Catch Me if Yukon

by Maddy Hunter

  A frisson of unease rippled through me. “Where on the outskirts of town is he talking about building it?”

  “As far away from the outdoor water park as possible. On the opposite side of town.”

  “But that’s all farmland.”

  “I know. Al mentioned something about eminent domain, but his phone died before he could finish. Isn’t it exciting?”

  I watched her head toward the bus in all her anticipatory bliss.

  No, it wasn’t exciting. That farmland belonged to my dad!

  Goldie Kristiansen, her throat and wrists dripping in bangles that jingled like sleigh bells, was the last name I checked off. “Did you check off Grover’s name already?” she asked as we walked to the bus.

  “You bet. You’re the last one to arrive.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve seen Grover because I had absolutely no idea where he was. I was rather getting my hopes up that we could leave him behind.” She sighed. “Next time maybe.”

  As Etienne assisted her onto the bus, I spied Steele chatting with Alison and realized with chagrin how remiss I’d been about keeping him personally informed about all that had been happening.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” I apologized when I joined them.

  “About what?” asked Steele.

  “I haven’t been keeping you in the loop. Things have been so crazy, I…” I stirred the air with my hand. “I’m really sorry. I promise to do better.”

  He laughed. “No worries. I’m up to speed.” He tucked an errant wisp of hair behind Alison’s ear—an innocent gesture that throbbed with intimacy. “Alison’s been Johnny-on-the-spot.”

  “Thanks, Alison.” I gave her forearm a grateful squeeze. “Uh…could I speak with you for a sec?”

  “That doesn’t sound good,” Steele teased, “so I’ll see you ladies on the coach.” He winked good-naturedly and sprinted up the stepwell. I drew Alison aside, far enough away from the bus so that none of the guests would be able to hear our conversation, even if their windows happened to be down.

  “I’ll make this quick: Is Grover Kristiansen bothering you?”

  “Grover. The small-boned guy who wears the wide-brimmed hat with the chin cord? The one who seems genetically incapable of allowing anyone else to talk? That Grover?”

  “That’s him. Has he become too much of a pest for you to handle politely?”

  “Other than chattering like a magpie, he seems like a pretty good Joe. He’s not obnoxious or bad-tempered; he just likes to talk. And to be honest, it’s kind of a relief. I don’t have to think of anything to say when he starts in on his lectures, so it’s like a coffee break for my brain. I can figure out what I’m supposed to be doing next without listening to a single word he says. All I have to do is pretend I’m watching his lips move. But if he decides to test me on the information, I’m toast.”

  “You don’t think you’re the victim of overkill?”

  She shook her head. “I’m cool with Grover. It’s the grouchy guests I don’t understand. They’re on this great vacation with incredible scenery and really nice people and all they can do is complain. Who does that?”

  She must have had a run-in with Bernice. “Okay, then. I’ll take you at your word. But if he becomes too overbearing, let me know and I’ll see what I can do about redirecting his attention.”

  “You got it.”

  “By the way, I like your tattoo.” I wiggled my finger at the blue-winged butterfly beneath her ear. “I’m not sure I’d ever be brave enough to get inked.”

  She touched her neck as if reminding herself what was there. “You mean this old thing?” She laughed. “My cosmetology class decided we should celebrate our graduation by doing something a little wild but tasteful, so we all marched into the nearest tattoo parlor and got inked. Stupid, huh? When I’m eighty years old and my skin’s all crepey, people will wonder why I have a shriveled Smurf on my neck.” She smiled. “Try saying that eight times after knocking back a couple of margaritas.”

  I fished my phone out of my shoulder bag. “Will you stand in front of the bus so I can take a picture? It should be good advertising for the both of us. I’ll send you the JPEG.”

  As Alison stood by the rear wheels, striking a pose with her hand sweeping toward the aurora borealis on the side of the bus, I carefully framed the shot to exclude the window above her head where Grover Kristiansen sat with his nose pressed to the window, staring down at her like a cat desperate to pounce.

