In Cave Danger

by Kate Dyer-Seeley

  “I hear that you found the body,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “My detective is on his way. He’s going to want to talk to you first. Why don’t you take some slow and steady breaths while we wait for him. Can I get you some water?”

  “Do I look that bad?” I grimaced.

  He laughed. “You look like someone who just found a dead body.”

  “Oh no,” I groaned.

  “It’s okay. I would be more worried if you didn’t look a little sick right now.”

  “Do I look sick?”

  He patted my knee. “You wait right here. I’m going to get you some water. You’re going to be fine.”

  Why did people keep saying that? I unzipped Sam’s coat, reached into my front jacket pocket, and pulled out my cell phone. After flipping the camera to selfie mode, I checked my appearance. No wonder everyone was asking how I was doing. All of the color had drained from my face. I was as white as the cave’s stalactites. Not only that, but my skin had a greenish undertone to it. Maybe I was going to be sick.

  The officer returned with a bottle of water and a bag of frosted animal crackers. I quickly stuffed my phone into Sam’s coat pocket. I didn’t want him to think that I was taking a selfie at a time like this. Unlike a traditional police uniform his looked more like a ranger’s, only he had a gold badge on his chest and a holster around his waist.

  “Here,” he said, handing me the bag of animal crackers and the water. “I always carry some sugar in my squad car.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled and tried to open the package of cookies, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

  He took the bag from me and split it open in one easy move.

  “Sugar, huh?” I asked, taking out a pink elephant with colorful sprinkles and popping it in my mouth.

  “Yep. It works like a charm in every situation. From street kids to shoplifters and stoners, it’s my secret weapon. Who doesn’t like a nostalgic childhood favorite?”

  “Smart,” I said, munching another cookie.

  He leaned closer. “Don’t tell anyone. It will ruin my tough-guy reputation.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I promised, washing the cookie down with a sip of water. “Thanks a lot. You’re right, I’m already starting to feel better.” My head had stopped spinning. The rack of lanterns hanging on the far wall looked solid and sturdy. I hoped that meant my moment of panic had passed and I wasn’t in danger of passing out anytime soon.

  “I know. I can see that. You don’t look like a ghost.”

  At that minute a man in his fifties wearing a pair of jeans and a nondescript jacket opened the front door. The police officer stood and pointed at me. “Here’s your first witness, Detective Summer.”

  Detective Summer gave him a curt nod, and the police officer hurried away without another word. A new wave of doubt washed over me as the detective strolled over and took a seat on the bench. He slowly opened a spiral notebook and appeared to be assessing me from the corner of his steely dark eyes.

  “Name?” He clicked a ballpoint pen, hard and fast, like the trigger of a gun.

  I liked the cookie-wielding police officer better. “Meg Reed,” I said, folding the package of cookies and sticking it in Sam’s coat pocket too.

  He made a note. “I’ll need all your details—address, age, what you’re doing here, etcetera.”

  I took another drink of water and gave him all of my personal information. Then he launched into a series of questions about finding Kira’s body. I tried to maintain my cool as I replayed finding her. Detective Summer didn’t seem concerned when my hands began to tremble as I told him about the trowel lodged in her abdomen or that I couldn’t stop shaking my left leg.

  Without even looking at me he scribbled notes as I spoke. Once I had answered all of his questions, he paused for a moment. “Was she murdered?” I asked.

  He flinched. It was subtle, but I saw him catch the pen in his hand just before it was about to fall. “Why do you ask?”

  “The trowel,” I said, biting my bottom lip. It was a habit that I’d never been able to break, and it drove Mother crazy. “Mary Margaret Reed, stop biting your lip,” she would say whenever she caught me chomping on my own skin.

  “What about the trowel?” Detective Summer stared at me.

  “It was stuck in her stomach. Someone must have stabbed her, right?”

  He gave me a look that I couldn’t decipher. Then I made the mistake of telling him about my work at Northwest Extreme and how I had ended up involved in a murder investigation before.

  “Involved how?” He put the pen on the notebook and met my eyes.

  “Do you happen to know Sheriff Daniels?” I asked. His eyes widened and he swallowed. He looked as if he was trying to buy time before answering.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “He has been the lead investigator on a few of the cases that I’ve been involved with.” I tried to keep my tone casual.

  Detective Summer nodded and picked up his pen. He made another note but didn’t answer. I was sure that he knew Sheriff Daniels, and I wondered why he wasn’t admitting it.

  “That’s all for now,” he said, closing his notebook.

  “Don’t you want to know my theory?” I asked

  “Theory?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. I mean, there was definitely major tension between Kira and Harley Coltrane. In fact, last night she told him that she was going to check with the legal team at the Forest Service to see if she could keep him off the land.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t you think that’s potential motive for murder? I mean, I’m sure you followed the wildlife refuge occupation in Eastern Oregon. It was front page news.”

  Detective Summer frowned. “I’m not sure what sort of ‘involvement,’ as you say, that you’ve had with other police departments, Ms. Reed, but I worked in LA for fifteen years before moving to Bend. This is not backwoods, small-town Oregon. My team of federally commissioned officers will be investigating this case. As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, that’s all I’ll be needing from you for the moment.”

