“Such as rabbits, porcupines, and bighorn sheep,” Sam said, filling in the sound gap as the focus moved to a still photo of a newspaper article.
“Only seven months ago, Betsy Lumas was attacked and killed by a cougar as she jogged through Rocky Heights Park in Southern California.”
That was the first incident Perez had referred to. There had been no doubt that a mountain lion had killed the young woman. But all the evidence indicated that the attack had been defensive. The woman had clearly not been taken as prey. Her body was untouched except for the killing bite to the neck and claw marks on her shoulders. Lumas must have surprised a cougar at its kill, interrupted the cat’s stalking of prey, or maybe stumbled between a mother and her cubs.
A familiar clip appeared. Sam remembered the video from when the story had broken. Betsy Lumas’s husband tried to maintain his composure in front of the camera lens. “Betsy loved nature; that’s why she jogged in the park. For a mountain lion to kill her . . . that’s the worst possible thing I can think of . . . What a horrible way to die, with a mountain lion at your throat.”
Simultaneously, the voice and picture changed. “In Oregon, these recreational bikers reported a close encounter with a big cat.” Two teenagers holding the handlebars of mountain bikes recounted a near collision with a cougar on a backcountry trail.
Sam frowned. Hardly a deadly situation. The story moved on to the Colorado incidents. No relevant photos available, apparently. The audio track accompanied a generic shot of a cougar on a ledge.
To Sam’s astonishment, SWF’s home page appeared on the screen, along with her article “Cougar Celebration” and her photo of Leto and Artemis on the rock bridge.
“This appeared today on the website of Save the Wilderness Fund, a nonprofit environmental organization. This story highlights the increasing cougar population in our own state. It even states that a male cougar has been prowling close to Red Rock Campground in Heritage National Monument.”
Carolyn’s voice dropped in pitch. The newscaster clasped her hands in front of her and solemnly regarded the TV audience. “Yesterday evening, two-year-old Zachary Fischer disappeared from that very campground.”
The camera zoomed in on the smiling chubby face from the posters, then cut to the tearful Fischers, seated side by side in what looked like the TV studio.
“He was there one minute, and he was gone the next.” Jenny sobbed into the camera. “There were signs everywhere about cougars, but we didn’t really pay attention.” The camera cut to the warning sign. The familiar signpost—what to do if you see a cougar—filled the screen as Jenny’s tearful voice announced in the background, “We didn’t know our baby was in such danger.”
Next up was a familiar chiseled face. Caroline’s voice said, “Buck Ferguson is the owner of Eagle Tours, a company specializing in ecotourism and hunting expeditions.” Amazing how the anchor could mention the two specialties together without even a hint of irony.
On the wall behind Ferguson’s leather chair was a deer head with an impressive rack. And what was that form on top of the bookcase—a stuffed bobcat? Maybe the editor thought that Ferguson’s “liberal elitist” comment in the park was too inflammatory to air; this footage seemed to have been shot in Ferguson’s own den.
“People shouldn’t have to put up with this. There are too many cougars in that park.” Ferguson’s mouth curved into a self-satisfied expression. “The ecosystem just can’t support them. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”
A quick dissolve went back to the carefully groomed newscaster, now positioned in front of a blown-up photo of Zack. “How could this have happened to little Zachary Fischer? Are other campers in danger? Join Martha McAdams, author of American Lion, Superintendent John Quarrel of the U.S. Forest Service, and Buck Ferguson, local wildlife expert, here at ten thirty p.m. on Special Report. This is KUTV News 9, your source for all the latest news.”
Sam punched the Power button on the remote and the screen went blank. She sat cross-legged on the chenille bedspread, stunned, staring at a photo of a mule deer on the wall. The timing on the shot had been perfect—the shutter had snapped at the exact moment the buck had raised his head, liquid eyes focused on the camera, ears pricked, a light frosting of snow outlining his antlers.
Her phone trilled, jolting her out of her bewildered state. She rushed to dig out the instrument from her knapsack. “Westin,” she finally breathed into it.
“Sam!”