  “Before we get too far,” Etienne announced as Steele revved the engine, “you might appreciate an update on the progress the police are making on Delpha’s case.” For the next several minutes he reiterated the same information he’d given me last night with relation to the police’s inability to make a ruling on the cause and manner of death, their decision to withhold the results of the autopsy report, and their continued efforts to contact Delpha’s sister.

  “How long is Delpha’s sister supposed to be in Mongolia?” asked Lucille Rasmussen.

  “I think it was for a month,” said Orphie. “If you’re traveling halfway around the world, you can’t be bothered with this long weekend stuff. And speaking of air travel, for those of you who haven’t heard, my Al is in North Carolina right now on the verge of closing a huge land development deal with a fella who has his own private jet. He’s being wined and dined at an exclusive—”

  “Are you sure that’s legal?” asked Dick Stolee. “Sounds like pay-to-play to me.”

  “Quid pro quo,” said Tilly. “An exchange of favors. You give me something and I’ll give you something in return. Never a good idea in the political arena.”

  “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,” Dick Teig piped up.

  “Exactly,” Tilly agreed. “In many instances a prosecutable offense.”

  “No,” Dick corrected as he angled his arms behind his head. “My back is really itchy. Can someone scratch it for me?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Arnesen is conducting Windsor City’s business in an ethical manner,” Etienne offered in an attempt to calm the waters. “But if you have questions, I suggest you plan to attend the public meetings the council should be scheduling about the issue. I’ll now turn the mic over to Alison, who’ll be entertaining you for the next several hours. Alison.”

  He handed her the mic as we pulled onto the road. “Morning, everyone. We have a long ride ahead of us today, but I aim to make it as enjoyable as possible for you. A little trivia, a little music, snacks, comfort stops, and, of course, spectacular scenery. We’ll be traveling on a highway that parallels the route of the Alaska railroad, so I’d like to begin our journey by filling you in on a little history of that railroad project. Construction first got underway in 1904 and was financed by a private company whose ambition was to lay 470 miles of track between the interior of Alaska and the sea—Fairbanks to Seward. By 1912 a grand total of 71 miles of track had been laid, which was a good start, but unfortunately the company ran into financial difficulties and had to shut down, which is when the government stepped in. So in 1914 President Woodrow Wilson received authorization from Congress to—”

  “This land development deal of Al Arnesen’s,” I whispered to Etienne as he sat down beside me. “Do you know what land is in his sights? Dad’s farm! There’s even talk of eminent domain.”

  Grasping my hand, he leaned close to my ear, his voice an undertone. “Nothing has been decided, bella. Try not to overreact.”

  “But what about Mom and Dad?”

  “Do they know their farm is being targeted?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then don’t tell them.”

  “But what if Orphie tells them where the new attraction is supposed to be located?”

  “Considering the blowback she received about Al’s rather shady dealings, I doubt she’ll ever raise the topic again.”

 
That’s right. She was probably kicking herself for trumpeting Al’s trip in the first place. Temporarily relieved, I exhaled a breath and settled back in my seat. “Thanks,” I whispered to Etienne, who pressed my hand to his mouth to grace it with a lingering kiss.

  “Despite battling constant problems with permafrost and landslides,” I heard Alison say as I refocused on her narration, “the railroad was officially completed on July 15, 1923, and President Warren Harding drove the golden spike at Nenana, whose location on the Nenana River gives it access to the Yukon River, which empties into the Bering Sea. Nenana is north of Denali, so you won’t get to see the golden spike, but if you’re interested in a replica, any souvenir shop—”

  “I have a question,” Dick Stolee shouted out. “How can the Yukon River be in Alaska if the Yukon’s in Canada?”

  My phone chimed with a familiar ring. I plucked it out of my shoulder bag before Alison could even finish her sentence. “What’s up?” I asked in a hushed tone.

  “Will you let me explain?” Jackie urged. “I neglected to take into account the Silo Slider.”

  “The what?”