  He stood and walked away.

  I wondered if the backwoods comment was a dig on Sheriff Daniels. He’d been evasive about answering whether he knew the sheriff, which made me even more convinced that he must.

  That did not go well, I said to myself as I headed back outside. Way to make a great first impression, Meg.

  Sam was sitting on a boulder with his head turned toward the sky. He reminded me of a snake trying to warm his skin. When he spotted me he waved, and I joined him on the boulder baking under the sun. “How did it go in there?” he asked. His voice sounded shaky, and I noticed that despite the heat radiating from above, his face was as blanched as mine had been.

  “Fine. The detective just asked me a bunch of questions about what I saw down there.” I shuddered again at the memory of Kira’s body.

  “You were great. I was really impressed. A lot of people freak out in emergency situations, but you totally held it together and put the congressman in his place.”

  I smiled and gave him a fist pump. “That was teamwork. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You were brave. Really brave.”

  “Can I admit something?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m kind of freaking out. I think the adrenaline has worn off and now it’s hitting me.”

  Sam held out his hand. His fingers were as wobbly as mine. “Me too.”

  “The thing is, I didn’t even really know Kira, but she was awesome. She was one of those people who instantly makes you feel good.”

  Sam nodded. “You mean made.” His eyes were glossy.

  “Right, made.” I thought he might cry, so I placed my hand on his knee. “I’m sorry. Did you know her well?”

  “Not really.” He shook his head. “Professor LeAnna was in charge of the site. She was the one who communicated with the Fo
rest Service and specifically Kira. I never really even talked to her, but you’re right, she seemed super cool.”

  My mind flashed to last night’s cocktail party. I had overhead Sam and Kira having a conversation. Kira had asked him about removing rock samples from the cave. I started to ask Sam about it, but at that moment the police officer came over and told Sam that Detective Summer was ready to take his statement. Sam stood and gave me a look of trepidation. “See you later, Meg.” He walked away with the police officer, and I headed for my car. Detective Summer told me I was free to go, with a warning that I wasn’t to leave Bend until further notice.

  I was dreading having to tell Greg and Matt, but there was no getting around it. Plus, now I’d have to figure out whether I had a story or was going to have to scramble to come up with another idea. As I walked to my car, tourists had begun to gather around the lava tube entrance. I overheard people chattering about an accident and someone falling to their death. The police had barricaded the opening and were informing people that the tubes were going to be closed indefinitely.

  The temperature was climbing rapidly. Suddenly I was hot. I realized that I was still wearing Sam’s jacket over mine. No wonder. I tugged his jacket off and felt something heavy hit my thigh. That’s right. I had put my cell phone and cookies in his pocket. I reached into the pocket and felt around for my phone. My hand landed on something rough and heavy. I pulled it out and almost dropped it on the ground. Sam’s coat pocket was full of rock samples. Were these the samples that Kira had accused him of taking?

  Had Sam lied about stealing samples from the lava cave? And if he had lied about that, could he have lied about killing Kira too?

  Chapter 11

  The lava rock felt like lead in my hand. I scanned the grounds in search of Detective Summer or the police officer who had given me cookies. Neither were in sight. I couldn’t believe that Sam was a killer, but I had been wrong in the past, and I wasn’t going to take any chances this time. I would hand the rock samples over to the authorities and they could take it from there.

  Marching toward the cave entrance, I tried to keep my focus on my feet instead of the flashing lights and sounds of the emergency team shouting out orders. I continued on to the lantern rental shed but found it empty. Where had everyone gone?

  I returned to the lava tube and realized why everyone was shouting and mulling around. They were getting ready to bring Kira’s body up. The thought of seeing her on a stretcher was too much for the moment. The rock samples could wait. I tucked them back into Sam’s coat pocket, kept my head down, and sprinted to my car.

  My mind raced as I drove to the hotel. What could Sam’s connection to Kira be? And why was he smuggling rock samples from the lava tube? If he was really a graduate research student, what possible motive could he have for removing old rocks? Could there be something more valuable on the cave floor? I was going to have to review more of the state geology reports that I’d gathered together for my preliminary research. Something wasn’t adding up.

  Once I had guzzled a cup of coffee I texted Matt.

  Lunch?

  I didn’t want to bombard him with the gory details until we were face-to-face. He had enough on his mind with the new job.

  He shot back emojis with thumbs-up and agreed to meet at Crux at noon.

  Next I crafted an e-mail to Greg, explaining what happened to Kira and begging him not to pull me from the story. I promised that I would stay completely focused on my job and not meddle in the investigation. It was highly doubtful that he would buy my story, but I figured it was worth a shot. Greg knew me too well, and unfortunately my record wasn’t exactly clean when it came to previous investigations.

  While I waited for a response from Greg I posted a few pictures on Northwest Extreme’s social media, being careful to avoid any reference to Kira or what had happened to her. I scrolled through the local media sites. The news outlets were reporting an “accident” at the lava tubes, but no names or further information had been released. That was good.

