“I’m not sure yet,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “I need more information to make a decision. That’s why I want to cover this story. I think our readers will be very interested in this potential change to land use.” I paused and smoothed my tulle skirt. “And I think I can get some killer pics in the lava tubes.”
Greg threw his hands up in the air. “Fair enough. Just please tell me that you won’t wear that skirt.”
“Of course not.” I thought my tone sounded indignant.
“Great, then I’ll be eager to read what you decide. Anyone else have a pitch?”
An hour later I was at my desk color-coding file folders and bookmarking every article I could find on Congressman Riley. This was going to be more than an outdoor feature. For the first time since earning my degree in journalism, I was about to embark on a real story. I couldn’t wait.
Chapter 3
The second I was back to my desk, I texted Matt to let him know that Greg had approved the story and my travel to Bend. We agreed to meet for celebratory pints with Jill later. For the remainder of the day I worked on gathering as much research material as I could find on the lava tubes and the geological history of the high desert. Then I did a preliminary outline on everything I wanted to cover. I made calls to the U.S. Forest Service and the High Desert Research Center. They had joined forces for the tour that I would take. The Forest Service currently monitored and maintained the Lava River Cave, and the High Desert Research Center had been granted special access to study the tube’s unique rocks and minerals. Once I had gathered my notes and color-coded them with Sharpies, I stacked them in a neat pile and shifted my focus on finding a place to stay.
After a brief search, I booked a hotel on the banks of the Deschutes River and posted a picture of the river along with a picture of the entrance to the lava cave on our social media pages. Guess where Northwest Extreme is headed next? Hint—it’s deep underground.
In a matter of minutes we had thirty-seven comments from readers all over the globe offering their guesses. I had talked to Greg about offering more online giveaways. Our readers loved engaging with the story and feeling as if they were part of something special. This post was a perfect example. The first commenter to guess correctly would get a Northwest Extreme T-shirt and water bottle. If Greg wanted a new revenue stream, online social media could be the answer. Advertisers would jump at the chance to have their products featured to our one hundred thousand (and growing) followers. They would gladly give away prizes and pay for that kind of targeted exposure. I had mentioned the idea to Greg and had a brainstorming meeting with our ad team, but everyone had been hesitant to roll out a new campaign since things were so up in the air.
By the end of the day I had enough reading material to last me a week. I packed up my research notes and articles and headed for the pub. Jill, Matt, and I had a standing happy hour. I tried to push away the realization that our happy hours were about to end. Gam always says that change is inevitable. “We’re always in flux, Margaret. Change is the great gift of the Universe. If we stay open, we can flow with that change.”
I didn’t want to flow with anything or lose either of my besties, but there was nothing I could do to stop the change swirling around us, so I might as well just try to enjoy the limited time we had left.
We were meeting at The Thirsty Sasquatch, a pub and whiskey bar in Vancouver. Usually we stay on the Oregon side of the river, but I wanted to check in with Gam. She had been in a rare dark mood since breaking up with Sheriff Daniels. Jill and Matt agreed to make the trek to Vancouver so that I could stop by and visit Gam after happy hour. Matt suggested The Thirsty Sasquatch because he’d read about their extensive beer list.
A wall of taps and reclaimed wood tables greeted me when I arrived at the cozy pub. The Pacific Northwest has a long-running love affair with the hunt for Bigfoot. The Thirsty Sasquatch had definitely capitalized on that theme with a life-sized silhouette of the elusive beast carved into the back wall and stamped on coasters.
I scanned the room, but there was no sight of Jill or Matt yet. A bearded bartender wearing a hipster standard—a red plaid flannel and suspenders—waved me over.
“What can I get ya?” He motioned to the massive wall of taps.
“Where do I even start?”
“Do you have a particular beer you prefer?” He paused and rubbed his ginger beard. “Let me guess, you’re an IPA girl?”
“Why do you say that?”
