Catch Me if Yukon

by Maddy Hunter

  The cabins looked to be constructed of cedar and were perched on raised platforms that were connected by a network of plank sidewalks. As big as two-car garages, with petunias dripping from hanging baskets and lawn chairs arranged on outdoor decks, they were nestled amid towering fir trees and brought to mind a vision of what summer camp might have looked like if I’d ever attended summer camp.

  “I thought you said we were going to be in the boonies,” Thor Thorsen spoke up.

  Alison laughed. “This isn’t boonie enough for you? It’s a long walk to civilization from here.”

  “So what’s with the gridlock in the parking lot?” he challenged.

  He was right. There was an unusual number of cars, SUVs, and vans in the lot, which made me wonder if scores of hungry tourists were eating in the cabins’ onsite diner…until I realized that the side panels of each vehicle were emblazoned with eye-catching logos.

  Uh-oh.

  “They look like news vans to me,” said George.

  “Sure do,” agreed Dick Stolee. “A bunch of them are even equipped with their own satellite dishes.”

  “What can possibly be newsworthy in the boonies?” scoffed Orphie.

  “Do you suppose there’s been another Bigfoot sighting?” asked Helen.

  Gasps. Nervous tittering. Collective rubbernecking.

  “Could it be the same one Bob saw?” asked Margi.

  “I never actually saw it,” Dad spoke up.

  “Couldn’t be the same one,” asserted Dick Teig. “How’d he get here before we did? Helicopter?”

  “There’s no way a Cyclopean hominid would be allowed on a helicopter,” argued Tilly. “Too many FAA regulations.”

  “There’s gotta be more of them apes than the one what Bob seen,” Nana chimed in.

  “I didn’t see it,” repeated Dad.

  “Maybe he’s got relatives what live in the area.”

  “That ape is not going to book a helicopter ride,” scoffed Bernice. “Do you know why? Two words.”

  “No money?” suggested George.

  “No pants,” said Bernice. “Who’s gonna want to occupy a seat just vacated by a musty-smelling, tick-infested, flea-carrying ape? It’s all about the upholstery.”

  “That’s stupid,” chided Margi.

  “Is not.”

  “Is so.”

  “What kind of legal tender would an ape use?” mused Dick Teig.

  “My money’s on a credit card,” said Helen. “American Express applications get mailed to everyone.”

  “My Mr. Fluffy received one last month,” Lucille admitted. “He was even preapproved.”

  I listened to their discussion with some concern. They were actually arguing about whether a mythical creature qualified for an American Express card. Either they were being more eccentric than usual or they’d all managed to weasel out of the dementia screening portion of their annual wellness exams last year.

  I popped out of my seat to address the group while Etienne and Steele scooted out the front exit door. “While Steele offloads your luggage, Etienne is going to run to the office to pick up your room keys and site maps. So once you have your suitcase in hand, head toward the office so Etienne can give you your key.”

  “Our suitcases aren’t being delivered to our rooms?” questioned Helen Teig in a sour tone.

  “Not this time. We’re heading out again in a couple of hours to tour the park, so if you need access to anything in your suitcase, it’ll be quicker if you roll it to your cabin yourself.”

  “I bet the guests at the Majestic resorts don’t have to schlep their own luggage,” taunted Bernice.

  I threw a long look down the aisle at her. “If you’d like to ditch my tours for the Majestic brand, Bernice, I promise not to be offended.”

  “Show of hands,” Osmond whooped as he waved his hand for attention. “How many people think Bernice should sign up for another company’s—”

  “No voting!” I cut him off.

  “Say, the food in the diner must be pretty good,” observed George. “Look at all the folks hustling outta that place.”

  They poured out of the eatery and crowded around the office that was located next door—a teeming mass of humanity with cameras and microphones and determined looks in their eyes. No newsworthy incidents had better be unfolding in the rest of Alaska today because it looked as if every news outlet in the state was camped out right here.

