Scene of the Climb (12 page)

Sheriff Daniels twisted his body from side to side. “Your grandmother worked on my back. Feels mighty spry. Thanks for the tip.”

“You bet,” I said, tucking a sales receipt into the cash register. “I didn't think you'd really come.”

“Glad I did.” He picked up a leather Native American drum and ran his roughened hand over the smooth leather. “Glad you're here too. Got a minute?”

Gam caught my eye as she bustled behind the counter. “You two chat. I'll finish up here.”

I traded places with Gam. Sheriff Daniels returned the drum to the rack. Reaching into the breast pocket of his uniform he removed a spiral notebook.

“I've been reviewing your statement,” he said. “Remind me again, what exactly did you see at the top of the cliff?”

“Um”—my voice sounded unsteady—“not a lot really. I slipped. I didn't see much. The only thing I remember is Lenny's body . . .” I couldn't finish. A wave of dizziness came over me. It felt as though the room was tilting on a wild sea.

I held the counter to steady myself.

“I know this isn't easy,” he said, intentionally looking away. “Take your time.”

My nostrils flared as I inhaled a deep breath.

Gam held her index finger and thumb together in the air. It was a sign to center myself. She'd taught me the simple centering technique of firmly pressing my index finger and thumb together when I felt nervous.

I jammed my fingers and thumbs together. “I remember Lenny's body sailing over the ledge.”

“Mmm-hmm, and was he facing forward or backward?”

I closed my eyes. It wasn't an image I wanted to conjure up. Until this moment in time, I hadn't realized how deeply I'd been avoiding replaying Lenny's death in my head. How was he facing?

I didn't have to think long. I knew he was facing me.

“Forward,” I said with confidence.

“Okay,” Sheriff Daniels responded casually while making a note.

The way Lenny fell had to be significant.

People don't tend to fall backward over cliffs. If Lenny was facing me that must mean it was much more likely he'd been pushed off backward. Another shiver ran down my spine.

“You good?” asked Sheriff Daniels, looking up from his notebook.

“Uh-huh, I'm fine.”

“Can you think of anything, anything else you may have heard or seen? If something seems insignificant to you, it might be important.”

“Well . . .” I hesitated.

“Yes?”

“On my way up, probably about a mile before the summit, I could have sworn I saw someone on a deer trail.”

A look of excitement washed over Sheriff Daniels' face. “Man or woman?”

I shook my head. “Honestly, I'm not sure. Whoever—or whatever—I saw ran by too quickly to make out any details. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Anything else?”

“To tell you the truth, this whole production seems strange to me.”

Raising one bushy eyebrow, Sheriff Daniels gave a half laugh. “Like your father, aren't you?”

I crossed my arms and frowned, not a response Mother would approve of.

His voice dropped. “I meant that as a compliment. I thought a lot of your father. Please continue.”

“Well, first, there's Andrew, the cameraman. He and Lenny got in a pretty wicked fight right before Lenny took off for the summit.”

“A physical fight?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Andrew threatened Lenny—told him if he didn't quit the attitude he was ‘gonna pay.'”

“Go on.”

“Then he showed up out of nowhere on the summit right after Lenny fell.”

Sheriff Daniels put his pen down and pulled a silver canister from his pocket. He popped a wooden toothpick between his teeth.

He offered one to Gam. She declined.

“Please continue,” he said as he returned the canister to his pocket.

“Well, then there's Alicia. She has scratches all over her arm. She told me she got them from a sticker bush, but she's pretty cut up. I don't know how she could have done that on the main trail.”

“Okay.”

I wiggled my fingers. The centering exercise worked. I felt much calmer as I unburdened myself to Sheriff Daniels.

“Earlier, I was doing some background work on the piece I'm writing and I learned that Leaf has a criminal record. And Dave is strangely focused on filming. The whole thing seems off.”

Gam was reviewing an inventory sheet, but I knew she was listening intently.

“Oh, and speaking of Dave. I remember seeing him pick up a broken camera on the summit right after Lenny fell.”

Sheriff Daniels continued to write in his notebook.

“There's one more thing. I think someone went through my files. They were thrown all over my desk.”