  “The Silo Slider. It’s this waterslide thing that corkscrews inside a fake silo and extends outside the building over a long patio of concrete where the slide ends. It opened for the first time last night after I texted you—on a midnight run, something I might have known was scheduled to happen if I hadn’t spent all day at the hospital.”

  “And?”

  “And Pearl Peacock and Arvella Bly were first in line because the guys insinuated that the two girls would be too chicken to sluice down a slide on their backsides at umpteen miles an hour with a flood of cold water soaking them to the skin. So the girls thumbed their noses at the guys and climbed like a thousand stairs to the top of the slide.” Jackie snorted into the phone. “The guys were so clueless, Em. Pearl and Arvella might be grammas, but they’re no shrinking violets. They grew up on Iowa swine farms where they cut their teeth learning to castrate hogs. So I mean, once you’ve been that chummy with a three-hundred-pound pig, what’s left to be afraid of, right?”

  “I don’t think the pigs weigh three hundred pounds at the time they’re neutered.”

  “Whatever. So Pearl goes first. Spiraling down the corkscrew in twenty seconds of unobstructed gravity. Zooming out of the building under the lights…where she flies over the rim of the slide and smacks onto pavement and continues skidding over the concrete for at least ten more feet.”

  “Omigod, no.”

  “And Arvella’s already in route behind her and ends up zooming out of the building, over the side, and onto the concrete too.”

  The muscles in my stomach twisted into a Gordian knot. “How badly are they hurt?”

  “Well, if they hadn’t been wearing hiking pants made of quick-drying, tear-resistant microfiber—I am so sold on the toughness of microfiber now, Em. I’m thinking of having my sofa reupholstered in the stuff because, did I tell you? I’m thinking of getting a cat, and I haven’t decided if I should have her declawed. There are two schools of thought on—”

  “Jack!”

  “Sorry. All these tour incidents keep interfering with my personal crises. Anyway, their injuries would have been a lot worse if they’d been wearing light-weight cotton or shorter pants or, God forbid, bathing suits, so they don’t need plastic surgery for their scrapes, but the docs are keeping them in the hospital for observation because their CT scans showed some evidence of head trauma. Only minor concussions, but when you’re in your late seventies, even a minor concussion can be problematic. Mildred, of course, is delighted. She’s trying to organize a bridge game in her room this afternoon.”

  “So are you at the hotel or the hospital?”

  “Hospital. And I’ve been up all night, so I actually have dark circles under my eyes that are proving to be resistant to concealer. I’m an eligible divorcee, Emily, in a hospital full of high income–earning doctors, none of whom are going to take a second look at me if I’m sporting circles as black as grease paint under my eyes. I look like an escapee from the morgue.”

  “I’m very proud of the way you’re handling this, Jack. Talk about a baptism by fire, but you’re doing everything right. And I’m sure your constant presence at the hospital is a great comfort to Mildred…and the Toms…and Pearl…and Arvella.” I hesitated. “Is that everyone?”

  “For now. And just so you know, Pearl’s and Arvella’s families are headed this way and they wanted me to tell you how grateful they are for your more than generous offer of free lodging while they’re here. They think that’s really upstanding.”

  “We wouldn’t have it any other way,” I wheezed as I thumped my fist against my breastbone to clear my windpipe.

  “I am so wiped out. Would it be okay with you if I asked Johnny to fill in for me at the hospital while I catch forty winks back at the hotel?”

  I nodded.

  “What?”

  “Fine,” I said when I could breathe again. “Maybe he plays bridge.”

  “Wouldn’t that be the bomb? He could be the fourth in Mildred’s game. I’ll call him right now. And one more thing. About my clothing allow—”

  “No.”

  “But—”

  “Hang in there, Jack, and call me with any updates.” I slumped in my seat, my head still spinning. “Three healthy guests left,” I said to Etienne, “and a new contingent of concerned relatives whose lodging we’ll need to comp for an indefinite amount of time.”

  “Jackie’s made all the right decisions so far, bella. There’s nothing that generates goodwill like an offer of free lodging.”