  As my guys struggled to their feet with tired groans and an audible creak of limbs, I offered last-minute instructions. “Just to remind you again, the tour bus from Denali Park is scheduled to pick us up here in the parking lot at three o’clock, so please don’t dillydally in your rooms. Find your cabin, freshen up, wander over to the office gift shop to look over the snack selection if you’re hungry for a mid-afternoon nibble, then hightail it over to this building we’re parked in front of so we can count heads.” I gestured toward the cabin directly opposite us with the hot tub outside and rocking chairs on the porch. “I’m guessing that’s the guest lodge. And don’t forget to bring binoculars or other special photographic equipment you plan to use.”

  “What is it we’re supposed to be seeing on this tour?” Goldie called out.

  “I’ll answer that,” Alison spoke up. “The biggies are moose, caribou, and grizzly bear. This is the ultimate Alaskan wildlife experience, where you’ll see animals up close and personal in their natural environment. So much better than a zoo. Trust me. This adventure is going to knock your socks off.”

  “Couldn’t we get the same effect by simply watching one of those Disney nature movies?” questioned Helen.

  “Looks like Steele has all the luggage compartments open,” I said as everyone piled into the aisle in relative slow motion. “Be careful exiting. Watch your step.”

  I sprinted down the front stairs to assist with offloading, surprised when the gaggle of news people outside the office swiveled their bodies around to study our bus. As if controlled by one brain, they all looked down to check their phones at the same time, and when they’d finished reading and swiping, they looked up, paused for a heartbeat, then began to move all at once, like runners at the start of a marathon fighting to break out of the pack.

  “Are you the Destinations Travel bus?” one of them shouted as they raced in our direction. “The group out of Iowa?”

  They swarmed around the luggage bays, holding their cameras at the ready and firing up their microphones.

  “That’s him,” someone else yelled as Dad descended the stairs.

  Cameras whirred, elbows flew, and bodies bumped as they jockeyed for better angles.

  “Mr. Andrew! Do you stand by your theory that the Bigfoot monster you saw in Girdwood was responsible for the death of the as-yet-unidentified woman who was a member of your tour group?”

  Dad paused on the stepwell, looking gobsmacked. “I never said that.”

  “I said it!” cried Bernice, posing like the Statue of Liberty with her arm raised above her head. “Me! Bernice Zwerg. Former magazine model. It’s my theory, not Bob’s, and I expect you to give me full credit for it.”

  Brushing off Bernice as if she were a pesky gnat, the reporters refocused on Dad.

  “Mr. Andrew, I’m sure you’re aware that your traveling companion was killed on the very mountain where you took your now infamous picture, so if you were to devise a theory, what would it be?”

  Dad blinked. “What?”

  “The police haven’t released any information about the circumstances surrounding your companion’s death,” another reporter called out. “Do you think that’s because they found evidence that she was killed by Bigfoot and they don’t want to scare tourists away?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Would you agree that if a deranged ape is on a killing spree in the mountains around Girdwood, the police s
hould inform the public immediately?”

  Dad nodded. “Yup.”

  “How do you feel about the police department’s refusal to share any details about this tragic accident, Mr. Andrew?”

  “I figure that’s their busi—”

  “So you think it was an accident?”

  “No!”

  “So if you don’t think it was an accident, do you agree she was deliberately targeted and killed by Bigfoot?”

  Whirr. Whirr. Clickclickclick.

  Dad raised his forearm like a shield in front of his face, squinting at the explosion of camera flashes.

  “Can you be more specific about what Bigfoot actually looks like, Mr. Andrew? Height? Weight? Dermal composition?”

  “I didn’t see him.”

  “But what about your photo? How could you post a picture of the creature if you didn’t see it?”

  “I was showcasing the scenery.”

  “So you thought you were uploading photos of…what? Trees?”

  Dad nodded. “They’ve got some pretty nice ones over on that mountain.”

  Whispers. Buzzing. Curious looks.

  “Did you know the original tweet that claimed Bigfoot attacked a hiker went viral on Twitter, Mr. Andrew? Thirty thousand retweets? Over a hundred thousand likes?”