Sheriff Daniels stopped writing and pulled the gnawed toothpick from his teeth.

“You sure?”

Gam looked up from the inventory list as I said, “Yeah, I'm sure. I had them all stacked neatly. I went to a meeting and when I came back they were all messed up.”

Sheriff Daniels stuck the toothpick back in his mouth. “Hmm. What was in the files?”

“I don't know. A bunch of background info on the contestants and show.”

“Anything missing?”

“I'm not sure. I'd just started to compile everything. But I know someone went through my machine. They wiped out the photos I took yesterday and all my notes from the climb.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He wrote something in his notebook. “I'll be sure to take a look.”

He tipped his hat to Gam and said, “See you tomorrow.”

To me he said, “I'll be in to interview everyone again tomorrow.” He handed me a business card. “Here's my number. Anything comes up, you call me. In the meantime, be on alert. I'm treating this as a homicide.”

After walking Sheriff Daniels to the door, Gam rushed over to me and squeezed me in a huge hug.

At seventy-one, Gam bustles with more energy than most people half her age. You'd never peg her as a new-ager. No robes or flowing skirts. Mother inherited her love of Nordstrom from Gam.

I inherited my lack of height from her. She stands eye-to-eye with me, dyes her hair obsidian, won't leave the house without eyeliner and tans for fifteen minutes a day when the sun's out to maintain her olive complexion.

She pulled away from the hug and looked at me with skeptical eyes. “Shall we put the Closed sign on the door and cozy up for a little chat?”

Feeling like I might cry, I looked at my feet and nodded.

Her black pantsuit with purple and silver sequins sparkled as she turned the sign on the door.

“New outfit?”

“Don't you love it!? I spotted it weeks ago at Nordstrom, but the price was way out of my budget. I asked the Universe to lower the price, and guess what? I went back yesterday and it was marked half off. Yahoo!” She pulled a crystal gemstone from her bra. “This little helper did it.

“Give me two minutes.” She returned with a fresh pot of tea and a Tupperware container full of homemade cinnamon cookies.

“Here”—she thrust a cookie at me—“have a cookie. It'll help. Why don't you fill me in?”

I munched on the spicy sweet cookie and downloaded the last two days while Gam sat intently listening.

When I was done, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and said, “First, let's give you a zap, shall we?” She put one hand on my knee and the other on her heart. “Be right back.”

In Gam-speak that meant she was leaving her physical body to go “up” into the spiritual world. From my vantage point, I saw her close her eyes, tilt her head and sway slightly. A surge of warmth radiated from her hand and buzzed down my leg. After five minutes she took another cleansing breath, sat straight, opened her eyes and brushed her hands together.

“Did you feel that?”

“It feels like my entire leg is being heated.”

“Yahoo!” Gam clapped her hands together. “That means it worked. Hopefully your blisters and leg will feel better. I'll give you another zap before you go.”

She paused and said nothing while she poured herself a cup of tea. Taking a sip, she sighed and said, “Now, Margaret, about this Lenny situation. I don't like it.”

“Did you see something, Gam? Do you know who killed Lenny?”

“Slow down. You know it doesn't work like that.” She ran her thumb over the crystal hanging from her neck. “First of all, my worry for you in this has nothing to do with what I may or may not be picking up on from the Universe. It's simple. You're a twenty-three-year-old young woman who's starting out in her first career. I don't think it's wise to align yourself to such negative energy.”

“So you do see something?” I leaned closer to her on my chair.

She gave a half laugh and took another long, slow sip of her tea. “What I'm picking up on is
your
energy, my dear,” she said as she got to her feet and hurried to the back room. “Wait a minute. I have something for you.”

She saw something. She didn't want to tell me. I knew better than to press her.

She came back and held out an opaque pale blue stone about the size of a small apple, but oval in shape. “This is blue calcite. It's a powerful cleanser. You can sleep with it under your pillow or keep it next to your bed at night.”

I took the stone from her. It was heavy and cool in my hand. “Thanks.”

“Let's pull a card for you, see what spirit animals are showing up.” She took a golden embossed card deck and cut it in half.

“Choose one.”