  “Can we afford it?”

  “We can’t afford not to. But the upside is that the remaining guests only have two more days at the park. It’s probably statistically impossible for anything else to go wrong.”

  Sure, sure. Where had I heard that before?

  We spent the next six hours traveling on a highway that was amazingly devoid of traffic. We motored through endless miles of trees, crossed raging rivers and babbling brooks that were milky blue with glacial runoff, gaped at the endless parade of mountain ranges hunched on the horizon, watched birds with enormous wingspans soar above us, and passed pizzerias, liquor stores, RV centers, campgrounds, truck dealerships, storage sheds, one Walmart Supercenter near Wasilla, and not much else. It smacked of what the Scottish Highlands might look like with more trees and fewer sheep.

  “Are we almost at the town yet?” Goldie Kristiansen called out after the group had finished singing the Iowa version of “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” where the booze was replaced by “ears of corn on the plate.”

  “Denali isn’t actually a town,” admitted Alison. “By comparison, the largest city in Alaska is Anchorage, which is home to 41 percent of the state’s population, or about three hundred thousand people. Denali Borough, on the other hand, has a permanent population of about nineteen hundred people, so we’re not talking about a major metropolitan area. More like a flag stop on the rail line.”

  “We got more members in my church than that,” said Nana.

  “My grandson’s got more players on his softball team than that,” joked Dick Stolee.

  “Are you saying there’s no place I’ll be able to have my hair professionally styled?” pressed Goldie.

  “Not unless the Majestic resorts have in-house salons. I can check on that for you. Majestic Cruise Line is the big kahuna in the area. They offer the best hotel accommodations, the best restaurants, the best—”

  “So why aren’t we staying there?” demanded Bernice.

  Alison didn’t skip a beat. “Because the place Destinations Travel has booked you into offers a much more authentic Alaskan ambiance than Majestic Cruise Line’s luxurious but unremarkable resorts. Unlike the Majestic properties, you’ll have a woodland setting, an adorable cabin all your own, pe
ace and quiet from the congestion of the park, easy access to—”

  “Sounds like you’re trying to put lipstick on a pig,” crabbed Bernice.

  “We’re not staying in a place like the Bates Hotel, are we?” questioned Helen Teig.

  “Heck no,” defended Alison. “The Bates Hotel didn’t have a hot tub or an onsite diner or free Wi-Fi or a gift shop.”

  “How many stars in the tourbook guide?” challenged Bernice.

  Alison cleared her throat. “Uhh…multiple, I’m sure.”

  “Back in my day a place earned four stars if it had an indoor john,” Osmond reminisced. “Five if toilet paper was included.”

  “What about mosquitoes?” asked George. “I’ve heard tell they’re as big as dragonflies in interior parts of the state that are really remote.”

  I peered out the window. So basically everywhere.

  Alison smiled. “They’re not quite that big, but I have repellent that I’ll be happy to share.”

  “Are Alaskan mosquitoes the dangerous kind?” asked Alice.

  “I’m unfamiliar with the toxicity of Alaskan mosquitoes,” Tilly said in her professor’s voice, “but there are a substantial number of diseases that can be transmitted by the insect. Dengue fever, malaria, West Nile virus, filariasis, Western equine encephalitis, Eastern equine encephalitis, Venezuelan equine encephalitis, chikungunya.”

  “What if we all discover we’re sick with this stuff when we get back home?” asked Dick Teig, who was already scratching his neck at the thought of future bites. “Will the clinic have the right antidotes? Will they be able to treat us or are we gonna be dead meat?”

  “No need to panic,” soothed Margi. “I’m pretty sure the illnesses Tilly just rattled off aren’t on the Windsor City Clinic’s list of most deadly diseases. The disorders that kill our patients usually have shorter names.”

  As we rolled into the parking lot of a sprawling complex of small log cabins, appropriately named Wilderness Cabins, I felt an undercurrent of anticipation ripple through the bus. “Welcome to Denali,” trilled Alison as Steele cut the engine.