Catch Me if Yukon

by Maddy Hunter

  Etienne checked the time on his phone. “Do you suppose Delpha is back yet?”

  “I certainly hope so. It wouldn’t take her three hours to hike two miles downhill, would it? What’s her room number?”

  After our insistent knocks on her door went unanswered, we decided that either she was in the pool and spa area or a two-mile hike down a two-thousand-foot mountain did indeed take longer than three hours. Etienne handed me her food. “Why don’t you head back to the room and relax, bella? I’ll check out the pool and join you in a few minutes.”

  Once back in our room, I located the neat stack of hotel literature left on our dresser and pulled out the map legend for the resort. There were several trails leading down from the mountain. One meandered over what looked like treeless terrain in a series of squiggly switchbacks. Another skirted the perimeter of a dense patch of wooded terrain that offered fewer switchbacks. Yet another cut directly through the woods in what was probably a shorter but potentially more dangerous route. Unfortunately, I had no idea which one Delpha had decided to take, which made any kind of time calculation impossible.

  I slanted a look out our hotel window at the great hulking mountain whose summit remained cloaked in fog. “Where are you, Delpha?” I whispered aloud, which is when it struck me that I had the capacity to find out. I mean, I could simply call her. Duh.

  I picked up my phone.

  I let it ring and ring and ring until I got shunted to her voicemail.

  I sent her a text: are you near the end of the trail? getting worried.

  I stared at my screen, waiting for a response.

  Knockknockknockknock.

  I hurried to the door.

  “Your father has really gone and done it this time,” fussed Mom as she barged into the room, dragging Dad behind her.

  “What’s he done?”

  Mom crossed her arms and drew her eyebrows together over her nose. Dad tucked in his lips and shrugged.

  “Show Emily the picture.”

  After tapping the screen, he handed his phone to me.

  “Trees. Very nice content, Dad. Tall, pointy trees, all clumped together. Did you take this from the tram?”

  His phone pinged.

  “Yup.”

  Mom sighed her frustration. “You have to look more closely, Emily. Do you see anything else? And no, this isn’t a hidden objects game.”

  “Uh…”

  His phone pinged again.

  I expanded the photo and studied it more closely. “Well, there’s a shadowy patch over in the corner here that looks like—” I squinted at the shadow, its form slowly morphing into a shape that caused my mouth to drop. “Holy crap.” I ran to the desk to examine it more closely under the light. “No way can this be real. It can’t be real because it looks like…like…”

  “A big hairy beast,” tittered Mom. “Bigfoot. Exactly. Here I was thinking we could get through a vacation without your father drawing unnecessary attention to himself, but nooo.”

  Ping. Ping. Ping.

  “He decides to send his photos off to that website your grandmother recommended, and now his phone won’t stop pinging.”

  “Who’s contacting him?”

  “Everyone! They’re all clamoring for a piece of him. They want phone interviews. And TV interviews. And newspaper interviews. This is apparently the biggest news since…since that famous Hollywood star gave birth to an alien baby.”

  I pulled a face. “Which star was that?”

  “I don’t remember. They all look alike to me.”

  “The stars or the babies?”

  Ping. Ping.

  “If your father had kept his old camcorder, this wouldn’t have happened. He’d have taken pictures of the same old pavement and blue jeans and been ignored by that website instead of being hounded by the press. The international news has already picked up the story.” She made a gimme motion for Dad’s phone. “Look at this headline: It Lives!!! Iowa Grain Farmer Shoots Photo of Bigfoot Monster in Alaska. And how about this one: Flesh-Eating Beast on the Loose in Alaska Forest.”

  Oh geesh. If this turned into a media circus, our schedule could be completely derailed. On a brighter note, Ennis would probably be thrilled that his crackpot creature theories might not be considered so crackpot anymore.

  “Why didn’t you say something when you saw the thing, Dad?” I asked gently.

