The Bear Mountain Secret

by Gayle Siebert

  “You said before you had no family until Denver. Does he have siblings? Are you close to them?”

  “Siblings, yes. Close, no. He had a falling out with his brother. He’s in Arizona, trains cutting horses down there. His sister and her wife are in Vancouver. Closest thing we’ve got to family is Wilson. He started working for Den’s father when he was sixteen.”

  “Well, Wilson is great. Seems like he’s big help, too. Did you ever wish for a sister, though?”

  “Umm, no, not really. I guess I wondered why all my friends had siblings and I didn’t. That’s about all. You wanted a sister?”

  “When I was little, I did. I thought a baby sister, or a brother even, would be wonderful. I guess I asked my mother about it too many times. She, umm, you could say she never took it well. Since I got those letters, I realize maybe me bugging her about it made her feel bad about the baby she gave away, although I’d be surprised if she ever cared that much. She was pretty willing to leave me behind when she thought she was going to move here to be with Hank. Anyway, I finally quit asking. When I got older, I realized it was just as well. And now I have Rick’s sister, Jeanie. His daughter, mom, all his cousins and so on.”

  “Hmmm.” Astrid sits back and looks off across the patio. After a moment, she says, “You know, I might not have come here if I had any family. No close friends, either. You’ve been divorced, maybe you know how it is. The friends you have as a couple go with either the wife or the husband when you split. I don’t think it’s a conscious thing. In my case, when I left, I moved across town. I guess there’s a boundary, like a containment field, about twenty minutes out. Or maybe they just never really liked me as much as they liked him. Anyway, now I have Franny. She’s great, but since…well, there’s always this…I don’t know, this distance. Like she blames me for what happened. Maybe that’s a big part of the reason I don’t tell anyone about, er, what happened.”

  “I know what you mean,” Kathy says. “I still have a very good friend from childhood, Penny. She lives in Vancouver, so since I moved halfway across the country—way outside the twenty minute containment field!—we’re more like pen pals, or should I say email pals? People I know through work are friendly and all, like you’d expect in a small town. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I always think when they look at me, they’re thinking, you’re that woman. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. It’s a wall between Franny and me, too. She says things that make me wonder if she’s jealous. Because I inherited this.” Astrid wobbles slightly as she waves her arm around. “Believe me, she has no idea. There’s nothing, no amount of money or property, that could possibly…”

  They’re both fall quiet for a few moments. Kathy sips her wine, then says, “I wish no one knew. But, well, having this,” she holds out her hand with its index finger amputated at the first knuckle. “And this,” she pulls her hair back to show her ear with its missing lobe. “People always look and if they don’t know my story, I know they’re dying to ask what happened. You are, too, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, Kathy, but, yeah.”

  “The guy who tried to kill me did it.”

  “Oh! My god!”

  “Thankfully I was unconscious at the time.”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” Astrid’s face twists and her eyes fill. She takes a couple of deep breaths. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am! I…I…My experience was bad but yours…” She chokes up and can’t continue.

  Kathy lowers her head and chews at the hangnail on her thumb, swallowing several times to get rid of the lump that still materializes in her throat when she talks about it. After a few moments, she looks up at Astrid and says, “I can’t believe I’m telling you this! Maybe it’s because you’ve been through it too. About the same time, too. Like parallel, or like we’re twins.”

  “Sure. And then there’s the physical resemblance,” Astrid smiles and wipes her eyes with her hand.

  “Well, obviously! If it wasn’t for a six inch height difference, black-turning-grey hair instead of blonde, brown eyes instead of blue, we’d be identical! And we both live on a ranch and have cattle dogs! Ours isn’t a Border Collie, though. He’s an Australian Cattle Dog, they call them heelers. Ours is a red one, Chewie. He’s a good old dog. When Rick wants the horses to come in, if they’re too far away to hear him call, he sends Chewie. The horses start coming toward the barn as soon as they see him heading their way.”

