They stayed an extra day on the beach. When other rafters stopped to picnic, Quinn plied the guides with the same questions. As for Salmon Falls, the guides agreed the greatest danger was the suck hole.
“Keep to the middle and row like a son-of-a-bitch,” they said.
Ruby wanted to stay where they were although it wasn’t prudent. Upstream, the boat traffic was concentrated. Downstream, everyone dispersed, traveling at different speeds. It was better to be downstream.
“No pictures of Missing Persons,” Quinn reminded her. “And no rangers.”
Once they heard the roar of Salmon Falls, Quinn veered right, grabbed an eddy, and moored the raft to a tree. They scurried up the embankment to the scouting point. At the top of the cliff overlooking the river, their legs crumbled. Shouting over the din, Quinn pointed to the narrow passage between two suctioning whirlpools and a foaming hole.
“What do you think?” Ruby asked.
“I can’t think,” Quinn said.
They stayed at the observation point, delaying the run through the great white tumble until other rafts passed by. From upriver, a jetboat raced along. At the edge of the drop-off, it downshifted and bumped over the tumult of rock, hole, and water. Once the rough ride was over, passengers turned back to view the cascading river. As the jetboat shoved its throttle into high gear and sped off, Ruby burst into tears.
“Don’t worry,” Quinn said, bowing his head to hide his fear and distress. “I’m going by myself. You’ll walk the path and meet me at the pool.”
“He’s here!” she sobbed.
Quinn took Ruby’s hand, wiped her tears, smoothed her hair. “Ruby, Ruby, he’s not here.”
“But I saw him!”
“Seriously, Ruby?”
“He’s the only one who knew I was coming to Idaho.”
Quinn was familiar with symptoms of paranoia and hallucinations. His uncle had a psychotic breakdown. Whenever his uncle went off his meds, he became delusional. Ruby probably needed psychological counseling, not a month in the wilderness.
“I saw the boat too,” he said firmly. “There was a driver and six passengers. One of them looked like Troy, right?”
“Exactly like Troy.”
“Blue shirt and straw hat, I bet that was the guy.”
She nodded.
“He also looked like my high school chemistry teacher, Mr. Allen. It happens, Ruby. It happens all the time. Mistaken identity.”
What Quinn said made sense. What Ruby saw made no sense. It was better to give into reason. The terrifying falls had probably set her off. Quinn reassured her until she believed him. Quinn had to be right. He was always right. There were no ghosts, no ghosts, no ghosts.