The Bear Mountain Secret

by Gayle Siebert

  “Hard to miss.”

  “What do you think? Too young to be lookin’ for what they’re lookin’ for don’t you think? They look nineteen to you?”

  “Sixteen. Maybe not even.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Good for that finder’s fee we discussed?”

  “For sure. Give ‘em another round. And a couple shooters each. Let ‘em know they’re from me. Clear out the corner booth. After I move there, give them my card and ask them if they’d care to join me.”

  The bartender spends a moment reading the card just handed to him and says, “if the boss comes in and sees them—finds out I didn’t card them—I’m out of a job.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you something. You won’t be unemployed for long.”

  The bartender shrugs and nods, then moves off, busying himself behind the bar. When all three girls are back at the table, he heads out with the drinks, dropping them off in front of them.

  The man at the bar watches as the bartender says something to them, turns and points at him. When the girls look his way, he smiles and acknowledges them with a nod and a lift of his glass.

  He turns his back to them, checks his look in the mirror behind the bar and wonders if it’s time to start wearing his hair shorter. Military style, maybe. But then he reminds himself hair the length it is, just slightly over his shirt collar, makes him appear non-threatening. And with the glasses? Downright nerdy even. And definitely younger than his years. Thankfully his hair is still thick and receding only slightly, with just enough grey at the temples to make him look old enough to be the self-made millionaire and uber-successful talent agent he claims to be. He congratulates himself on still appealing to teenage girls. He clink-clink-clinks his diamond pinky ring on his glass, checks his Rolex Oyster, and sorts through email and his Facebook feed on his phone while he waits.

  Soon, the girls have consumed their shooters and are well into their newest drinks. He puts his phone in his pocket, slides off his stool and strolls to his usual booth in the corner.

  Six

  A Promise

  ASTRID IS AT the table in the lunchroom eating a sandwich and chatting with Mary Ann and Janine from the accounting department, when Denver comes in. He greets them with, “Hey!” but doesn’t slow as he hurries into the back hallway leading to the washrooms.

  “Jeez, Den,” Astrid says when he returns and goes to the coffee machine, “the biffy at the field office out of commission again?”

  “Dunno, haven’t made it there yet. Had a lot of coffee at lunch. Should’ve hit the can before I left Dot’s but it didn’t seem important until about ten minutes ago.” He puts a fresh pod in the Keurig, fills his cup, then takes a chair at the table.

  “And the first thing he does is get more coffee.” Astrid says.

  “Oh ja, of course, comes with being of Norwegian extraction.” He takes the empty chair next to Astrid, has a sip from his mug, and asks, “What’s up with you ladies today?”

  “We were just talking about the traffic,” Mary Ann says, “how there’s a lot more truck traffic than there used to be. It’s beating the crap outta the highway. You must’ve noticed the grooves in the pavement. Rattles your teeth bouncing over them to make the turn into the yard here!” Mary Ann shakes her head, then gets up and takes her mug to the sink.

  “The grooves are bad enough, but what about the potholes!” Janine contributes. “I see more roadworks in our future. We’ll really have something to complain about then.”

  “Never saw so many trucks,” Mary Ann continues. “Weird, too. The laundry trucks I can understand, probably because of that resort up on Bear Mountain opening again, but so many from that shredding company? Who needs so much shredding done now that everything’s paperless?”

  “I hadn’t noticed we’re paperless, Mary Ann,” Astrid says, “and we’ve still got decades of old files taking up space. Why don’t you call them and get a price on doing our shredding, since they’re going right past our door anyway? We need that back room cleared out and we’d burn out our little shredders if we tackled all those years of records.”

  “I’ll see if I can catch the company’s name next time I see one of the trucks,” Mary Ann agrees. “Out of curiosity, I Googled shredding services but didn’t come up with anything close.”

  “Huh. Maybe a new start-up? Still, in this day and age, you’d think they’d get a website up first thing.”

  “You’d think so,” Denver agrees, “but why pay someone to shred documents? Just get one of the guys to haul that crap all out to the yard and burn it. Not until the rainy season, of course.”