  She realizes she’s close to babbling, but it’s moving the subject safely off her abduction, so she continues: “Rick’s always had a heeler, ever since he was little, so now that Chewie’s getting older, he wants to get another puppy. I say we should get a dog from a rescue. He argues you never know what their temperaments will be like, but if you get a purebred, you’re pretty much guaranteed.”

  “Yeah,” Astrid sniffs and wipes her eyes again. “You’re guaranteed, all right! I think heelers are like Border Collies, working dogs, so you’re guaranteed that they’ll be busy all day and go herd the horses around if they get bored. Sounds like yours at least has a job. Our relentless horse herder, tireless ball chaser and talented frisbee catcher is Tippy the Third.”

  The black and white dog raises her head at the mention of her name and thumps her tail.

  “Buster’s getting long in the tooth, too,” Astrid continues. “He’s diabetic. I have to give him insulin injections twice a day and that ain’t easy with his thick coat! At least he’s good about it. He has to pee so often we can’t leave him in the house overnight anymore but then he barks his head off half the night because he hates raccoons and of course they’re nocturnal. Sometimes I think he’s senile, the way he’ll go running off into the bush and then stand and bark at nothing. If he trees a raccoon, forget calling him off, he’ll bark at the tree for half an hour before he gives up. He slobbers and sheds so bad he was never a good house dog. And yet he’s such a sweet guy I dread the day we have to euthanize him. I wish they didn’t have such short lives. He’s only eight and you’ve seen how he moves, he looks like an ancient dog. He used to be so tidy, always going out into the bush to poop, and now he just does it anywhere he happens to be, so watch out for land mines! They’re everywhere! The only good thing is that he sticks around home more than he used to.”

  “Is there something you can give him to help? We have Chewie on Previcox. It seems to help.”

  “Did. He won’t eat it now, though. No matter how carefully I hide the pill.”

  “Yeah, our old horse is on Previcox too, and she’s like that,” Kathy says. “Was like that, I mean.”

  “Was?”

  “She, um, colicked yesterday and had to be put down.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “She was pushing thirty so she had a good long life, but she was really Rick’s horse. You know, I told him he didn’t need to come, but I’m glad he is. He had that horse since she was a foal. I was sorry I couldn’t be with him when he had to put her down. He wouldn’t say so, but I think it tore him up. It’ll be good for him to get away for a couple of days.”

  “He sounds like a guy with a tough shell and a marshmallow filling.”

  “You know, that’s a good description of him.”

  “He’ll get along real well with Denver, then.” Astrid lifts the box of wine and refills Kathy’s glass before topping up her own. “Lucky thing Denver’s picking up more of this,” she says, waving the box back and forth to show it’s getting empty.

  “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “We haven’t drank all that much really. It wasn’t full when we started, you know.”

  “But I’m already tipsy.”

  Tippy looks up and thumps her tail again.

  “She said tipsy, not Tippy!” Astrid scolds the dog. Tippy pants and lolls her tongue; she looks like she’s smiling as she rolls over exposing her belly, her tail wagging her entire back end.

  The dog looks so funny, Kathy giggles. Astrid joins in. It’s cathartic, and soon they’re l
aughing so hard they don’t hear the truck drive in. The dogs do, though; Tippy leaps to her feet and runs off, with Buster in pursuit.

  Soon, the two men come out through the patio doors and join the women, who are still chuckling. Kathy wipes tears from her eyes as she gets unsteadily to her feet and goes to hug Rick.

  “What’s so funny?” Denver asks.

  “Nothing, really,” Astrid answers, “I guess we just needed a good laugh.”

  “Didn’t hurt that the two of you’ve got your shines on, neither,” Denver says. He strokes her shoulder and gives it a squeeze. He introduces Rick to Astrid, then says, “looks like you had a few since I left. I’ll get us some beers and we’ll get started catchin’ up, hey Rick?”

  “He’s probably hungry. There’s a burger patty left over you can nuke,” Astrid says. “Thank Kathy for that. All she ate was salad, beans and a bun.”

