Practical Sins for Cold Climates by Shelley Costa

Author:Shelley Costa
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuth, british cozy mysteries, cozy mystery, detective novels, english mysteries, female detective, murder mysteries, murder mystery books, murder mystery series, mystery books, women sleuths
Publisher: Henery Press Publishing
Published: 2015-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

16

At the end of the trail above the falls, Decker and Val studied the channel. They had stayed long enough at the falls to set Val’s clothes out to dry on hot, clean rock face while she watched the clouds, and Decker bathed and shampooed his hair with an old plastic bottle of CampSudz he found in the rucksack.

The sky burned blue, the clouds hardened into alabaster, and Val felt herself tempered by the force of sunlight. They had a lunch of Slim Jims that tasted better than she’d imagined. She changed back into her own shirt and torn pants and handed him his underwear. Decker decided to go shirtless, then stashed everything except the jeans he was wearing into the dry bag.

It was what lay just below the waterline that made the channel almost unnavigable. Enormous, submerged boulders of varying shapes and sizes, some mossy, some not, all slippery. As clear as the water was, when the sun and clouds shifted it was impossible to tell where to put the next foot—except by feel.

Val pulled off her shoes and tossed them into the canoe. They tried what turned out to be false passages, where the spaces between boulders weren’t wide or deep enough for the canoe to pass, and backed up to try others. Her bare feet slid into deep underwater crevices she could only let happen, keeping her ankles soft as they twisted. Val’s shirt, unbuttoned below her heart, floated up around her chest.

Once they were past the rocks they traded places in the shallows and climbed back into the canoe. “That was good,” Decker said, smiling, and she nodded. They stretched themselves toward the middle of the canoe and studied the map he spread out over the dry bag, then paddled to where the channel forked. To the right was the way to Charlie Cable’s.

After they had paddled slowly down that right fork for about an hour, well ahead of them on the near shore was a dock that appeared as a bold outline in the sunlight. They paddled through a field of water lilies, which parted as they came, and pulled up to the dock. It was in good repair.

Decker unlashed the packs, landed them on the dock, then hoisted himself up and steadied the canoe for Val. “Getting out?” he asked as he tied the canoe to a cleat. Lifting herself onto the dock, she sat beside him. He unrolled the top of the dry bag and pulled out his shirt.

Val said, “I’d like to wash up first.”

They looked at each other. “I put the CampSudz in the side pocket of the rucksack,” he said with a smile. “I’ll meet you up at Charlie’s.” He left the dock pulling his arms into the shirt and she lost sight of him on the path into the woods. She found the CampSudz and set it on the dock. Then she stood, slipped out of her clothes, and dropped them beside her.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Val looked down at her tired feet.

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