Catch Me if Yukon

by Maddy Hunter

“You want to join our table?” Grover asked her, his face alight with anticipation as he gestured to the empty chair across from him.

  “Thanks so much for asking, but I ate earlier with Steele. I couldn’t let him eat by himself, could I?”

  A flicker of irritation crept into Grover’s eyes as he tried to mask his disappointment. “Then have a seat and I’ll show you the pictures I took this afternoon.”

  “What kind of fish did you say this is?” fretted Margi in alarm. “It looks like it might have a lot of bones.”

  “There’s no way I’m going to sit here picking bones out of my entree,” complained Orphie. “I’ll have the chicken instead.”

  Etienne cleared his throat. “That is the chicken.”

  “Then how come it looks like fish?” asked Osmond.

  “I bet it’s a muskie,” concluded Dick Teig.

  Lucille examined her plate. “Funny they didn’t serve tartar sauce with it.”

  I hung my head. Oh, God.

  While the group continued to quibble about whether they’d been served fish or fowl, Alison made good on her promise to peruse the day’s photos, starting with Dick Stolee. “Oh my,” she gushed over the image on his phone. She paused. “I’m sorry. Is that a picture of a dot?”

  “It’s a bear,” said Dick.

  “Can you zoom in?”

  “It is zoomed in.”

  Alison crooked her mouth. “So…how can you be sure that dot is a bear?”

  “Because it’s black. But wait’ll you see my money shot.” He swiped the screen and angled it toward her. “This…is a grizzly.”

  Alison stared at the screen, bewildered. “That’s a headshot of yourself.”

  “Yeah. The grizzly’s hard to see because he’s out of frame.”

  Alison displayed both patience and good humor as she made the rounds at each table, and when she was through, she basically lied through her teeth. “Great job, everyone. Looks like the ground squirrels were out in force today.”

  “Squirrel,” said Nana. “We only seen one.”

  Alison squinted as if she’d heard incorrectly. “Excuse me?”

  “We all took pictures of the same squirrel,” clarified Tilly. “It was the only wildlife that wasn’t a dot.”

  A dog barked loudly nearby, which might lead a person to believe that a dog was actually barking loudly nearby, but in this era of whacky cell phone ringtones, it meant that Ennis Iversen’s phone was ringing. “It’s the Windsor City police,” he choked out, clutching his cell as he pushed away from the table. Rushing outside to take the call, he returned ten minutes later, looking as unnerved as a vegan at a bratfest.

  “The police don’t think Lorraine was kidnapped,” he announced in a hollow voice.

  Claps. Whooping. Cheering.

  He gazed around the room with vacant eyes, waiting for the commotion to die down. “They’ve reviewed the surveillance footage from both the bank and the businesses across the street and…and they’ve come up with no evidence that would indicate anyone was coercing her to do anything. She entered the bank looking calm and composed and left with a huge smile on her face. In fact, the police can’t find any hint of criminal activity anywhere. So it’s looking pretty much like…Lorraine might have run away. All on her own.”

  Gasps. Wheezing. Dropped jaws.

  “I don’t understand,” cried Florence. “Why would Lorraine run away? What was she running away from?”

  “That’s pretty clear, isn’t it?” admitted Ennis. “Me.”

  “That can’t be true,” challenged Goldie. “The two of you have the perfect marriage. You’re kind to each other. You laugh at each other’s jokes. You treat each other with respect. You have two-sided conversations. You still like each other.”

  “How do we know it wasn’t all for show?” Thor taunted smugly. “How do we know that behind closed doors, the two of them didn’t treat each other like dirt?”

  Grover snorted with laughter. “As opposed to treating each other like crap in front of everyone? Which is, as we all know, your preferred style.”

  “Quiet, you little pipsqueak, before I—”

  “I’m so sorry about Lorraine,” Orphie cut him off. “I can’t begin to imagine how you must feel, Ennis, being married to the same woman for so many years, living in the same house, sharing the same bed, but finding out decades later that you didn’t really know her at all. That has to be so gut-wrenching.”