“There’s no way you’re into stouts. Not with all that pink.” He ran his eyes from my head to toes. “But you have a certain Portland vibe about you, so I’m not going to peg you as a Pilsner girl either. Meet in the middle and call it an IPA?”
I laughed. “Is this like bartender mind reading or something?”
“Usually I charge extra for that, but today it’s on the house.” He smiled revealing a silver stud embedded in his bottom lip. “How did I do?”
“Not bad. I do like IPAs, but reds are actually my favorite.”
“Reds. Of course. I should have known. It goes with the pink.” Pointing behind him to a large chalkboard with the beer list, he said, “We have three on tap right now. Do you want to sample any of them?”
I studied the board. Ordering a beer in Portland or the near vicinity almost required a specialized degree. There were twenty-seven beers on tap, as well as four imperial ales and five taps on nitro. It took me a few minutes to study the board. Finally, I decided on a pint of a Scottish-style red from a small brewery I’d never heard of. I took the ice-cold, frothy beer to a table in the back to wait for Jill and Matt.
While I waited, I sipped the beer and took in the crowd. People watching is one of my favorite pastimes. There were a couple of regulars seated at the bar who appeared to know each other. A group of guys had pushed together two of the tables near the front window and were sampling whiskey while playing a lively game of poker.
No minors were permitted in the pub, and there was no food on-site. The Thirsty Sasquatch was on trend with other bars in the area. Instead of the expense of building out a commercial kitchen and hiring a cook, they had partnered with a number of neighboring restaurants. There were take-out menus for a Chinese place, pizza joint, and Mexican restaurant on each table. Pubgoers simply needed to call or text in their order and it would be delivered to the table thirty minutes later. I loved the concept, and I was starving. I texted an order for chips, salsa, and guacamole. Immediately, I got a text back letting me know that my order had been received and my food would be there soon.
With snacks on the way and a beer in hand, the evening was shaping up nicely. My eyes landed on a No Smoking sign posted on the bathroom door. I chuckled at that image of a cigarette and marijuana leaf with Xs through them. Only in the Pacific Northwest would people need to be reminded that smoking of any kind was banned inside.
I knew without looking away from the No Smoking sign that Jill had arrived. The bar went quiet. Both of the regulars turned their attention to the front door, and the guys playing poker held their cards with reverence as Jill brushed past their table. I couldn’t blame them. She looked stunning, as always. Her long legs appeared even longer thanks to her Capri jeans and three-inch boots. She wore a flowing, peasant-style navy blouse and three long gold chains around her neck. If she hadn’t been my bestie for as long as I could remember I would have been intimidated by her effortless beauty.
She spotted me and ran over to scoop me into a hug. Jill has always been a natural beauty, but ever since she decided to pursue her dream of art and move to Italy there was a glow and an ease to her that made her even more gorgeous. When she’d been working for one of the big law firms in Portland, she had been much more buttoned up—literally and metaphorically. She’d had to wear business suits and power jackets in her work as a paralegal. When she embraced her inner artist, her style had transformed almost overnight. I loved seeing her so carefree and comfortable in her skin.
“Meg!” She kissed
both my cheeks. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible.”
“I know. I should have thought about that. Vancouver was probably not my wisest idea, especially during rush hour.”
Jill released me and shrugged. “Who cares? I’m off to Italy soon. Plus, this place is adorable. So are you.” She ruffled my hair. “I love the length of your pixie cut, and OMG that skirt is adorbs!” She pointed to my pint glass. “What are you drinking?”
I offered her a taste of my beer.
“Oh, that’s delish. I’m getting that too.” She started toward the bar, where the bartender was eagerly awaiting her order. Then she stopped, turned back to me, and frowned. “I just realized something terrible.”
“What?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had an Italian beer. Do you think there’s beer in Italy?”
“For sure. They have to have beer in Italy, right?”
The bartender coughed. “Everyone makes beer, ladies. Not necessarily craft beer, but you’ll find plenty of brews in Italy.”