  “Wilson’s got it covered,” Denver says. “We’re gonna grab somethin’ and after a beer, take a run over to the other place. Turns out Rick’s lookin’ for a horse or two so I’d like to show him what we got for sale.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Astrid says. “Whaddaya think, Kathy? Up for a ride through the bush on an ATV?”

  “Hell, yeah!”

  “We’ve only got three ATV’s so someone will have to double up.”

  “Nice you want to go with us,” Denver says. “Tell you what, though, neither one of you’s gonna drive.”

  Fourteen

  The Exchange

  IT’S FULL DARK AND the moon hasn’t yet risen when Clint turns his Porsche up the Bear Mountain Haul Road. He drives slowly, watching for the turn onto the side road. Not easy to spot at the best of times, it’s next to impossible in the dark, and it’s especially dark under the canopy of native firs and cedars. The road is seldom used, and bushes crowd the roadway. At last he sees it, nothing more than a wide space in the bushes, and turns in.

  He scowls and wonders why this couldn’t’ve been done on the Haul Road. Hardly any traffic anytime and none at this time of night. “Couldn’t they pick someplace that wouldn’t ruin my paint?” he mutters, cursing as branches sweep down the sides of his car.

  At least the meeting site isn’t much further along, in a cleared area wide enough to turn around. Moonlight floods the area. He stops about fifty meters from the van that’s parked facing him and gets out to stand in front of his car.

  He takes a lungful of the night air, noticing there’s still a hint of the smoke from the fire that came within a kilometer of the highway, and this road. Crews are still putting out hot spots.

  Not for the first time, he wonders what forces protect Bearon. Even forest fires stop a safe distance from his cabin. And that bear! Clint has often wondered why Bearon always wears that balaclava and always, long-sleeved shirts. It must be to hide something, like one of those huge raised red birthmarks or some horrible birth defect. Or maybe some gruesome disfigurement that was the price he paid for a deal with the devil.

  At that thought, a chill courses through him despite the evening being warm. Clint quickly crosses himself, and thinks, fuck me! Hope those guys didn’t see that! The Children of Noah creed doesn’t recognize the New Testament and True Believers certainly never cross themselves.

  As caustic as Bearon can be, Clint counts himself lucky to be his go-to guy. That he keeps secrets from the rest of the council doesn’t bother him, although more and more often lately he’s found it irksome to be treated like an errand boy. Then he reminds himself he’s privy to plenty the council isn’t, and the perks of the job make up for a lot. So far, anyway.

  The van’s headlights go on and a dark figure slides out of the passenger seat, raising a hand in greeting before going to the side. Clint hears the door slide open. After a moment, the man appears in front of the van, backlit by the headlights, pushing a white-robed figure who stumbles along, arms shackled behind her back and a bag on her head.

  Clint meets them halfway, catching Kiersten in a hug as she is shoved hard toward him. No words are exchanged. The hooded figure gives a nod; there’s enough moonlight to see his grin and thumbs up before he turns and jogs back to the van. In moments the door slides shut, the engine starts, and the van pulls away. It passes them, goes around the Porsche, and disappears into the bushes.

  “Are you okay, baby?” Clint asks as he pulls the bag off her head. “Did they hurt you?”

  “N... no! A little… But I… Oh, Clint!” she sobs, “I was so scared!” Her knees buckle and she collapses into Clint’s arms. He steadies her, then digs his Swiss Army knife out of his pocket, opens it, and turns her to cut the zap straps and free her hands. Then he holds her until her sobbing stops.

  “They took my clothes! Who are they? How did you find me?”

  “I put some feelers out. They gave you up pretty easily. I guess they didn’t mean to take you.”

  “No, I just went to see Kathy and…Clint! That man! That awful man! He pushed me down and he hit muh-muh-me!”

  “Shh! You’re okay now. You’re safe.” He rubs her back and says softly, “you’ve been through a terrible ordeal and I’m sure you’re exhausted. Let’s get outta here.”

  He leads her to the passenger door, opens it, and closes it behind her once she’s settled in. He gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine, driving carefully over the rough ground to turn back. Once they’re heading along the roadway, he takes her hand. “I’m so glad you’re okay, baby! You don’t know how worried I was! But the deal I had to make to get you back—besides the money, I had to make a deal. You understand?”