  “Ennis knew her,” defended Florence. “We all knew her.”

  Orphie shook her head. “If that were true, she’d be here vacationing with us. I hope you don’t mind my saying this, Ennis, but if you’re contemplating divorce, I just want to warn you that this is going to be no picnic for all your mutual friends. What’s going to happen to us? You’ll have to divide us up between you like community property. And I have no idea how this is going to affect the status of the book club. Without Lorraine’s input, this could spell the end of a long, glorious tradition.”

  “I don’t give a damn about the book club, and I’m not entertaining any thoughts of divorce,” snapped Ennis. “I’m just sorry that if Lorraine had grievances, she didn’t share them with me. I mean, maybe we could have worked it out. Maybe we can still work it out.”

  Orphie nodded. “Maybe if she ever comes back, you can try what Al and I do. We set time aside every single day to talk to each other about the stuff that really matters. Hopes. Fears. Proposed Medicare cuts. The latest episode of Game of Thrones. ”

  Thor guffawed. “Al must love that. Trapped by the missus for an indeterminate amount of time on a daily basis. Eww.”

  “Go ahead and laugh,” she fired back, “but I’m quite convinced that our little tête-à-têtes are what’s kept us together all these years. We know each other inside out, which is apparently more than some folks around here can say about each other.”

  “I hope you’re not blaming Lorraine’s behavior on Ennis,” huffed Goldie.

  Orphie rolled her eyes. “I’m not blaming anyone for anything. I’m just saying that if you want to know the secret of a happy marriage, it’s simple: communicate with each other.”

  “I’ve gotta agree with Orphie,” Bernice piped up, which caused everyone to quit chewing what was in their mouths to stare at her. “My folks talked every night for forty-two years, but it was mostly my mom who did the talking because she found more to complain about than my dad. So she aired out her grievances night after night, and Dad just sat there in his favorite rocking chair, smoking his pipe, taking it like a man.”

  “He didn’t have no objection to bein’ read the riot act every night?” asked Nana.

  “Nope,” said Bernice. “Not once. Of course, it helped that he was stone deaf.”

  An uptick in traffic noise outside drew our attention to the open windows, where I noticed a convoy of media vehicles returning to the parking lot.

  “Well, would you lookit that,” mused Nana. “It’s them reporters again.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Come on, Bob.” Mom sprang from her chair and bolted toward the door, dragging Dad with her. “Hurry up before they see us.”

  Mom and Dad fled across the deck as car doors started to slam, but they weren’t quite fast enough. “Hey! It’s him!” someone shouted, sounding the alert with a whistle that was loud enough to pierce eardrums. “Mr. Andrew! Mr. Andrew! Will you admit on record that your photo of Bigfoot nails down the theory that your tour companion was killed by the monster on the hiking trail in Girdwood?”

  I sighed. As much as the paparazzi’s unrelenting presence was saving Nana from Mom, there was such a thing as critical mass, and I think we’d just hit it. Mom might be a thorn in Nana’s side, but she was still a paying guest and didn’t deserve to have her holiday ruined. Removing my napkin from my lap, I stood up and placed my hand on Etienne’s shoulder. “Excuse me for a
minute, would you?”

  Mom and Dad were halfway to their cabin with the reporters hot on their heels when I let fly my own ear-splitting whistle. “Stop right there!” I ordered, a little unprepared when they actually did.

  They turned around in unison to stare at me. “What?” a guy with a camera balanced on his shoulder asked.

  “I hope you realize this is private property. Unless you’re registered guests or have the owner’s permission to be here, you’re trespassing. Are you registered guests?”

  Shrugging. Head shaking.

  I smiled inwardly as I went in for the kill. “Do you have permission to trespass on private property?”

  “The guy in the front office said we could have the run of the place,” said a woman in a baseball cap. “Look around you, lady. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Other hotels around here would kill for the kind of exposure we’re giving this place. It’s called free advertising.”

  I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Is that the truth or are you just saying that to get rid of me?”

  “Don’t take my word. Stop at the front office. Ask for yourself.”