“Lauren, have you heard about this missing kid down here? Jeez, they showed the website and implied—”
“Sam! The chat session! Get online!” A click, followed by a dial tone.
“Ooops.” Sam threw the phone onto the bed, quickly connected the laptop to electricity and phone line, clicked the shortcut icon to jump onto the Internet. The hotel offered only slow dial-up service. She massaged her temples as she waited for the website to fill the screen. Three minutes after eight. It would be a hell of a note if SWF’s first chat session began without the host.
The chat screen finally appeared. Lauren had been covering for her. Wilderness Westin is online, she’d typed. Let’s talk about wildlife.
Let’s talk about cougars killing kids, someone called Levin468 had responded. I saw the news. Did Leto eat that baby?
Was Levin468 local? She hoped the story had aired only in Utah. Sam took another sip from her wineglass before typing There’s no evidence that a cougar took Zachary Fischer.
A question from MZigor sprawled across the screen. How about those killings in Mesa Verde, CA, and B.C.?
How about them? she responded.
MarcGem joined the conversation. Ur 1 a those treehuggers, Rnt U, Wild? If Ur kid was hungry n there was only 1 dodo bird left 2 eat, youd kill the kid instead a the bird.
Jeez, the venom was unbelievable. Wrong, MarcGem. Eat the bird.
I can’t believe U said that! ElizWong9211 typed.
Sam’s fingers flew. Think about it. She added, You idiots, but only in her head. If there’s only one bird left, the species is already extinct.
No one applauded her wisdom. The best she got was a comeback from MZigor that read Ur a smart babe. How bout swinging thru my jungle? I gottareal thick vine U can hang on2.J
Creep. The topic is wildlife, MZigor. Hint, hint. Where was the monitor? Was anybody up there in Seattle listening?
Im wild. U got 2 b hurtin 4 it af
Suddenly the letters stopped and MZigor’s name disappeared from the list of those tuned in.
She had to get this thing back on track. She typed In Heritage National Monument, the cougars prey almost exclusively on mule deer.
Then why did they kill Zack? CapJaneway asked.
Evrybdy’s tweeting “lion eats baby,” a new visitor chimed in. Follow me on Twitter.
She wasn’t following anyone into the mapless minefield of Twitter. Were numskulls tweeting this crazy rumor around the world? Sam repeated her keystrokes. There’s no evidence that a cougar killed Zack Fischer. We don’t even know that he’s dead. Was nobody listening?
Another message from MarcGem appeared. Kill all cougars.
Shit! The muscles in her shoulders clenched into knots as she waged battle with keystrokes for the rest of the hour. One minute before nine, Sam ended the thread, reminding the readers that cougars deserved protection, that Zachary Fischer was officially still missing, that the search for the little boy continued.
She sat back, took a deep breath, ate a few mouthfuls of cold dumplings and congealed gravy. The e-mail icon blinked at her. She had no doubt what sort of messages she would find if she opened her Inbox.
“Don’t you think that went well?” she asked the deer on the wall. It stared back, eyes huge with surprise.
Footsteps and muffled voices sounded in the hall. There was the metallic jangle of a key in a nearby door. The Wagon Wheel Motel wasn’t up to electronic cardkeys.
A muffled voice said, “Later, Nicole.”
; Perez? Next door? She trotted to the bathroom, grabbed the water glass from the countertop. Placing it against the bedroom wall, she pressed her ear against the glass bottom and listened intently. More footsteps, a couple of muffled thumps. Kicking off his shoes? The footsteps, lighter now, neared her position. A clunk close to her ear. Assuming his room was a mirror image of hers, the noise was probably his gun thumping down on the bureau.
Thank God for small towns. Her room was next to the FBI agent investigating Zack’s disappearance, in the same motel with the distraught parents. If anything of consequence happened, she’d know about it.
Her cell phone rang, startling her. She ran to the bed and picked it up, half expecting to hear Perez’s voice.
“Sam,” Lauren groaned. “How could it all go so wrong?”
She swallowed. “I saw the story on the news.”
“I can’t believe Adam Steele did that to us.”