  “That was my tweet,” protested Bernice. “Those are my likes. I made that happen. Would you like to get a picture of me?” She slithered her way through the crowd to stand in front of Dad. Standing at an angle and sucking in her stomach, she preened for the camera. “Should I say cheese?”

  The pool of reporters lowered their cameras and sidled uncomfortable glances at each other, which is when I stepped in, addressing them in an easygoing tone. “I hate to break this up, folks, but we’re on a tight schedule, so if you don’t move out of the way and allow my guests to pick up their luggage, our itinerary is really going to be messed up.”

  “What about my photo shoot?” complained Bernice as the throng of reporters took what I said to heart and shuffled toward the sidelines.

  “Thanks anyway, ma’am,” one of them shouted to Bernice. “Maybe another time.”

  “Oh, sure.” She threw them a disgusted look. “You bozos will never make it as paparazzi.”

  “Grab your suitcases, everyone, and start heading over to the office,” I instructed as I shooed them along. “Anyone not finding the right bag?”

  With an assist from Alison and Steele, we aimed them in the right direction and watched them trudge to the office, where Etienne was waiting with their keys and site maps. With keys in hand they started to peel off in search of their cabins, but the reporters remained close by, loitering in the parking lot, looking as if they were waiting to pounce again, which they did when Mom and Dad struck out along the raised walkway.

  “Mr. Andrew, would you take a minute to clarify?” a woman called out as she and her colleagues chased behind them. “Is it your opinion that Bigfoot killed the woman in your party who was hiking on the mountain trail in Girdwood?”

  I wondered if one of the qualifications of being a good reporter was the ability to rearrange words in a sentence in such a way that they could ask the same question ten times in a row and not have it sound like the same question.

  Mom and Dad picked up their pace.

  So did the reporters.

  “Mr. Andrew, from what you saw of the monster, would you classify it as a member of the bear or the ape family?”

  Mom stopped abruptly, spun around, and, with hands fisted on her hips, confronted Dad’s tormentors. “Stop it! I’m traveling with my elderly mother and you’re scaring her half to death with this talk of yours, so I’m warning you to go away before you cause her to suffer a major heart event from which she’ll never recover. God help you if you have to carry a burden like that around with you for the rest of your lives. How will you sleep at night?”

  Penitent silence ensued for all of three seconds before someone threw out, “Are you Mrs. Andrew? Mrs. Andrew, did you see the creature too? Or was your husband the only person who got a good look at it?”

  Etienne joined me near the office patio where I was watching the scene play out. “What do the newshounds want?”

  “They want to conflate Dad’s photo with Bernice’s tweet so they can get Dad to hypothesize that Bigfoot killed Delpha.”

  “Are they having any luck?”

  “Not with Dad. Bernice, on the other hand, is miffed that no one is asking her to pose for a photo shoot.”

  Mom and Dad scurried to a nearby cabin.

  The media followed in hot pursuit.

  Etienne shook his head. “Persistence is one thing, but what they’re doing looks as if it’s bordering on harassment. Shall I warn them to back off?”

  I held up my hand to stall him. “Not quite yet.”

  Mom and Dad disappeared inside the cabin, leaving their pursuers to putz aimlessly around the grounds, swatting mosquitoes.

  “Oh my god, this is the perfect solution. Mom is going to be so busy fending off reporters, she won’t have time to stalk Nana.” I pumped my fists in the air. “Yes.”

  Etienne’s phone chimed. “Miceli.”

  He listened to the caller, his face unreadable as he uttered a string of throwaway phrases that included several “uh-huhs” and at least one “I understand.” When he hung up, his handsome face had turned dour. “That was Lieutenant Kitchen.”

  I winced. “Bad news?”

  “Based on the evidence they’ve collected, they’re no longer treating Delpha’s death as suspicious. They’ve ruled it a homicide.”

  thirteen

  “Oh, no.”

  “He’s driving up here tomorrow to conduct further interviews with the group. He’s apparently discovered a number of gaping holes he needs to fill in.”

  “Uff-da.” I sucked in my breath. “The guests who left the museum early? The ones Osmond and George spoke to me about? I told you there was something suspicious about that. Maybe Lieutenant Kitchen found out about their early departures and wants to know where they went afterward.”

