owe it to myself. Our profession’s crawling with kids, and they look younger every year. Bonnie glanced at Kelly Williams typing obsessively on her computer, an activity that had kept her preoccupied for the last few weeks.

You’re spending that money like you had your own coal mine, Kelly said, pausing for a few beats. Besides, I told you not to buy a mirror that magnifies that much. Her own youthful face, hidden by a fall of brown bangs and covered in large owl-like glasses, was still glued to the computer screen. She was short and sturdy, hiding her frame in jeans and a faded blue sweatshirt—normal attire for the manager of one of the top outfitters at the New River Gorge. The WestvirginiaWhiteWater office, conveniently located just off busy Route 19, was quiet except for the two women. A few cars crunched the gravel outside, but the raft trips had yet to return from the river, and the grounds around WWW’s headquarters were, for the moment, serene.

Bonnie pushed herself away from the offending mirror and turned her attention to Kelly. Are you preparing next week’s schedule? she asked, leaning over Kelly’s shoulder to peer at the computer screen.

Yeah, and it’s taking a lot of juggling. Kelly persisted to pound the keys.

Bonnie returned the mirror to its normal side and continued to study her reflection. She didn’t see her deep brown eyes, her high cheekbones, or flawless nose. Instead, she saw fine creases that radiated out from the corners of her eyes, and deeper lines etching her mouth. Her eyes were no longer wide and innocent as before in her youth. Now they revealed a depth of maturity that she didn’t feel. Have you got me down for any trips? At my age, I need to plan well ahead of time.

Okay, Kelly said, turning to face her. You’ve got my attention.

I’ve been thinking . . . I’m getting a bit old to be taking screaming customers down the river. It’s a lot of responsibility at my age.

Damn! I missed your birthday. That’s what this is all about, right?

Nope, I canceled my birthdays--but, mine’s January seventeenth. Nice try, though.

Kelly’s owl-eyes blinked as she regarded her friend.

Bonnie’s tan legs were crossed Indian style on the narrow office chair. She pushed away from the mirror and ran her fingers through short-cropped blonde hair. Even with that weathered, river-guide look, she appeared elfin. Liquid brown eyes and olive skin hinted at her Italian heritage. Her slight build was fortified with river-guide muscles hidden under baggy shorts and a pink tee-shirt with the WWW logo. A faded pair of Teva sandals testified to numerous river trips.

Maybe I’m just seeing too many wrinkles, Bonnie conceded, but, I’ve got to admit that I’m starting to feel my age.

Oh, brother, Kelly said, and turned back to her work. Then she whirled back around to face Bonnie. You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?

Well . . . I’ve toyed with the idea. There, I’ve said it! Feeling the power of her words gain momentum, Bonnie braved on. With the insurance money that I got from Archie’s death—bless his philandering heart—I don’t have to work as much. I can slow down a bit.

Kelly’s eyes opened wide, sending her glasses down the bridge of her nose. Well, stop it! Why, you’re one of the best guides I’ve got. You’re certainly the best female guide at WWW. I need you. Before Bonnie could protest, Kelly pounced again. I need a role model for my gal guides, and you’re great with the trainees. I NEED you!

Bonnie winced. It’s a lot of responsibility. And I’m not as strong as I used to be.

Oh, stop it! Kelly stood up, her dark ponytail bouncing as she scowled at Bonnie. You know what it takes to get down that river, and strength has less to do with it than knowledge and experience. Why, you’re more skilled that some of the men on my roster!

The sound of a large engine and the squeal of brakes suddenly invaded the office. Kelly grabbed Bonnie’s hand, pulled her out the office door and onto a wooden porch sporting a long row of rocking chairs. You’ve gotta get over this midlife crisis. Just look around. Kelly gestured at the WWW complex, less than a mile from the New River Gorge Bridge.

Bonnie squinted in the bright sunlight and took in the familiar surroundings. Identical cedar board-and-batten buildings with green metal roofs were scattered across a broad expanse of manicured lawn. A wide parking lot paved with red-dog gravel (a sienna-colored waste product from the area’s coal mining industry) separated the office building from the circular open-air pavilion where rafters gathered for their river trips. Wet passengers, clutching paddles and lifejackets, scrambled out of a long, blue bus parked in front of the pavilion. Painted on the side of the bus was a design of standing waves that formed the WWW logo. Rafters laughed and talked enthusiastically about their trip. Soon they would gather at the pavilion to drink volumes of beer and watch videos of their braving the whitewater. The whine of an airplane engine made Bonnie look up. Five Dollar Frank’s little red Aztec was tourist-toting high above the gorge. The trip now cost $25 per person, but the small plane remained a familiar sight.

Now, girlfriend, Kelly said, get over your midlife crisis, or whatever this is. You know you’d miss all this. It’s been your home for—how many years?