  “ ’Cuz I was only taking pictures of trees.” He gave me a beleaguered look. “Those fellas at the website were the ones who spotted it. Not me.”

  Etienne walked through the door, his steps slow, a grim expression darkening his features.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice cracking with sudden fear.

  “There’s been a mishap on the mountain. The people at the front desk are waiting for the rescue squad to arrive, so they’re understandably rattled, but when I told them who I was and that I was missing a guest, they shared what they could with me. The victim is female.”

  Dread needled down my spine like pincers.

  “And she’s wearing pink-and-black speed tights.”

  My knees weakened and my stomach soured. “Oh my god.

  Delpha?”

  Etienne nodded. “She’s dead.”

  eight

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” cried Mom. “It’s Bob’s creature. It’s gone on a killing spree!”

  Etienne regarded Mom as if she had spinach growing out her ears. “What creature?”

  “Bigfoot! Sasquatch! Bob got a picture of him.” She stabbed her finger at the window. “On that mountain. From our gondola.” She flicked through several screens before holding up Dad’s phone in front of Etienne’s face. “See this picture? See this shadow in the corner? It’s been verified by numerous international news sources. It’s Bigfoot. And it’s out there lurking in those woods someplace.”

  Ping.

  Etienne eased the phone from Mom’s hand and expanded the picture, growing very quiet as he studied the image. “I can’t say with any assurance what it is…other than it’s fuzzy.”

  “Are we looking at the same picture?” Mom hovered over Etienne’s arm. “That camera has, like, a million pixels. How can you say the image is fuzzy? It’s clear as a bell.”

  “The crea—the shadow—is fuzzy, Margaret.”

  “But don’t you think the fuzziness makes it look kinda cuddly?” asked Dad.

  Etienne handed the phone back to Mom. “The anomaly in Bob’s photo is a curiosity. It is not—I repeat, not—an explanation for what has happened to Delpha.”

  “It is as far as I’m concerned,” argued Mom.

  “Margaret.” Etienne’s tone was tempered, patient. “Until we receive feedback from the local authorities, we’d be wise not to speculate about what caused Delpha’s mishap. She might have stumbled down a ravine or suffered a medical emergency, or walked into a tree while texting on her phone.”

  I clapped my hands over my mouth to muffle my gasp. Omigod. Hadn’t I just warned them that something like this could happen? Had Delpha, despite all her athletic training and expertise, been engaged in distracted walking when she died? Had she been texting while hiking?

  But if that were the case, then…

  My breathing slowed as I grasped the implications.

  Then I could be complicit in her death because the person she’d been texting was probably…me.

  “Or,” Mom reiterated, “she might have been attacked by Bigfoot. So when are we going to know what happened to her for sure? Because as long as that thing is out there, none of us are safe.”

  I clutched Mom’s forearm. “You can’t repeat your theory to anyone. Please, Mom. You’ll cause a panic if you start spreading wild rumors. Etienne is right. You have to let the police do their work before you start presenting your own version of the facts.”

  She ar
ched her brows—a sure sign that she was digging in her heels. I sidled a desperate glance around the room, searching for a way to divert her attention, but no magazines needed arranging. No black socks needed color coding. Nuts.

  “I won’t presume to tell you how to run your business, Emily, but don’t you think your guests have a right to know about the hazards they’re facing?”

  “But Mom, think about our guests with high blood pressure, with heart trouble, with anxiety problems. How do you think they’ll react if they hear they’re being stalked by a flesh-eating creature who might be lurking a stone’s throw away from the resort?”

  “How do those news folks know it’s flesh-eating?” asked Dad. “What if it’s a gluten-averse lacto-vegetarian? I’ve heard that’s a very popular dietary choice these days.”

  The expression on Mom’s little moon face remained so implacable that I realized I was going to have to ratchet my argument up a notch, which meant zeroing in on the one thing that meant more to her than alphabetizing periodicals or color coding socks.