  Astrid shrugs and says, “I guess that’s a better idea.”

  Janine drains her coffee and says, “Well, back to work.” She gets up, goes to the sink and rinses her mug, then follows Mary Ann out the door.

  When the door closes behind them, Astrid turns to Denver and says, “you had lunch at Dot’s?”

  “Yeah. I ran into Evan Briggs at the bank and he insisted, so we went to Dot’s. You know they have a sandwich named after me?”

  “Yeah, I know. And as I tell you every time you mention it, Denver sandwiches were a thing long before you were born. But maybe there’s other people you haven’t told yet that will believe you. You’re such a hero in Dark River they probably think more than a miserable egg sandwich ought to be named after you. A park maybe. Street, at least.”

  Denver grins at that, but there’s no humor on Astrid’s face. She feels the clenching of her insides, the jolt of angst that still prompts an adrenalin rush when she thinks about what Denver did that made him a hero. “But you went for lunch with Evan Briggs? Of all the people in Dark River, you had lunch with him?”

  “I don’t expect you to be friendly to him,” Denver says, his grin evaporating. He leans forward in his chair, takes off his hat and gives his head an all-over scratching before continuing: “He’s a likeable guy and lucky for us, he likes us too. He’s a great connection. Don’t forget—because of him we got that great order. Remember? We were the only locals that got anything out of that project, except of course for the motels and restaurants and so on, the spin-off—"

  “I know!” Astrid snaps, then sighs. “Sorry. Just, it was great for us, but why us? And why didn’t he hire locals for any of the work there? Something seems off.”

  “That general contractor they used must’ve been the low bidder.”

  “I guess. But a contractor from Saskatchewan? For a huge log building? When we’ve got Timber Kings right in Dark River? It still doesn’t make sense.”

  Denver’s brow creases as he studies his wife. “Yeah. But it’s a legit company.”

  “As far as we know!”

  “Yeah, as far as we know. You checked them out, didn’t you?”

  “I did. But I still don’t get it. Hauling equipment all that way? Setting up bunkhouses for the labourers instead of just hiring local subs? How can they possibly be the low bidder with costs like that?”

  “Babe, we don’t know the ins and outs. Not our place to question who the shareholders hire.”

  “But what if it’s because they’re connected somehow? What if it starts up again?”

  “Oh, that’s what you’re worried about. The way Briggs explained it, the old lodge was owned by, like, money managers, bonds and stuff. I don’t understand it all, but it’d be like our RRSP fund. We have no say in how the companies in the fund are run. How could the shareholders know—”

  “Don’t say it like it’s a crazy idea! You said Hank Junior had some deal he wanted you in on, something about selling your ranch. I know he and Hank Senior went to Edmonton and met someone to talk about selling this property. They said it was some billionaire, through an agent or something, in Saskatchewan—”

  “There’s a few companies in Saskatchewan, babe.”

  “But what if there’s something I couldn’t find out online? Company ownerships can be convoluted. There could be a connection to the old lodge—”


  “I’ve heard those rumours, too, but I don’t believe it. You think there’s like, some rape-murder club franchise and they all stick together?”

  “Don’t act like it’s impossible! You know what that woman is saying about Heather’s House! Everyone acts like she’s crazy. I suppose you think I’m crazy, too!” This last comes out louder and more like a sob than she would have liked; the bolus of fear and dread in her stomach is growing; even knowing she’s safe, even after all the counselling, memories flash through her brain, vivid and terrible.

  Denver slides his chair closer and pulls her into a hug. “Aww, Astrid, I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re crazy. I wish there was something I could do to help you get over this.” He cups her chin and leans in to give her a kiss. “Don’t worry, babe, you’re safe! Those murders were a long time ago and all the bad people were killed in the explosion. There’s no reason to believe Briggs has any connection to them, but I’ll handle the business with him. You won’t have to be anywhere near him. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise. Okay?”

  After a moment, she relaxes and says, “okay.”