I dunno . . . eight? Ten? Bonnie said, wistfully. WWW was her home away from home. She loved everything about the place: the cozy, casual staff; the enthusiastic rafters who were always thrilled to be there; the deep, wild gorge and all it had to offer. She tried to remember her first trip down the river, but it was only a memory of white foam, big waves, and lots of adrenaline. Her memories after guide training were different, though. They were solid memories that she kept close to her heart. Bonnie had fallen in love with whitewater from the first river trip she took, and every rafting trip thereafter just intensified that feeling. During guide training, when the weather was cold and the water was frigid, she had excelled. Being the only woman among ten trainees, she’d had to. She pushed herself to be better than the men, and, at the end of the training season, when the count had been reduced to four trainees; she’d been one of the first to top out. Even today, she could remember her first trip with customers and the exhilaration of having her own boat and her own crew for the first time. She could still recall the names of some of those customers, although she couldn’t tell you the names of the people she’d guided on countless other river trips. Bonnie breathed a sigh as she watched the rafters slowly disappear into the forest that hid the campground. Yeah, I’ll miss this place.

CHAPTER 3

The sunlight reflected off Kelly’s glasses as she turned away from the plane to face Bonnie. How’d this come out of the blue? You never even hinted about wanting to quit.

Yeah, well, I’m sorry about that. Bonnie looked down and found something of interest on the porch floor. She pushed a bit of paper with her sandal and watched it fall onto the red-dog.

Look, Kelly said, you’ve bounced around for the last—how many years?—in various careers--

Two careers, Kelly. Two!

So . . . give up that little column in the paper. You’re still at the same level in that job despite the killer piece you wrote about that General guy. Just stay here.

It’s true, Bonnie thought. I was a hero writer one week, and humble whitewater guide the next. She whistled another sigh. Somehow, it’s just not that easy.

Sure it is! Just stop the bouncing around. Juggling careers—and men—is sure to give you wrinkles. Kelly ignored Bonnie’s glare and continued. If I were you, I’d think long and hard about leaving this place. Think about what it’s given to you—friendships, great times—Dwight.

Bonnie gave Kelly another quick glance. Yes, Dwight--a relationship that she couldn’t even call a relationship. Hell, she didn’t know what it was. They had trained together, were co-workers, and she’d always viewed him as a rich snob. But, for some reason, he was hot for her, and he’d worked his way right into her life at one of her most vulnerable times. He’d been kind and concerned, and she allowed him into her private world. But she’d let him get too close, and it had scared the shit out of her. Still, she had to admit that she liked him. Being around Dwight was as thrilling as crashing through whitewater.

Kelly pretended disinterest in the Bonnie-Dwight thing and continued: Think of what got you here, and got you through the hell of guide training in the first place.

Bonnie smiled, and then laughed. I never did tell you, did I? The reason I signed up for guide training in the first place was on a dare. My sweet little sister, Maggie, dared me to do it. Bless my Maggie. She sure knew how to pull me out of my self-imposed exile from life and give me one hell of a challenge. And she’d needed that challenge. In fact, she had needed an entirely new focus to climb out of the pit she’d found herself in.

Ah, Maggie, Kelly said. So, that’s who I have to thank.

Yeah, Bonnie replied, as her thoughts danced through triumphs and traumas: San Francisco where she fell in love with Archie Cline; leaving San Francisco and Archie Cline; and then sharing an apartment with Maggie. What fun we had! But that joy was short-lived. Within a few months, the girls had lost both their parents in a plane crash so horrible that it made CNN. It was a memory that, even now, Bonnie refused to dredge up. Then, as if that weren’t enough, the girls lost their Granny—their rock, and the only family member within driving distance. Somebody up there doesn’t like us, she’d told Maggie.

Bonnie pulled herself out of thoughts that flitted in the wrong direction. Probably has something to do with my frame of mind. She stole a look at Kelly, I didn’t always aspire to be a river guide, you know?

Few of us do, silly.

I mean . . . I was a commercial artist in San Francisco. I was going to go to Paris. I had big plans.

Oh, stop whining. You’ve got a great life—a nice house. You’ve even got horses, for chrissake!

Well, the house is thanks to Granny, and the horses are thanks to Archie. Bonnie leaned against the porch railing, looking out over the compound and the rafters. Yeah, she could thank Archie for the horses—and for the money that helped her keep Granny’s little farm. But she could also thank him for a lot of bitterness.

Look, girlfriend, Kelly said, tuning to face her. Divorce can interfere with the best-laid plans. And no one forced you to marry Archie.

He followed me home. As soon as I got that house he left San Francisco—

You didn’t have to marry him!

After what I’d just been through? Do I look like Superwoman?

Kelly laughed. Well, Maggie must have thought you were, if she suggested you try out for whitewater guide.

Bonnie relaxed and loosened her grip on the porch railing. She smiled at the memory. Yeah, after the divorce, Maggie suggested a raft trip—innocent enough, right? Well, it was all screams and waves and walls of whitewater. I loved it! I felt like I was alive again. Powerful. She took a deep breath, savoring the memory.