  “What about Nana, Mom? You know she’s getting up there in age. Do you think she’s strong enough to cope with the stress of being stalked by a monster who may or may not be flesh-eating?”

  In less than a heartbeat, Mom’s features collapsed like a tower of Jenga blocks. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Emily. Your grandmother—news like this could kill her. She’s so old and frail, a threat as terrifying as this could literally jolt her heart into an arrhythmia and cause it to stop beating.” She seized my forearm in a death grip. “You can’t tell her. You can’t breathe a word that it’s obvious Delpha was killed by the fuzzball that Bob accidentally photographed. We can’t tell her anything about your father’s photo. It would be far too frightening for her to process. Your grandmother’s very survival is at stake. Promise me, Emily.”

  “I promise,” I said, wincing as I peeled her fingers off my arm.

  “Good. Come on, Bob. We’re leaving. I have to rethink our itinerary.”

  “What’s wrong with the one we have now?” he asked as he hurried to the door behind her.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  Ping! Ping! Ping! went Dad’s phone.

  “And would you please turn off that phone of yours? Maybe if you ignore their messages, those news services will get the hint and leave you alone.”

  Slam!

  Etienne gave me a questioning look. “Did you mean to do that? Your mother will never let your grandmother out of her sight now.”

  “I know.” I cringed. “I think I just threw Nana under the bus. But I couldn’t let Mom connect a string of mythical dots between Dad’s photograph and Delpha and let her pass it off as fact. Can you imagine? Our guests would probably be so freaked out, they’d all want to go home. That’s called tour suicide.”

  My phone chimed. I checked the name on the readout. “It’s Nana.” I scanned the message. “Great. Apparently, Bernice just sent a text blast to the gang with a link to the news articles about Dad’s creature.”

  Etienne waited a beat. “And?”

  “And, I quote, ‘Dang. How come your father was the only one what seen Bigfoot? Can we go back up that mountain tomorrow? If we don’t run into no fog, maybe I can get a selfie with him.’ ”

  Etienne grinned. “Your mother was right to be concerned. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard your grandmother sound quite so terrified.”

  I gave him the look. “This isn’t funny, Etienne. And you know the real kicker? I might be the one who caused Delpha’s death. Not freaking Bigfoot. Me.”

  He grazed his fingers over my cheek, his eyes soft, his voice an undertone. “What are you saying?”

  “You suggested it yourself. What if texting is to blame for Delpha’s death? The person she was texting was probably me. Remember? I sent her a message asking what she’d like to order for dinner. What if she took her eyes off the trail for a split second while she was texting back and…and…” I gulped down a mouthful of air. “There’s no way to whitewash it. I as good as killed her.”

  I blinked away tears as Etienne folded me into his arms, cradling my head against his chest. “Do you suppose you could postpone accepting all the blame for this until we have more information? If she’d been crossing a busy city street, her texting might have precipitated her death, but hiking down a mountain trail is entirely different.”

  “But you told Mom—”

  “I know what I told your mother, Emily. What else could I have said to challenge the conclusion she’d jumped to? My only recourse was to pepper her with a litany of viable scenarios, none of which changed her mind, by the way.” He snuggled me closer and rested his chin on the top of my head. “That didn’t happen until you threw your grandmother under the bus.”

  “Please don’t remind me. If Mom does something weird and ruins Nana’s holiday, it’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.” I wriggled out of his embrace, yearning for some sign of reassurance. “So…you don’t think I played a part in Delpha’s death?”

  “I don’t. And I say that not as your husband, but as a former police inspector. So will you try to erase the notion from your mind? Please?”

  I nodded. “I’ll try. But—”

  He held up his finger to put me on pause. “To that end, I’m going down to speak to the manager about the situation. Delpha is our guest as well as the hotel’s, so I’m going to encourage him to include us in all phases of the investigation. We need to keep her family apprised, so it’s rather essential that we’re not left out of the loop.” He flashed a tentative smile. “Would you mind if I leave you for a while?”