  “Maybe you want to book another session with Doctor Malone?” he suggests. “Not that I think you’re crazy, but she seems to help you.”

  Astrid takes a breath, shrugs, and says, “sure.”

  “I love you,” he says. He kisses her gently and gives her a squeeze before getting to his feet. “I have to swing by Heather’s House. They had a little scuffle there this morning. Had to call the cops.”

  “Oh my god! One of the husbands showed up?”

  “No, one of the clients flipped out. The one that’s been saying things—”

  “Why didn’t anyone call me?”

  “I didn’t realize they hadn’t. Maybe they thought I’d pass the message along? Anyhow, it was over before they called me. Just wanted us to know I guess. But I thought I’d check in anyway, find out what I can. And I have to get to the field office, too, so I’d better hustle.” He goes to the door, pulls it open, and is halfway out before turning around and saying, “Oh, before I forget, Briggs says they’re doing more landscaping at the Lodge and want some full dimension yellow cedar for boardwalks and so on. Can you see where we can get logs? Dunno how much they’ll need yet, so you don’t need to commit to anything, just see what the supply is like.”

  Astrid takes a deep breath, leans back in her chair and says, “I think we sawed some last year and might still have some in the yard. I’ll see what else I can get, once we know how much they need.”

  “Okay. See you at home.”

  “There’s a dinner meeting at Heather’s House.”

  “Oh yeah. Do I have to go to that?”

  “You’re on the Board, aren’t you?”

  “Well,” he says with a sigh, “I guess I’ll see you at the meeting, then.”

  Astrid watches his retreating back and as the door closes behind him, she bites her lower lip and thinks, he won’t let anyone hurt me? No one can always be there. Some promises are impossible to keep.

  Seven

  Welcome to Dark River

  FROM THE PASSENGER loading stairs, the Dark River airport terminal building looks no bigger than a double car garage. At least it shouldn’t take long to get through it, Kathy thinks as she follows the few dozen passengers deplaning.

  Since she had only a carry-on she doesn’t have to wait for baggage, and goes in search of the washroom. As she passes the kiosk with the green sign declaring it to be Economy Car Rentals, she says to the young woman behind the counter, “I have to rent a car. But I really need a bathroom break first! Can I leave my suitcase here?”

  “Umm…” the girl frowns; Kathy doesn’t wait for her to continue, and strides off toward the washroom signs only to find the door to the women’s is locked. Someone beat her to it, and she’s taking her time.

  Kathy breathes a sign of relief when at last the woman comes out. She pushes into the small room and thinks, well whatever you were doing in here that took so long, it wasn’t cleaning the place up! The garbage bin is overflowing, the soap dispenser is drooling pink ooze onto the counter, and there are odd bits of soggy toilet paper in puddles on the floor. She’s careful where she steps and sets her purse in a dry spot on the counter.

  Done in the washroom, she heads back to the car rental kiosk. The young woman manning the desk reluctantly puts down her phone. She doesn’t offer so much as a smile as she explains the choice of three vehicles. Kathy gets the keys to the Kia Sorrento, then although the girl has gone back to studying her phone, she asks, “by the way, do you know anyone by the name of Hank?”

  The frown on the girl’s face deepens; she doesn’t look up but clicks her tongue with a tsk and says, “nope,” before lifting a backpack onto the counter and stashing her phone in it. She gets to her feet, turns her back to Kathy and pulls down the first of the enclosure blinds.

  Teenagers, Kathy thinks. Pissed off because I delayed her leaving by five minutes. I sure hope everyone in town isn’t so unfriendly.

  She stands uncertainly looking around, wondering if there’s anyone else she can ask. The baggage handler is nowhere to be seen and all the other passengers have left. The gate is closed across the gift shop entrance. The Air Canada, West Jet and Interior Air check-in desks are in darkness. No more flights for quite a while, then. The tourist information kiosk, the size of the old outhouse on the farm, has a sign reading “Closed”.

  With a sigh, she heads out to the parking lot. The Sorrento is in the first row, and in less than fifteen minutes since she got off the plane, she’s on the road following the signs to Dark River.

