Page 33 of Smoke Season

Should she stash it in the bathroom? Such a high-traffic area seemed like a bad hiding place. The boat ramp offered a few ledges and shelves of concrete where it had crumbled over the years at the edges; maybe she could leave the box to one side, hidden from view from the water.

To potentially be swept into the Outlaw? No.But on the other side of the ramp, at the end of the parking lot, stood a big spruce. It was the bane of the shuttle drivers’ existence; they had to navigate around it as they made their three-point turns pulling their flatbed trailers stacked with rafts. True knew a couple drivers who hadn’t lasted a seasonthey’d hit it so many times, knocking off side mirrors and nicking rafts. Anyone would know that spruce, should someone ask about it, like where precisely it was, perhaps because they needed to find it.

She crossed the parking lot to it in quick steps, casting a glance to her left as she passed the bathroom. The Wus would be out soon. Right before the tree, she paused midstride, feeling the crunch of glass and plastic under her sandals. Taillight shards from last week; someone had probably been fired for that one. Flipping her headlamp on, she surveyed the tree. It had a gargantuan trunk, but it was visible from all sides, of course, plus people poked around it regularly to survey damage. But about three feet up, she saw her salvation: a little burrow in the tree trunk, almost two feet wide, dark and crumbling on the inside. The result of some sort of bug or beetle infestation? A parasitic fungus? Either way, it would suffice. She slid the small ammo box inside, shoving it to fit. Once pushed in as far as it would go, what was left of the thin layer of paint covering the lid was only visible if you were looking for it.

She took a step back, circling the spruce, second-guessing herself.It’s like I’m Gollum with the goddamned ring.Maybe sheshouldjust keep the cash with her. The idea made her squirm, but so did walking away from it here, unattended and exposed at Temple Bar. She needed a second opinion. She had no way of contacting Fallows or his henchmen, a deliberate move on both his part and hers, but she could dial up Mel. She turned back toward their pile of gear to unearth her sat phone, only to bump headlong into Vivian, who let out a startled “Oof.”

“Shit! You scared me,” True told her. She peered at her more carefully in the dark. How long had she been standing there? Uncertainty sat tight in her gut, a rubber band stretched taut.

“What were you doing just now? With that box?”

Snap.Shit, shit, shit. “Nothing, it’s ...” True felt herself unraveling. “I—”

Headlights cut through the trunks of the trees, making her jump again.

“I came down here to tell you the shuttle’s here,” Vivian said, but her eyes were still on the tree. “Does whatever that is have something to do with why you wouldn’t accept the ride with the Martins?”

True tried to study her face in the dark, her eyes now blinded by the headlights. She couldn’t see much: only any hope of earning this woman’s faith in her draining away. God, Vivian probably thought she had a stash of something here. Needed a hit or something. “It’s not what you think—”

A honk sounded; then True heard the backup sensors of the shuttle, easing down to the ramp to where their gear lay in wait.

Vivian turned. “We have to go.” She spun back. “You know, True, I also came down here because I felt I owed you an apology. And I guess I still do. It was none of my business why you turned down the Martins, just like it’s none of my business what you’re up to now. Let me be clear: if we were still on the river, and you still had my child’s life in your care, it damned well would be, but now? I guess I’m just glad it’s all over.”

She turned and strode toward the pile of gear, hefting a duffel far too heavy for her and flinging it toward where the shuttle van had come to a stop in the loading zone. True stood in place a moment longer, alone by the tree and the ammo box, fighting a harsh onslaught of tears, Vivian’s words still ringing in her ears.Glad it’s all over.She swallowed the hard lump in her throat, blinking hard in the smoke to stem the flood. Vivian and Emmett would be gone from her life in a matter of hours. And Vivian was right. They’d be better off for it.

CHAPTER 17

Sam’s office at the back of the River Eddy felt like a sanctuary after the chaos at the bar. With the press statement over, he retreated there to check in with Claude again, tugging a reluctant Astor along with him. She was loath to miss any of the action in the grill.

“What if they say something about Mom?” she protested, dragging her feet after Sam.

“We’ll be the first to know,” Sam said, setting a plate of grilled-cheese sandwiches Kim had produced on the desk. “Eat some dinner, honey,” he said, adding, “Chief Hernandez will update us.”

She flopped into his desk chair—she usually smiled at the way it swiveled, but not today—and he sank a hip into the edge of the desk with a sigh, relishing the relative quiet of the office. He pushed a triangle of sandwich toward Astor again, who swiveled away with a face.

“I’m not hungry.”

Sam helped himself to his own triangle, biting into it without tasting it.

“Dad? What does Claude say about Annie?”A little mother,Kim called Astor. Had Sam and Mel somehow done that to their older daughter, making her grow up too fast once Annie had been born? Had this been inevitable? “What’s happening at home?”

“Honey, just ...”Just let me stand here, not making decisions, not dealing with crisis, just for a second.“Just let me think.” Sam rubbed roughly at his face with the heel of his palm, trying to clear his head. Hecould swear he still felt smoke stinging his eyes, now that he’d stopped for half a second.Whatishappening at the house?

He looked around the messy office for his phone, taking in the invoices piled up on his desk, the orders awaiting their suppliers, and the tower of boxes leaning up against one wall ... Kim’s over-order of water glasses he had to hope their warehouse supplier would take back. The purchase had been an honest mistake, but Sam had still barely managed to curb the harsh admonishment—fueled by too little sleep and too much stress—that had risen within him. What if they were stuck eating the cost?

They’d lost money the last two summers in a row at the Eddy, smoke season socking in their little canyon by the river with oppressive air quality. Retail sales from local businesses across the Outlaw Basin went down 20 percent, according to their small-business association. And now with this new fire? If the blaze continued in its current trajectory, it was only a matter of time before the river corridor was consumed, and rafting tourism along with it. And then what? No out-of-town customers in the River Eddy, buying burgers and beer after a day on the Outlaw. And with evacuations and fire right here in Carbon? No locals, either, after they’d all been forced to shelter at the high school or had fled town altogether to bunk with relatives and friends. What would they lose this year—thirty percent? Forty?

He thought again of the framed photo of him and Mel at the bar celebrating their impulsive purchase just after tying the knot, then glanced across the office toward the open door. He’d been right out there at the bar when they’d snapped that pic, Sam remembered, his newly minted wedding band still feeling foreign on his finger.

He and Mel had both been so impossibly young. So incredibly confident and naive. Was that part of him still somewhere inside him? Or had that fierce optimism been buried under too many unpaid bills as they had sunk deeper and deeper in debt, two stones tied to the same cord of shared parenthood? One thing was certain: the River Eddy fellever deeper from the black to the red with every month Sam couldn’t seem to break even.

He sighed, reaching out to lay a hand atop Astor’s head. Still curled up in the office chair, she swiveled gently back and forth now, unenthusiastically chewing a bite of grilled cheese. Now that she’d moved the plate of sandwiches, Sam spied his phone on the desk, and he punched in Claude’s number.

“How’s she holding up?” he said without preamble as Astor glanced up, alert. Sam put the call on speaker.

“Oh, all right, I suppose,” Claude tells them. “Had a bit of a coughing fit, but the inhaler worked well enough. I gave her one of her fruit pops.”

Sucking on the cherry-flavored lollipops helped calm Annie’s ragged breathing when nothing else worked. “Good, good.”

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