Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“It’s quiet here. I live close to the earth. And life without CNN and MSNBC isn’t all that bad. It’s easier to concentrate on my research and writing rather than the worries of the world.”

“But why here? Why not stay closer to your roots?”

“Too many distractions. And I would miss you,” she said with a teasing grin. “Who else would keep me in firewood and bring me fresh venison?”

“I love it here too. Probably for the same reasons—the river, the solitude, the free meals. Not bad company either.”

She reached for his hand, kissed it, and got up to tend to a Dutch oven apple cobbler. “Your momma loved evenings like this,” she said. “I’m so sorry she’s not with us.”

CHAPTER 5

0800

State Police Dive Locker

At his dive locker office the next morning, Gabe was at work on his report of Captain Brady’s shooting when Bob came to his desk and said, “Walk with me.”

Gabe followed him to the parking lot.

Bob looked around before speaking. “We got a file on the partner of the cop you shot at Captain Brady’s, and he’s a tough operator. Brady may have been right about this going up the food chain. Be careful who you talk to, and keep your head on a swivel. I’ll let you know if we turn up anything else.”

“Thanks. Do you think it’s about our bridge?”

“It could be a lot bigger than that,” Bob said. “Just be careful.” They went back inside. Gabe returned to his desk, and just as he was getting refocused on his report, his cell phone chimed. Carol was crying.

“Paul was caught with pot. He’s being held in the principal’s office. They want me to come right now. Can you possibly meet me there? I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you there.” After hanging up, he shook his head sadly. Hasn’t she had enough? She doesn’t deserve this. How about a little mercy and grace?

When he pulled the truck into the parking lot, Carol was waiting. Her dark red hair, usually brushed and elegant, was in a bandana. Her ordinarily stylish attire was replaced by a University of Texas sweatshirt and jeans.

“There are times,” she began, “when I believe sacrificing the eldest son wasn’t such a bad idea.”

She opened her arms for a comforting hug, and Gabe held her momentarily, awkwardly.

“First time he’s been caught with pot?” Gabe asked.

“We smelled it in his room a couple months ago. Charlie grounded him and kept him from getting his driver’s license because of it. Paul just blew it off. Shocked we were so old-fashioned. We hoped he was just experimenting and after being grounded and the lecture he got from Charlie that would be the end of it. I don’t understand why he would do this.” She looked up at Gabe, waiting for something. Hoping.

“I don’t know much about kids, Carol. And I’ve never felt like I’ve earned the right to tell anyone how to live. People make decisions, some good, some not. Why usually doesn’t matter. I’m a cop, not a judge or jury. We just read ’em their rights and put on the cuffs.”

Gabe followed her into Principal Goldwyn’s office. Goldwyn was everything they could have expected a matronly principal to be. White hair in a braid down her back, light blue dress. Viking warrior. Paul sat uncomfortably in a corner chair avoiding eye contact with Gabe or his mother. “Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Goldwyn began. “I know this must be a tough time for you, and I’m very sorry there’s another problem you have to deal with.”

Too angry to speak, Carol just nodded.

“Could you tell us what’s happened?” Gabe asked. He had worn his dress uniform intentionally, hoping it would buy credibility if he had to go to bat for Paul.

“Yes, officer. We do locker searches on a routine basis. This was found in Paul’s locker.” She held up a sandwich-size baggie half full of pot. “Paul has admitted it belongs to him.”

“It’s a stupid law,” Paul interrupted. “By next year it will probably be legal everywhere.” The anger Gabe had seen before was back. This wasn’t denial. It was open confrontation and obstinacy.

“Legal. For minors. At school?” Carol retorted. “I wouldn’t hold my breath for that.” No answer.

Gabe intervened. “Paul, I saw the dive gear in your garage. Your dad got you certified. That right?”

Paul nodded, still without making eye contact.

“He was an instructor and cave diver. I remember he made some cave body recoveries, didn’t he?”

Again, Paul nodded without speaking.

“Did he ever talk about why divers die in caves?” Gabe moved, trying to make eye contact, but Paul still avoided him.

“Not really.” Paul was staring at the floor again, trying to disengage from the conversation.

“Okay, there are two reasons,” Gabe paused until Paul looked up. “First, no training. Second, they lose or leave the gold line. That’s the safety line that’s put in every cave we dive to show us the way home, even when our lights go out.”

Paul looked up.

“Lose or leave that line,” Gabe continued, “and the odds are high the only way you go home is in a body bag. Right?”

Paul cringed.

“Right?” Gabe repeated.

“If you say so.”

“Now you know better, so this isn’t a training issue. But it looks to me like you are a long way from your gold line, and when that happens, there are always consequences. I’m just going to hope and pray you find the line again before you run out of air.”

“Does that mean . . . ?” Paul asked the wind out of his sails.

“Sorry pal, there are always consequences. Mrs. Goldwyn has no options here. This is your first offense, so hopefully the judge won’t be too harsh, but again, there are always consequences.”

“Mom, can’t you . . . ?”

“If your dad was here, what do you think he would do?” she asked.

Paul remained silent, just fighting back tears.

As the three of them walked across the