  I shook my head. “I need to let everyone know what’s happened to Delpha. It’s not something I’m looking forward to, but it’s better they learn it from me than from someone else’s post on social media.”

  “Would you prefer we tell them together?”

  “I can handle it.” I heaved a discouraged sigh. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

  I sent a text blast to everyone in the group except Mom, Dad, and Alison, asking them to come to my room as soon as possible so I could make an important announcement. I figured I’d tell Alison later in private to spare her the upheaval of what could be an extremely emotional group meeting.

  They began to arrive almost immediately in groups of two, like the animals on Noah’s ark, only with better language skills. And despite the lateness of the hour, they didn’t seem tired. I guess relentless daylight tended to energize everyone. They made themselves at home in our room, sitting on the bed, the chairs, the window sill, and the desk, but the buzz in the room wasn’t about my unexpected announcement.

  It was about Dad’s photo.

  “I don’t see the resemblance to Bigfoot,” complained Margi as she stared at her display screen. “It looks like a fir tree to me.”

  “Then how do you explain the arms?” prodded Helen Teig.

  “What arms?” asked Osmond.

  “You see those appendages attached to the thing’s body?” snapped Helen. “They’re called arms.”

  Osmond squinted at the image on his phone. “They look like evergreen boughs to me.”

  Nana’s eyes rounded to the size of bull’s eyes. “You s’pose it could be one of them hybrids?”

  “You mean, something that harkens back to ancient mythology?” floated Tilly. “Like the half-human, half-horse centaur? Or the half-human, half-bird harpy? Or the half-human, half-fish merman?”

  “You got anything that’s half man, half tree?” asked George.

  “What are you people discussing?” interrupted Ennis. “What Bigfoot photo?”

  In one sweeping motion they whisked their phones into the air and starting talking over each other like analysts on the ten-member panels on CNN, prompting me to let fly one of my signature whistles to quiet them.

  Cringing. Hands
clapping over ears. Cries of “Ow!” as phones inadvertently collided with ear cartilage.

  I answered Ennis’s question myself. “My dad was shooting pictures of the scenery on our way up to the restaurant, and, according to some online news bureaus, he managed to capture a photo of what appears to be…uh…Bigfoot.”

  “Or a random fir tree,” muttered Margi.

  “Are you serious?” barked Ennis. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

  “I only found out myself less than a half hour ago.”

  “You’re not in our Golden Oldies group.” Bernice directed a pouty face at Ennis. “So you don’t get any of my up-to-the-minute breaking news items.”

  “Well, could I be included in the future? Who’s got this photo cued up so I can see it?” he demanded, his hand outstretched in anticipation.

  George slapped his phone into Ennis’s palm. “Bigfoot’s down here in the corner, partially disguised as a tree.”

  “He is not disguised as a tree,” protested Helen. “If you enlarge the picture, you can clearly see his enormous head and long, hairy arms.”

  “Dude,” snorted Dick Stolee as he elbowed Dick Teig, “his head looks even bigger than yours.”

  “That’s not possible,” deadpanned Helen.

  “How did a bunch of online news bureaus get hold of Bob’s photo in the first place?” questioned Ennis as he studied the image.

  “It’s on account of the website what we found,” said Nana. “He uploaded all them photos what he took, and some eagle-eyed fella musta spotted the creature in the trees.”

  “Creature, my foot,” hooted Bernice. “It’s fake news made to look like real news to create fake buzz on the Twittersphere.”

  “It is not,” countered Helen. “You’re just jealous that your photo isn’t the one that’s in the limelight.”

  Bernice skewered her with demon eyes. “My photos will get recognized, and they’ll make a bigger splash than Bob’s ape. And it won’t be any of this cheesy amateur fake garbage.”

  “You don’t know that Bob’s photo is fake,” challenged Alice. “Those news bureaus are reputable organizations. They’re the ones who posted the photo of that candle in their famous montage of ordinary objects that resemble human faces.”