I tugged a card from the fanned deck.

“The cougar!” Gam clapped her hands together. “That's a power animal.”

“What does it mean?”

“The cougar shows up to remind you of boundaries—to think before you act and stay on track. I'd say that's a pretty clear message, don't you?”

She thrust the card in my hand. “Keep this.”

Putting her hand on top of mine she said gently, “I love and adore you, Margaret. I know you'll listen to your heart and your spirit guides. If you stay open, the Universe will lead you to what you need to know.”

“Of course, Gam. Thanks for listening. I'm sure I'm blowing it all out of proportion anyway.”

Gam pursed her lips and looked as if she were going to say something more, but stopped herself. She squeezed my hand and said, “Good on ya! Now, how about a burger before you head home? They've been calling me all afternoon.”

 

 

Later that evening, after a greasy burger with Gam, I read through the contestant files at Jill's place.

“I don't get it,” I said to Jill from the couch as she sat next to me, touching up her clear polish manicure. The smell gave me a slight headache.

“Why would anyone want to go through these bio sketches I did on the contestants? There's nothing here you couldn't find from doing a pretty basic online search.”

Jill held her hands out to examine her work. She twisted the cap carefully on the polish and blew on her nails. “But that's it—
you
did the searching. Maybe whoever went through your stuff was counting on the fact that no one would dig any deeper than the show.”

I dropped the files on my lap. “You could be on to something. Yeah, what did I find that Krissy hadn't already compiled for their Race the States bios?”

“Maybe you should cross-reference them?”

“Great idea. Wanna help?”

“And have a chance to play Miss Marple—uh, yeah, of course I want to help. Hey, what about the photos? Those could be even more important. What did you shoot out there?”

“Um, I took a bunch of pictures.”

At that moment my cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. Mother's picture flashed on the screen with each ring. “Guess I better answer, huh?”

Jill handed me the phone.

“Mary Margaret Reed!” Mother's voice was laced with frustration on the other end of the phone. “I've been at the club and heard
Northwest Extreme
is involved with that hiker's death. Do you know anything about this?”

If there was one thing Mother hated more than anything else, it was being scooped. She prided herself on being up to date on the latest gossip. This was of particular use for her at
the club,
as she liked to call it.

The club actually had a name—Downtown Athletic Club. While there are many athletic facilities in the area, the Downtown Athletic Club is the premier social club. From hosting business luncheons to bar mitzvahs, seeing Downtown Athletic Club on an invitation bought you immediate cred. Memberships were exclusive, expensive and by referral only. When Mother left Pops, she wormed her way in. She launched a successful real estate agency right before the housing market tanked. I'm pretty convinced she traded commission payments for club membership.

The worst part of
the club
was Jill's boyfriend Will Barrington and his family are longtime members. Somehow Mother manages to work this well-known fact into any conversation we have.

“Nice to talk to you too, Mother,” I snarled. Ever since Pops' death Jill's been urging me to go to counseling. She seems to think my mother and I have unresolved “issues.” She's right. We do have issues. The problem is I have no interest in resolving them.

“Don't you talk to me in that tone, Mary Margaret.”

“It's not a tone. What do you want?”

“I want to know what in the world is going on at this so-called
magazine
.”

I banged my cell phone on the couch before responding.

“It's not a so-called magazine. It's a legitimate, internationally recognized publication.”

“Darling.” Mother's voice sounded syrupy and fake. “I'm not knocking your little job; I want to know if the news reports are true. I want to know my baby's safe.”

Oh my God, I'm going to kill her. If there was a way to commit murder by phone I'd be all in. Mother was genius at twisting compliments into passive aggressive put-downs.

“Thanks for your concern, Mother, but there's really nothing to worry about. One of the contestants in an adventure race fell on a hike.”

“It is true?” She sounded delighted. “The women at the club aren't going to believe it. What else do you know? Who was it? Were you there? Did you see it happen?”

“Enough. I can't tell you anymore. The police are still investigating.”

“Oh! There's an investigation? This
is
juicy. Wait till the ladies hear about this at brunch. When can you tell me more?”