A look of panic flashed on Jill’s face. “What am I going to do without good craft beer?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. This made Jill crack up too. “That sounds bad, doesn’t it? You know what I mean though. We have the best beer in the world. I’m going to have to give it up.”
“But you’ll be giving it up for Italian wine,” I offered.
She scowled. “You don’t even like wine.”
“I know, but everyone else in the world does.”
Throwing her thin hand across her mouth, she froze again. “I just had an even more horrific thought. What if they don’t have candy?”
“Seriously?” I laughed at her dramatics. “I know that Italians have candy, plenty of it.”
“But do they have Skittles?” She lifted one perfectly waxed brow. “I’m going to have to stock up.” Walking toward the bar, she shook her shiny, shoulder-length auburn hair. I noticed a flash of purple and thought at first that it must have been the way the overhead Edison bulb lights were hitting her. Then as she placed her drink order, oblivious to the fact that the bartender was practically drooling over her, I realized that her hair had subtle purple highlights.
“You dyed your hair,” I shouted when she returned with a pint.
Her eyes twinkled, and she scrunched her forehead. “I know. It’s crazy, right? What do you think? Tell me the truth.”
“I love it.” I reached over and ran my hand through her silky hair. Jill could pull off any look, and somehow she managed to make the purple hair streaks look regal. If I added colored highlights to my hair, I would look like a clown.
“Really? You’re not just saying that?”
I crossed my heart with my index finger. “I swear. It looks amazing.”
She swept her hair back behind her shoulders. “I wanted to do something radical. If I’m going to art school, I should look like an artist, you know. I feel as if I’ve spent so much time stifling my creativity that I need to open it up. Your grandmother really helped me understand that.”
“Gam will be thrilled to hear that, and honestly you’re glowing. They’re going to adore you in Italy. You don’t have a thing to worry about. I do though.”
“What do you have to worry about?”
“That they’re never going to let you leave. Some dreamy Italian man is going to scoop you up. I know it.”
“Right.” Jill took a drink of her beer and wiped the foam from her lip. “I’m pretty impressive.” She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Promise me that we’ll be besties no matter what.”
I held up my pinkie. “No matter what. Pinkie swear.”
Jill blinked back tears. “Meg, I’m so excited, but I’m so nervous. I’ve never done anything like this. You’re the brave one, not me.”
“Ha! Brave. Should we talk about how I basically crawled down the ski slope last winter, or faked a fall in order to avoid having to summit Angel’s Rest?”
“That’s different. Fine, whatever, maybe you aren’t the most athletically inclined sometimes, but you’re fearless, Meg. You go after what you want, no matter the cost. Even to your body. I don’t know anyone else who would have taken a job for Northwest Extreme if they weren’t an adrenaline junkie.”
“I was desperate.”
Jill shook her head. “Nope, I’m not letting you off easy on this one. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be going to Italy. You inspired me to take this leap.”
My eyes misted. Her words meant a lot, but I changed the subject because I knew if I didn’t we would both be a blubbering mess soon. “How’s packing and everything going?”
“Good. I’m almost done. Can you believe that I leave in a week?”
I’d been trying not to think about it, but to Jill I said no and clinked my glass to hers. A woman appeared at our table with a box of chips and salsa. She swiped my credit card on her smartphone and thanked us for our order.
“Where did she just come from?” Jill watched her leave.
“A restaurant down the street. You text your order and they deliver to your table.” I showed her my phone.
Jill scooped guacamole onto a chip. “That’s service in the twenty-first century, baby!”
Matt came not long after our appetizer. My throat tightened when I caught sight of his blond hair and bright cobalt eyes. He wore a Bigfoot T-shirt and pair of khaki cargo shorts. “What’s up?” He gave Jill a fist pump and ruffled my pixie cut.
“Nice shirt,” Jill teased.