“Adam? I was watching Utah news.”
“Adam promised to get us some attention, and he certainly delivered. Check out the story on the KSEA website. What can we say about a big donor who just knifed us in the back? Uh-oh. I have to put you on hold for a sec.” The connection went to a soothing New Age piece playing in her ear.
Sam moved back to the computer and pulled up the television station’s site. “Missing Child Taken by Cougar?” was first in the list of links under Feature Stories. Clicking it launched a video that showed Adam at the KSEA desk. He looked blond-god handsome and serious. Seriously handsome. He dipped his chin, looked straight at the camera and intoned, “Yesterday evening two-year-old Zachary Fischer disappeared from a campground in Heritage National Monument. Is little Zack lost or is the answer something far worse? The park is known for its rebounding cougar population.” The SWF website appeared behind him on a screen—her article “Cougar Celebration” and its accompanying photo. “This story, newly launched on Save the Wilderness Fund’s website, points out that cougar tracks were found close to the campground from which little Zachary disappeared.”
The video stopped. Four seconds from “Dynamite!” to disaster. Adam had precipitated the media avalanche?
Lauren was back. “Harding just dropped by to thank me for all this free publicity for SWF.” Her tone was acidic. “We look like idiots. He’s thinking about killing your assignment.”
“No! That would play right into their hands.”
“Whose hands?”
Good question. The media? The anti-cougar faction? “I’m sure this is only a temporary firestorm, Lauren. They’ll find the kid and everything will be okay. You’ve got to let me report on the search.” That reminded her. “What’s up with this Wilderness Westin stuff, anyway?”
“Adam suggested that, too. Said it would give you a persona people can remember, like the Crocodile Hunter on TV.” She huffed, then said bitterly, “Like we need to be remembered right now . . .”
Adam would think about names and image; five years ago he had changed his last name from Steeke to Steele, and it had made a world of difference in his career.
“The suits here loved the idea, even talked about giving all our writers and scientists nicknames. At least they did yesterday.” Lauren exhaled loudly into the receiver. “This series of online reports were supposed to bring SWF positive attention, not sink us like a torpedo!”
“A cougar did not take that child.” Sam kept her voice low. If she could hear through the walls, so could Perez. “I’ll prove that. Stay tuned.”
“Do I have any other choice?” Lauren retorted. “Speaking of which, I need your article for today. We can’t leave up what we’ve got there now.”
“I thought the chat session—”
“The deal was for a new article every day, right?”
“Right,” she said wearily. “I’m on it. I’ll send you my article within the hour.”
Sam hung up and sat staring at the flying stars of the screen saver on her laptop. If only she were flying through space right now. She pressed her eyes closed and gathered her thoughts for a minute, then brought up the word processing program and threw together some notes about the events of the day. She couldn’t exonerate the cougars, but she enumerated all the other possibilities and hit hard on the anti-cougar sentiment growing in the area. For visuals, she had only the bullet-riddled cougar sign from yesterday. Pulling a yellow missing poster from her pack, she snapped a photo of that and uploaded it as well. She couldn’t think of any way to tie the rappelling video of the Outward Bound group in with her search story, but she sent it, labeling it for max. At least she’d make him happy today.
Had she helped keep the focus on the missing boy at all?
Blake’s prediction of future work from SWF was a ridiculous fantasy. Would they even let her continue? And if Zack was found dead or never found, this whole trek would be one big nightmare.
With files sent, she turned off the laptop and collapsed onto the bed. Damn the television news. Rolling over, she snatched up her cell phone and stabbed in Adam’s number.
He sounded breathless when he answered. “Hey, babe, what a rush, huh?”
“I can’t believe you used the SWF website in your breaking news story.”
“Wasn’t that great? Everyone had the missing kid—and I can’t believe you didn’t give me that, by the way—but thanks to you, I was the first to throw the cougars into the mix.”
And throw me off the cliff, she thought bitterly.
“The manager’s blown away. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your fabulous story and photo! Hey, I’ve only got a minute—is there anything new?”