  Nuts. “Look, guys, this is a dream vacation for my parents, and you’re harassing them. Do you think that’s fair?”

  “Who said life was fair?” cracked the cameraman. “This is our job. We’ve got bills to pay too.”

  “They’re almost back at their cabin,” advised another man. “Geez. Hey, Mr. Andrew!”

  I watched in frustration as they took up the chase once again, surprised when the woman in the baseball cap jogged back to me, looking mildly repentant. “I’m really sorry we’re spoiling your parents’ vacation, but I’d like to try to make it up to you with a dietary tip. There’s a great roadside diner ten miles north of here. Down home cooking. Good service. It’s called the Hungry Grizzly Cafe. Tell the manager that Patti sent you. Might even be worth a discount.” Her chest swelled with pride. “He’s my brother.”

  “Thanks.” I flashed a smile. “That’s nice of you. The food here isn’t what I was expecting.”

  “That’s an understatement. You want another tip? Whatever you do, don’t order the fish fry.” She lowered her voice a few decibels as if she were passing along state secrets. “It tastes suspiciously like chicken.”

  sixteen

  “After our ziplining adventure, we plan to stop at a roadside café for lunch before heading back to the cabins.” Exulting in our fourth straight day of brilliant sunshine and temps in the seventies, Etienne made his announcement as we pulled onto the road the next morning, leaving the press vehicles that had arrived before breakfast in the parking lot. I’d wasted my breath on them last night. They were staying put until they got a story, so there was only one sure way to outmaneuver them.

  Leave.

  “By my estimate, we should arrive back here around one o’clock,” Etienne continued, “which is about the time I expect our friend Lieutenant Kitchen to join us to conduct another round of questioning.”

  Groans. Whines. Jeers.

  “He’s traveling all the way up here to ask us more questions?” puzzled George. “Why?”

  “Because he’s looking for more information. Their investigation has uncovered evidence that indicates Delpha died at the hands of someone who acted intentionally, so they’re ruling her death a homicide, which means they need to shine more light on details they might have initially overlooked.”

  “So…it wasn’t an accident?” asked Florence in a tremulous voice. “Someone killed her?”

  “Regrettably, Mrs. Thorsen, that’s the consensus.”

  “Do they have any suspects?” questioned Grover.

  Etienne shook his head. “If they do, they haven’t shared that information yet.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” protested Mom. “But why do they want to question us? They should be questioning Bigfoot.”

  “Really, Margaret,” admonished Tilly. “Even if the creature exists, his lack of verbal skills would be problematic, so questioning him would be a complete waste of police time.”

  “Maybe he knows sign language,” Margi tossed out.

  “Why would he know sign language?” countered Lucille. “Is he deaf?”

  “Is Lieutenant Kitchen planning to question us again because he thinks one of us killed Delpha?” asked Ennis. “Someone on this tour? One of her friends?”

  Talk of Bigfoot ceased dramatically as an uncomfortable silence settled over the bus.

  “The lieutenant has more questions,” Etienne explained without fanfare. “I think we should leave it at that for now.”

  But Ennis’s question obviously gave rise to a period of soul- searching, self-reflection, and internet surfing because the bus was unnaturally quiet for the half hour it took us to reach our ziplining venue.

  At an indistinct break in the trees on a nondescript part of the highway, Steele turned off-road, driving the bus down a short gravel lane where a couple of muddy vehicles that resembled modified jeeps were parked. Two twentysomething young men in hiking pants and hoodies hopped out of the vehicles to direct us to the preferred parking spot, and when we’d come to a full stop, they climbed aboard to greet us. I shook their hands, introduced myself, told them how excited we were to be here, then stood back as they took over the show.

  “Hey, everyone! Welcome! I’m Morgan and this is Josh, and we’re the dudes who’ll be driving you to the site today”—he gestured toward the jeeps—“in those two outstanding vehicles.”

  “They’re awfully muddy,” Margi observed with some distaste. “Is there a car wash nearby?”