“I had to wear it,” Matt said, stretching the shirt away from his body. “When am I going to get a chance to drink at the Sasquatch while wearing a Sasquatch?”
“Anytime you want to come to Vancouver,” I said.
Matt rolled his eyes. “Megs, I thought you of all people would love it.” He pretended to be injured.
“I do love it, and no joke, I noticed that whole group of guys up front looking at you enviously when you walked in.”
“I think they were jealous that I’m with you.” He gave me a quick look, letting his eyes linger briefly on my tulle skirt.
My heart sped up a little at the compliment. I willed myself not to blush. My cheeks go from light pink to full tomato in a matter of seconds.
“What are you drinking?” Matt asked, changing the subject, then wadding up his gum in a napkin. Matt’s addiction to gum was on par with Jill’s addiction to candy.
Jill offered him her beer. He took a taste. “Not bad, but I checked out their tap list online and I read about this pine tree IPA that I’ve been dying to try.”
That was another Northwest beer trend. Brewers were constantly pushing the flavor envelope with beers infused with everything from pine needles to figs. The next craze was probably going to be mushrooms and organic dirt.
Matt headed for the bar, and Jill leaned closer and whispered, “Give me the deets. What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.”
Jill frowned. “Meg, don’t hold out on me. I’m your bestie, remember?”
“Honestly, there’s nothing going on.”
“A trip to Bend together? I’d say that’s something.”
Before she could harass me more, Matt returned to the table with his beer. “Smell this.” He thrust the beer at me. “Smell it.”
I acquiesced, taking in the scent of the hoppy beer. “OMG! It smells like the forest.”
“Exactly.” Matt took the beer from me and handed it to Jill. “The bartender told me that the brewer adds fresh pine needles to the beer. You guys should taste it too.”
Jill sniffed the beer and took a tentative sip. I was glad she was tasting first. I wasn’t sure I wanted my beer to taste or smell like an evergreen tree. Her eyes lit up, and she took another sip. “This is amazing. You can really taste the pine, but it’s not overwhelming.”
Matt nodded. “Try it, Megs.”
Jill passed me the beer. “Matt is right. It’s really good.”
I puckered up, expecting
the beer to be bitter, but I was surprised by its mild sweetness and subtle piney flavor.
Matt gave a half bow and sat down on the bench next to me. “And I give you pine beer.”
“Better than Pine-Sol,” I teased.
Jill chuckled. “Don’t say that out loud, especially around here. Someone might jump on that idea.”
I stuck out my tongue.
Matt savored his pine beer. “You know you both are wishing you ordered one of these beauties.” He caressed the side of his mug. “How did your pitch go, Megs?”
“Greg loved the idea. Looks like I’m tagging along to Bend and tunneling underground.”
“Awesome.” Matt clinked his glass to mine.
Jill held up a hand. “Wait, what? Underground?”
I told her about the lava cave expedition and watched her face sink. “Megs, you hate small, dark spaces,” she said when I finished.
“I know, but this will be different. I probably won’t even have to go all the way in. I’ll just shoot some pics from the top and call it good. I’m really going because it’s my first serious piece. We’re talking politics and a clash with the Forest Service. That’s good stuff. I can’t pass it up.” To be honest I hadn’t given much thought to the spelunking portion of the trip. Seeing the doubt on Jill’s face gave me a moment of pause.
“Wasn’t there a landslide in the cave recently?” Jill asked, looking at Matt. “I remember reading something about a cave-in where part of the tunnel was barricaded by giant boulders.”
Matt seconded her concern. “Jill’s right, there was a cave-in, but not in the main lava tube where you’ll be. The good thing about the lava caves is that they’re pretty massive. It will definitely be dark and cold down there. I hope you won’t feel too claustrophobic.” Then he turned to Jill. “If Megs and I are both in Bend, does that mean this is our last happy hour before you desert us for boring old Italy?” He winked.
Jill shot me a look of distress. “Is it?”
In Cave Danger Page 3