Nothing ever compares to that first trip, but I was hooked, and Maggie suggested that I should apply to be a guide. So, here I am. Bonnie’s smile evaporated. She was debating giving up the very thing that had kept her happy all these years. She orbited around WWW like a planet around its star, and that served to suppress the feeling that when life was good, something bad was bound to happen. And, something bad did happen, and, to make it worse, she couldn’t even talk about what it was that now pulled her away from that safe, comfortable orbit. No one in the guide community talked about fear of the loss of self-confidence—it was bad juju.

She looked at Kelly, knowing that she waited for an answer. I just don’t have to do it, anymore, she said. They watched as some rafters disappeared into the forest and others disappeared into the showers.

What does that have to do with anything? Kelly was beginning to show her frustration. She gestured again at the sprawling complex. We do this for the fun of it! Or did you forget that?

I’ve always done it for it for the fun of it--that and the $600 a month.

Is this a play for a raise? Because, if it is, I’ll give it to you. God knows that you deserve it. I’d sure be at a loss if you weren’t around.

No, it’s not a play for a raise, although if Papa Joe okayed it . . . sure, but . . . Bonnie looked away, not wanting Kelly to see her face. Actually, I’m pretty comfortable now—that’s why I don’t have to do it anymore. Bonnie wished she could tell Kelly why guiding hadn’t been fun for the past month. Oh, yeah, she knew that she still had the skills to take passengers down the river. And she still had the strength. Kelly had once been a guide, but that was now a forgotten memory. Bonnie knew that it did take strength. She still had all of that. What she was dealing with now was something new to her—something that had never been there before. She had been forced to look inside, and what she’d discovered was an older woman that she hardly recognized.

Bonnie had had an accident right at the beginning of the river season. The New was running at flood level, and her raft had flipped in the unpredictable reactionary wave at Double Z Rapid. She had been sucked underwater, caught in a whirlpool that wouldn’t let her go, and the next stop was deadly Table Rock. At the very last moment, when Bonnie thought that she was surely going to drown, she was shot out of the water and up against a sloping rock that, she would later swear, still had her fingernails embedded in its surface. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but she had experienced a fear that she’d never experienced before in her life—a dirty little secret that she hadn’t told anyone. Although she continued to guide, sure she could overcome the fear, guiding had changed. The danger that had once made it so thrilling now made her wake up in the middle of the night, worried about the customers in her raft. She was still out there, week after week, flying through whitewater, telling jokes to her customers, hoping the river gods would grant the return of the thrill. But, the more she paddled, the more she grew afraid that the river had sucked away what was left of her shattered confidence.

She looked at Kelly with baleful eyes, and wished she had the courage to explain to her friend. Instead she said, I’m trying to simplify my life. I quit the newspaper job—just freelancing for them now. That helps. And guiding? She paused. Maybe she could find her old self on the river; maybe the river gods would smile on her once more; maybe all she needed was a little time off. I’ll have to think about it. Do you have me on next week’s schedule?

I’ve got you down to guide twice, Kelly said. Once during the week and again on Saturday. I’ve worked on this schedule all morning—

Make it just Saturday and let me think about it some more. Okay?

Oh, sure, nothing to it Kelly said, with enough sarcasm to convey all the juggling she’d have to do. Before she could prod Bonnie any further, the phone in the office began an insistent ring.

Bonnie breathed a little easier when Kelly disappeared to answer the phone. She’d done what she had to do, although it hadn’t worked out exactly as she’d planned. She was torn, so she made a compromise: she would guide, but not too often. Time off just might drain away some of the pressure and let her sleep at night. And a once-a-week river trip just might bring back her self-confidence. She needed to orbit this star that was WWW. She needed the thrill of slamming through the big waves, she needed the cocky guides and rowdy customers, and she needed to be part of the river community that had lifted her from the abyss.

Suddenly, Bonnie felt tired—exhausted even. The restless night she’d spent worrying about how to tell Kelly had left her drained. What she wanted right now, more than anything in the world, was to go back to the sanctuary of the little home that was just south of WWW. She would go feed her horses, pop a dinner into the microwave, and curl up on the sofa to watch a movie.

Oh, my God! Kelly’s voice shrilled from the recesses of the office. Bonnie listened, but didn’t hear much else until Kelly crashed through the screen door and out onto the porch. We’ve had an accident, she announced. Shock paled her face. And we’ve lost two people—a customer and a guide!

CHAPTER 4

Lost? What does ‘lost’ mean? Bonnie’s stomach lurched and her brain went into overdrive. Could Dwight be the lost guide?

Kelly responded to Bonnie’s frantic thoughts. It’s John Boy’s raft. They flipped at the top of Double Z. Everything--everyone’s--been recovered except for John Boy and a customer named Sally Miller. Kelly looked at Bonnie, her eyes wild.

Lost? Like gone forever lost? Bonnie felt numb as the slow realization of what lost actually meant made her shiver. Oh, my God! What do we do? Helplessness vexed the numbness. Who are you sending down there?

For now, we just wait, Kelly said softly. "Rescue’s down there now, and they’ve got plenty