  At the edge of town there’s a sign reading: “Welcome to Dark River! Population 5,000”. She crosses a bridge and takes the offramp onto what looks to be the main street; not much further along, there’s a large illuminated sign reading Riverview Motel above a modern-looking building with enough cars in the lot to suggest it’s lucky she wasn’t any later getting here. She turns in, parks in front of the office and goes inside to the front desk.

  The smartly-dressed desk clerk looks up over her glasses, gets to her feet as Kathy approaches and says, “good afternoon. How may I help you?”

  “I’d like a room, please.”

  “You’re in luck! We have one left.”

  “Only one?”

  “Yes. Sorry, but this is our busy season.”

  “On the second floor, I hope?”

  “No. Sorry,” the desk clerk says.

  It’s expensive. “Oh, umm, I, er, that’s a bit pricey.”

  “It’s one of our deluxe rooms, and we’re on summer rates, sorry.”

  “Okay, well, it’s more than I wanted to spend, and I’d really rather not be on the ground floor. I guess I’ll try another motel. Is there something else near here?”

  “Well, there’s Dodd’s Auto Court, on the other side of the river, back toward Prince George. About a half-hour’s drive I guess.” She selects a pamphlet from the rack on the counter, opens it to a street map and circles the star marking Dodd’s Auto Court. “But they don’t have a second floor.”

  “Oh.” Kathy catches her lower lip in her teeth. She could drive on, but she’d be getting further away from her search area, may not have better luck, and what if she ends up having to sleep in the car? She tells the desk clerk she’ll take the room, negotiates a better price for a stay of a week, and provides her credit card information.

  “By the way,” Kathy says once the paperwork’s done, “I know it’s a long shot, but I’m looking for a guy named Hank, who worked in some kind of camp near here about forty years ago. You wouldn’t by any chance know anyone like that?”

  “Hmmm. That’s not much to go on. I think a lot of guys worked in camp then. Still do, for that matter. I don’t know anyone named Hank, though, but then, I’ve only been here a few months.”

  “Oh, you’re a newcomer! I thought people mostly moved away from these small towns. What brought you here?”

  T
he clerk takes her glasses off and holds them by the stems; she shrugs and says, “you’re right, most people are heading the other way. I was at a crossroads in my life, you know, lousy job, divorce. My car crapped out and even my cat ran off. One night my luck changed. I met a man who offered me a job up here, this job. He even got me a cut rate on the rent of a duplex one of his buddies owns. Sounded good, so here I am. What about you? Are you looking for a job? He might be able to set you up with something, too.”

  “Me? No, I’m just here short-term, trying to find Hank.”

  “If you don’t find him, will you need a job?”

  “Oh, no! It’s not like that.”

  At the narrow-eyed look the clerk gives her, Kathy feels as though she should elaborate, but resists the urge.

  In a moment, the clerk continues, “Forgive me for saying, but you don’t have much to go on.”

  “I know.” Kathy sighs, then brightens. “Say—the man who got you this job—maybe he’d know more?”

  “Might, I suppose. I can’t give out his phone number, but next time I’m talking to him, I’ll ask.”

  “That would be great. Maybe give him my phone number?”

  “Sure. And you could ask around the Fisherman’s.”

  “Fisherman’s?”

  “The Fisherman’s Pub. It’s a favourite watering hole for rednecks. Oh! I hope you don’t mind I said redneck! It’s not an insult. I actually like rednecks!”

  “I like them, too, I guess. Married one.” They share a chuckle. Then Kathy says, “So. This pub …?”

  “Oh, yeah, the pub’s been there over a hundred years. A little rough, but it has its charm.”

  “And it’s called The Fisherman’s? Are there fishermen around here? We’re a long way from the ocean.”

  “Guys come here for fly fishing. The Dark River is quite famous for it. There’s these fish that come up from the ocean, cutthroat trout they’re called. Good fighters, keep fighting for a long time, at least that’s what they all tell me.”