Free Elizabeth Zelvin - Bruce Kohler 04 - Death Will Save Your Life by Elizabeth Zelvin

grabbed a paddle.
    “There should be another paddle like this one,” she said, “a long one with a blade on both ends.”
    “I’ll find the paddle. You try to call. Jimmy got a signal up on the lifeguard chair the other day.”
    Barbara clambered up on the lifeguard chair. As I hunted for the paddle, she provided background music: curses at her unresponsive cell phone, then a whoop as she reached Jimmy, and an incoherent explanation ending with “Just come!”
    She tumbled down to the sand.
    “He was in the car, halfway back from town. He’ll call Callaghan. Let’s go!”
    We pushed off and hopped in, me wobbling on one foot while Barbara assured me that this kind of kayak was exceptionally stable.
    “Left, right. Left, right.” She dipped the paddle on either side. “Match my strokes. I am furious with Annabel, aren’t you? She killed two people and tried to murder you. I never liked her anyway. I resent the hell out of those long legs and those thin shiksa thighs. I can’t believe no one came when I screamed. Usually the beach is so crowded you can’t even find a patch of sand or even grass to lie down on.”
    Only Barbara would talk a blue streak while chasing a murderer.
    “What happened back there?” I asked.
    “I saw her holding your head underwater, so I grabbed the life preserver and jumped in. I walloped her with it till she fell off the raft. I guess I know now what going berserk means. I didn’t mean to hurt her, I just wanted to get her off you. It’s a good thing they made me take Red Cross lifesaving at Girl Scout camp. I used a fireman’s carry to tow you.”
    “Thanks for saving my life. Honest.”
    “She panicked when she realized we were onto her,” Barbara said.
    “I wasn’t even onto her.”
    “Really? Then what were you up to?”
    “I was flirting with her,” I blurted.
    To Barbara’s credit, she didn’t comment on that.
    “Maybe her heart wasn’t in it—drowning you, I mean.”
    “She came close enough,” I said. “If you hadn’t tackled her, I would have been fish food.”
    “Maybe she let me rescue you. She can’t be all bad—she was nice to Feather.”
    “She killed Melvin and Madhouse,” I said. “Empathy is all very well, Barb, but there are limits.”
    “Whatever,” she said. “Paddle!”

    Annabel surged out of the canoe and waded toward the thin strip of beach spiked with reeds. We bore down on her, Barbara with her double-bladed paddle raised high like an executioner’s axe. I yanked mine out of the water as we neared the shallows.
    Annabel turned like any animal at bay, planting her feet and baring her teeth. Barbara brought the kayak to a splashy stop a couple of feet short of the shore. I leaped out of the boat, charged forward, tripped over a root, and went sprawling.
    A sharp pain lanced my ankle when I tried to get up. Annabel rushed past me, leaped back into the canoe, and pushed off hard. Barbara swung the kayak around to bar her way. The canoe wriggled like a snake as Annabel tried to get by. I couldn’t do a damn thing but watch as the drama unfolded. On my ass in the dirt. Soaking wet. In my underwear. With my ankle killing me.
    As the canoe slid level with the kayak, Barbara blocked Annabel’s shorter paddle with hers as if they were playing field hockey. Annabel dropped the paddle and reached for Barbara, her red-nailed fingers curled into talons. The women’s struggling bodies grappled the two boats together as they drifted away from shore. The linked boats developed torque and started revolving in place.
    Their exertions rocked the canoe more and more wildly. The kayak remained stable, but Barbara’s balance was precarious. I looked around for a crutch and saw a sizeable branch only a couple of yards away. If I could get to my feet and into the water, I could help.
    “Why can’t you leave me alone?” Annabel said, panting. “This has nothing to do with you.”
    “I won’t let an innocent woman go to jail for what you did,”