  “We had a lot of torrential rain last week that’s turned our access road to slop,” lamented Morgan, “so we’re getting showered with mud. But that’s what makes our vehicles so outstanding. They can plow through just about anything. Mire. Mud. Sludge.” He thrust his hand at the dividing line where the gravel ended and the road into the forest began. “It’s three miles to the site and the ride’s pretty bumpy, so I’ve gotta ask now before we take off: Does anyone here suffer from knee pain, hip pain, joint pain, back pain, neck pain, heart problems, asthma, or have a detached retina?”

  Everyone’s hand went up.

  “Oh man.” Morgan’s features collapsed in horror. “Uh…” He exchanged a glance with Josh, who whispered something in his ear. “Okay then. No worries. We’ll drive slow.”

  “This place you’re taking us to won’t unnerve someone with a slight aversion to germs, will it?” asked Margi.

  “No, ma’am.” Morgan gave his head a vigorous shake. “It’s a bit muddy on the way in, but it’s clean mud.”

  “Clean mud.” Tilly laughed. “That’s an oxymoron, young man.”

  “I don’t know what that is, ma’am.”

  “It’s a self-contradiction in terms. Like…jumbo shrimp? Living dead?”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, yes, ma’am. Zombie flicks are my favorite movies. So here’s how this is gonna work. Josh and me can take eight passengers apiece in our vehicles, so we’ll make one run with sixteen of you, then I’ll come back to pick up who’s left. I’ll let Mrs. Miceli decide who gets to go on the first leg, so once you figure that out, mosey on over to the jeeps and we’ll strap you in. See you in a minute.”

  After dumping the selection process in my hands, the two guys made a quick exit, leaving me to wrestle with the usual headache of who should go first and whether they should line up by age, height, or social security number. But I had no intention of dithering. I was going to be strong and decisive and simply lay down the law, and if someone complained, I’d be uncharacteristically forceful and…and…

  Someone always complained and I never did anything about it, so who was I kidding? But on the upside, this couldn’t have worked out any better. By manipulating the roster, I’d get a chance to do something I’d wanted to do since yesterday.

 
“So here’s the scoop.” Accessing the list of guest names on my phone, I made a few quick calculations. “Alison and Etienne will ride along with the first two groups and I’ll stay behind with the remaining guests. So when I call your name, you can head out. First group goes with Alison.”

  I read off seven names and waited until they were safely off the bus and hustling across the gravel with her.

  “Second group goes with Etienne.” I read off seven more names and watched them go, then did my best to ignore the peeved looks being directed at me from the six guests who remained.

  “How come we got picked to go last?” taunted Thor as he eyed the book clubbers still on the bus. “Nothing smacks of favoritism more than showing partiality to your regular travelers. I hope you have the decency to be embarrassed.”

  “The reason you guys are going last is because you’re not my regular travelers,” I explained in the most tactful fib I could think of. “You’ve seen the gang in action. They go bonkers if they’re not first out of the starting gate. I chose you to go last because I know you’re more patient than they are, so I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

  “What a nice thing to say,” gushed Goldie Kristiansen. “I’m not sure the ‘patience’ moniker applies to all of us”—she slanted a look at Thor—“but I’ll accept the compliment.”

  “So will I,” Florence chimed in. “I pride myself on my patience. So you called that right, Emily. I don’t mind waiting at all.”

  “You wouldn’t,” snarled Thor. “Miss Goody Two-shoes.”

  “You shouldn’t knock my patience,” Florence retorted in a slow, even tone. “It’s the only thing that’s allowed me to stomach you all these years.”

  “Zing!” hooted Grover. “Truth hurt much, sparky?”

  Thor unfolded himself from his seat and stepped into the aisle, pausing only long enough to skewer his detractors with a menacing look. “I’m waiting outside where the air’s not so foul.”

  “Good!” Grover called after him. He ranged a look around the near-empty bus. “It was too crowded in here anyway.”

  “What about mosquitoes?” questioned Orphie as Thor stormed out the exit. “Does he risk being eaten alive if he stands out there?”