Great—just what I needed. My gossip-hungry mother stalking me for details she could share with her ladies who lunch.

“Seriously. You're ridiculous, Mother. I've gotta go.”

“Wait! Before you hang up, let's put a date on the books for lunch. You can't stay mad at me forever.”

Yes, I could.

When Pops became obsessed with the meth story, his reporting prompted national television coverage and several documentaries. Portland was painted as a hub for an insidious drug infestation sweeping across the country like a swarm of locusts. Every reporter at
The O
covered the story.
The O
's investigation translated into three hundred stories dedicated to the subject. Congress passed tough anti-meth legislation and a media storm brewed.

Pops dug deeper into international drug trading, backing off meth. Things imploded when major news outlets like the
New York Times
claimed
The O
used false statistics in order to inflate the story.

At the center of the controversy, Pops convinced his editor the real story was how high-ranking government officials were involved in funneling drugs through the Northwest.
The O
refused to run the piece. Pops was put on a temporary leave of absence. He shuttered himself in the farmhouse with stacks of discarded papers littered on every inch of free floor space. Mother walked out.

“Margaret, are you there?” Her voice came over the phone.

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to tell you I found the most amazing rhinestone brooch for you. I've been looking for it everywhere. Your father and I bought it at that antique shop we used to take you to in Newport. It'll go beautifully with your pea coat. I can swing it by this week.”

“I'm busy.”

She sighed. “Okay, take care, sweetheart, and call me when you can.”

Flinging my phone at the pillows on the couch, I spiked my hair with my fingers and let out an audible groan.

“That bad?” Jill asked, carefully placing my phone on the glass coffee table. “You know, she really does mean well. Don't let her get to you.”

I shot her an incredulous look, “And how do suggest I go about doing that?”

Jill jumped to her feet. “I know!”

Her ivory silk pajamas swirled on her as she skated on thin moleskin slippers over the hardwood floors to the kitchen, where she riffled through the cupboards. I watched her remove boxes of organic cereal, couscous, brown rice and steel-cut oats from the shelves. The girl lives on a diet of health food and sugar. It's an odd mix.

She stood on her tiptoes and stretched her lanky arm to the back of the shelf.

“A-ha. Got 'em!” She shouted and stuffed the boxes of health food back into the pantry. Sliding to the couch she dropped bags of candy on my lap—Dove dark chocolates, marshmallow Peeps in the shape of yellow chicks and pink bunnies and sour jelly beans.

Shrugging off my look of surprise she said, “What? It's my secret Easter stash.”

“No one I know other than you can eat crap like this and have a stomach like that.” I patted Jill's flat abs.

“Stop.” She pushed my hand away and ripped open a bag of chocolate. Unwrapping the pale blue foil she popped one into her mouth and handed another to me. “The cure for your mother is always sugar. Eat this and forget about her.”

The rich creamy chocolate melted in my mouth. Jill was right. There was nothing I could do about my mother other than ignore her. Entering into any debate with Mother never ended well, at least for me.

“Come on,” Jill said, stuffing a sugar-coated yellow Peep in her mouth. “Let's go through your notes and see if we can figure out why anyone would have been interested in them. We have to think like a
Masterpiece Mystery
detective. What would Miss Marple do?”

“No idea. What?”

“Hang out in the village—listen, follow the clues. We can do this, Meg.”

After an hour of combing through my files and consuming enough sugar to put us both in diabetic comas, we weren't any closer to finding anything new.

“I'm beat. I think I'll call it a night,” I said, closing the files and stacking them on the coffee table.

“Get some rest,” Jill said, patting my knee. “Do you mind if I take these to bed with me? I want to have one more quick look.”

“Knock yourself out.” I handed her the files. “It's doubtful you'll find anything. I've looked through these a hundred times.”

Jill finished off a handful of jelly beans and said, “Let's go back to the photos. There has to be a photo of something someone didn't want you to see. Do you remember what you took photos of?”

“Everything, the trail, the contestants. Wait—what about the deer trail? I took a picture there. Maybe someone saw the flash?”

“That's it!”

She stopped with the files in her hand. “Meg, you realize what this means. The killer knows you saw him.”