  Kiersten cocks her head, wipes her eyes, then nods. “I guess.”

  “There’s a couple strings attached. You can’t tell anyone. I don’t know who these guys are, but there’s a lot of them, and they said if you—we—go to the cops, or tell anyone, they’ll get you again and next time—oh, God! I don’t want to think about it!”

  “They asked me about my sister, Clint! Wanted to know how long my niece has bu-bu-been taking dance at Calisto!” Kiersten starts crying again.

  “It’s okay, baby.”

  “But how would they know?”

  “I don’t know, baby.”

  “But they’re in Vancouver! Lorraine and Kimmie, they’re in Vancouver! How would they know about them?”

  “They’re a big operation. Got people everywhere. It’s just lucky I knew who to reach out to. We don’t need to tell anyone.”

  “I…uhh…”

  “We don’t.”

  “But my work!” she sobs. “Mr. Passmore is gonna be pissed at me if I just show up with no explanation for leaving like that! And they kept my clothes. My name badge.”

  “You have another work outfit, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but I need more than one. Mr. Passmore will be pissed that I lost one.”

  “I fixed it with him. You leaving like you did. I can fix the missing clothes thing, too.”

  “He’s gonna fire me!”

  “He won’t. I told him you called me because you had an, er, anxiety attack and I took you to the doctor. Emergency. You know I have pull. I went right over Passmore’s head to the owner. Got you that job in the first place, didn’t I?”

  She nods. Sniffs and wipes at her eyes.

  “There’s napkins in the glove box.”

  She digs them out and blows her nose. The glow from the dashboard lights illuminates her tear- and snot-streaked face and Clint feels a tug of empathy. He was on script when he said she’d been through a terrible ordeal, but now he realizes the truth of it. He says, “don’t worry, baby, you’ll be okay. As long as you stick with the story. You were on your break, right? You were on the phone with me when you had an anxiety attack. You don’t know anything about any break-in. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  After a moment, he says quietly, “remember, they know where your sister and her little girl live. They know where you live, too. So this is important.”

  This sets off fresh tea
rs. “They’re not safe. They’ll have to move. I have to move too,” she sobs.

  “They don’t have to move. They could find them if they moved, anyway. They’re perfectly safe as long as we don’t tell anyone about this. So are you.” He gives her forearm a rub.

  “You’re staying at my place tonight, for sure,” he continues, now taking her hand and squeezing it. As per script, says, “We can talk about you moving in with me, too. I love you.”

  “Ohhh, Clint! I love you, too,” Kiersten cries, and gives him a tremulous smile. She climbs partway over the console to push up against him and kiss his neck.

  “I was scared, too, baby. I’d have done anything to get you back! But sit down and buckle in. This road’s tricky. I wouldn’t want you to get killed if we go off it. Pretty steep on that side I think.” After a suitable pause, he continues, “I don’t get it. Why that room? Whose room was it?”

  “Umm, Kathy. I don’t remember her last name.”

  “The gal you said you had coffee with a couple times?”

  “Uh-huh,” she nods and wipes her nose again.

  “What would she have that anyone would be after?”

  “Nothing that I know of. She’s just a normal, ordinary person. Very sweet, just, um, ordinary.”

  He doesn’t love Kiersten, of course, but saying he does and suggesting she could stay with him, possibly even move in, has the desired effect of getting her mind off being snatched. He watches as she sits up straighter and takes a deep breath that opens the front of the robe slightly and lifts her breasts. They’re small, too small to make more than a slight bump in the thick robe. Still, the peek inside the robe is alluring.

  “She’s looking for her birth father,” Kiersten continues, wiping her eyes with a fresh napkin. “That’s all I know. Someone by the name of Hank. She doesn’t even know his last name. Don’t you remember? I asked you about it, and I gave you her phone number.”

  “Oh, right. That was her? I remember now. I called but didn’t get an answer.”