  “He didn’t say which guests he plans to question, bella.”

  “It has to be them: Thor, Grover, Ennis, and Alison. Kitchen knew which guests visited the museum, but he never asked how long they stayed or if anyone left early. Don’t you find it curious that no one volunteered to tell him? Other than the Dicks, and they don’t count.”

  “So are you suggesting that one of the four may have slipped into the fog, hunted down Delpha on the hiking trail, and killed her in such a way that the police couldn’t determine it was murder until today?”

  I twitched my lips. Why did my theories always sound so dopey when they came out of his mouth? “Well, there was no love lost between Thor and Delpha. He might have decided to get even with her for the embarrassment she caused him.”

  “And the other three?”

  I gnawed my bottom lip. “I don’t know what their motive would have been. Everyone seemed to like Delpha—Thor being the exception.”

  “Hard to pin a murder on people who lack a motive.”

  “Except”—I speared the air with my forefinger in a eureka gesture—“I might not have mentioned this to you, but on our first night at the resort, when we were all in the lobby, I noticed Delpha staring at Grover, Goldie, and Ennis, and it was pretty unsettling. You wouldn’t have believed the look in her eyes. They were spitting pure hatred.”

  “You’re sure she was looking at them and not something else?”

  “I’m positive.” I gave my head a definitive nod. “At least, I’m pretty sure.” I pinched my eyes shut in order to reexamine the memory, but it was suddenly fuzzy around the edges. “I thought she was looking at them at the time, but—” My voice faded as my level of confidence plummeted. I heaved a sigh. “What else could she have been look
ing at?”

  Etienne caressed the back of my neck. “Why don’t we leave that to Lieutenant Kitchen to determine?”

  We grabbed our suitcases and rolled them to our cabin with its cheery basket of pink wave petunias hanging from the eaves and a matched set of Adirondack chairs bookending the door. The room was northwoods rustic with natural cedar boards covering the walls and ceiling, a wildlife quilt spread across a queen-size bed, a small flat screen TV perched on the dresser, heavy-duty blackout curtains, a coffee maker with disposable cups, and a sheet of paper on the desk that read:

  Urgent Notice—

  Due to a pipe failure in our main well, water to your cabin is temporarily unavailable. We apologize for any inconvenience this might cause and trust that the problem will be resolved quickly. The public restroom in the guest lodge is not affected by the shutdown, so we invite you to use those facilities should the need arise. During this emergency, bottled water will be available in the lodge at no extra charge. We hope you enjoy your stay.

  —The Management

  “Uh-oh.” I shot a desperate look at Etienne as he walked out of the bathroom. I held the paper up for him to read. “There’s no water.”

  “Ah. The explanation for why nothing happened when I turned on the faucet.”

  I regarded him with alarm. “The water can’t possibly be off in the whole complex, can it?”

  The pounding on our door was loud and insistent. Bam bam bam bam.

  Etienne stared at the door. “I suspect the answer to that is…yes.”

  Ennis Iversen waved his cell phone at us the moment Etienne opened the door. “I just checked my bank account. Don’t ask me why. It just seemed like a smart thing to do. I’ve been wiped out. All the award money I deposited in our money market account? It’s gone. The checking account hasn’t been touched, but my nest egg is gone. This is the newspaper’s fault! They never should’ve reported the dollar amount of my award. It made me the target of every crazy for miles around. It made Lorraine a target!”

  He tapped the screen of his phone. “See the date here? It was withdrawn the day Lorraine disappeared. Someone has her. How many times have we seen scenarios like this play out on the evening news? Remember that grisly case in Connecticut some years ago?” His face crumpled onto itself as if it had suddenly been deprived of gravity. “They must have forced her to withdraw the money under threat of her life and once they got their cash, she became disposable. They could have killed her already and…and dumped her body in a field or the woods. Isn’t that what always happens? They can’t risk being identified, so they…they kill the hostage…or worse.” His eyes welled with tears. “Jeesuz. The minute I think this can’t get any worse, it does.”