“Adam! The TV coverage makes it sound like a cougar took Zack.”
He finally paused for a breath. “We never said that. We only posed the question.”
“SWF is threatening to kill my assignment.”
“What? That’d be crazy. I’ll give them a call. Don’t they know controversy is everything?”
To you, she thought, not to a nonprofit organization. “A cougar did not take Zachary Fischer.”
“Man, that would be great, if I were the first to break that news. Can you prove that?”
“I will.”
“Then you go, girl! Keep in touch with each development, and keep up the good work. Are we a fantastic team? I owe you two dinners when you get back. Love ya.” He ended the call.
She tossed the cell phone onto the bed and stared at it as if it were a coiled snake. Had it only been last night that she’d been rejoicing at this assignment? Fantastic team? Had Adam actually said that?
She felt like she’d been mown down by a semi. The buck stared at her from its snowy isolation.
“Oh, shut up,” she told it. She lay back, closed her eyes, and tried to think about what to do next.
* * * * *
Ranger Rafael Castillo pulled up in the driveway of his house. His mind was on three things: dinner, a hot shower, and sleep, in that order. A blue VW Beetle was parked by the curb out front. The car looked familiar: he was pretty sure he’d seen it in the park. He fervently hoped that the driver was visiting one of his neighbors. It was ten o’clock, and after being on his feet for most of the last forty hours, he was not in the mood for socializing.
He hung his hat and jacket on the pegs in the hallway. Canned laughter from the television rumbled in from the living room. Bad sign. Anita usually turned it off as soon as the kids were in bed. He stalked into the living room, prepared to get the bedtime process under way immediately. It was a school night, those kids should be asleep.
A strange man sat with his back to Rafael on the worn couch, balancing two-year-old Katie on his knees. He was one of those aging men who couldn’t admit that his hair was going; the brown thatch on his crown was clearly a rug. A shrill giggle came from the toddler’s lips as she leaned back, clutching the man’s thick fingers in her tiny fists.
Katie’s giggles turned to excited shrieks as the man pulled her toward him. He bent over, pressed h
is lips against her bare stomach, made a rude noise with his mouth. She battered his thighs with a flurry of bare-footed kicks. He pulled her toward him again and nuzzled her neck. Over the stranger’s shoulder, the little girl caught a glimpse of her father standing behind the couch.
Her amber eyes widened. “Papi!” she shrieked happily.
The man straightened and pushed Katie away, settling her on the couch beside him. Pressing a hand over his toupee, he turned toward Rafael.
Miranda came down the stairs, clutching a pink stuffed bunny in her bejeweled hands. “Rafael!” she said, as if surprised to find him in his own house. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Evening, Miranda.” Rafael shifted his gaze meaningfully from his mother-in-law toward the man on the couch.
She held out her slender hand to the stranger. He enfolded it in his own large paw. “This is my good friend Russ Wilson. We met at the VFW a couple of days ago.” She wore brighter lipstick than usual, and her best gold earrings dangled from her ears. On the prowl again.
The man rose to shake Rafael’s hand. Wilson was half a head taller, and at least fifty pounds heavier. His handshake was soft and clammy.
“Wilson,” Rafael repeated. There was something important about that name. “Didn’t I see your car in the park?”
“Probably. I go there often, especially this time of year. The leaves are so pretty and—”
Now Rafael knew why Wilson was ringing alarm bells in his weary brain. Russell Wilson was the name of the “suspicious camper” that Sam Westin had called in. But Bill Taylor, the park’s other law enforcement ranger, had interviewed Wilson this afternoon and reported that although the guy seemed a tad nervous, everything appeared to be in order. He was a doting grandpa who hoped his grandkids would stop by again soon.
“Are you in Site 62?” Rafael asked him, although he already knew the answer. “The brown and tan RV? We knocked last night. Nobody answered. Around midnight?”
Wilson held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was inside, in bed. But there was so much shouting last night, what with the missing kid, that I couldn’t sleep. So I took a sleeping pill. It would have taken an explosion to wake me up.”
Endangered (A Sam Westin Mystery Book 1) Page 7