  By the time the lunch hour neared I had skimmed a stack of boring technical research papers that Sam had given me on the history and geology of the lava caves. There were reports of valuable minerals and rocks discovered in the long underground highways of tubes, but nothing that matched the lava rocks that I’d found in Sam’s pocket.

  I wanted Matt’s input. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Could there be another explanation for how Kira had ended up dead on the cave floor? I stacked my research notes on the desk and checked my e-mail. Still no word from Greg. That meant that either he was busy showing the Hoshino investors around town or he was on his way to Bend to bring me home immediately.

  Matt and I were meeting at Crux Brewing. The pub and tasting room were located in the hills with a massive green lawn where they hosted outdoor summer concerts and where families could play cornhole and throw Frisbees while kicking back with an ice-cold pint. The taproom was busy for a weekday at noon, in part because it sat in the middle of Crux’s brewing operations. Beer lovers could watch the brewers in action from one of the swivel seats at the open bar. Crux was known around Bend and throughout the thriving brew community in the Northwest for their innovative techniques like open fermentation, using wild yeast and new experimental hop varieties, and aging their beers in oak barrels.

  I squeezed to the front of the bar and, after studying the chalkboard menu, decided to try the French Connection, an experimental IPA. When in Rome, right? The IPA promised a unique flavor and double hops. That sounded like just what the doctor would order after my insane morning. I opted to pair a grilled cheese made with Havarti, spicy pickles, goat cheese, and bacon with my worldly beer, and took my pint outside to wait for Matt in the late September sun.

  Picnic tables were placed in a grouping throughout a large patio. Twinkle lights had been strung from the brewery to large wooden posts lining the grass. Red and black umbrellas and giant flowerpots added a splash of vibrant color to the warm, open space. I tilted my head to the sky and drank in the sun. It felt restorative on my face. Gam would say that I was embracing the light. That felt right and necessary for the moment.

  “Megs!” Matt shook me from my sun salutation. “What’s going on?” He dropped his laptop bag on the grass and slid onto the bench across from me. “What are you drinking?” He picked up my pint glass and held it to the light. “Nice color.”

  “It’s their experimental IPA,” I replied. “Try it. It’s nice. Really hoppy.”

  “Just your style.” Matt grinned and took a sip. “Hoptastic.”

  “Hoptastic?”

  “I’m trying to fit in with the Bend scene.”

  “Right.”

  He handed me my beer. “I think I’m going to copy you. Do you want anything else?”

  “Nope. I’m good.” I smiled as he went inside to order. Only the truth was, I was far from good. There was no chance of hiding from Matt what had occurred this morning, but part of me wanted to forget that it had even happened.

  Matt returned with his beer and a bowl of green chips.

  “What are those?” I asked.

  “Kale chips.” He grinned and pushed the bowl toward me. “They’re good for you.”

  “I don’t know if I want kale in my chips.”

  “Just try them,” he insisted, then chomped on one as if to show me how tasty they were. “You’ll love ’em.”

  After breaking a chip in half, I took a timid bite. Matt was right, they were great. Salty and with a slight hint of something briny. I munched the rest of the broken chip and then grabbed a handful more.

  “See, I told you.” Matt held up his pint glass. “A toast to your arrival in Bend. How has the high desert been treating you so far?”

  I frowned.

  “Uh-oh. That look isn’t good.” He set his beer down and leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

  Everything came spilling out in a jumbled mess. I don’t think I even spoke in complete sentences—more like disco
nnected utterances and sobs.

  “Whoa, slow down, Megs.” Matt placed his hand over mine.

  “Sorry,” I said, sniffing and blinking back tears.

  He met my eyes. “It’s okay.” Letting go of my hand, he reached into his bag and handed me a package of tissues with aliens on it.

  “Where did you find this?” I laughed.

  “My mom sent them to me. I figured they might come in handy.”

  Matt was notorious for always being prepared. Jill and I liked to tease him about his Boy Scout training. Wherever we went or whatever the occasion called for, Matt was ready. Lost when hiking? No problem, Matt had a GPS and compass for that. At the beach with a cooler of cold drinks and no way to open them? Not to worry, Matt’s flip-flops had a bottle opener embedded in the soles.

  I dabbed my eyes with the tissue. “Your mom was right.”

  “She usually is.” Matt winked. “Okay, so who is Kira?”

  I felt slightly calmer having vomited all my anxiety onto Matt. Taking a long, slow breath I continued to explain what had happened, this time breathing and forming complete and coherent sentences.

  Matt let out a low whistle. “Geez, Megs, not again.”

  “Right? Why does this keep happening to me?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Our food arrived. My grilled cheese was perfectly gooey with a toasty multigrain crust and thick slabs of bacon. Matt had ordered a Cubano with sliced ham and peppers.

  “You should eat while it’s hot,” Matt said. I knew that he was trying to buy time to formulate what he wanted to say to me.

  We dug into our lunch. My sandwich may have been the best grilled cheese I’d ever eaten, which was saying a lot because I consider myself a connoisseur of grilled cheese. After I graduated from college and couldn’t get a job, I had bummed on Jill’s couch for a few—okay maybe more than a few—months. I was broke and could barely afford my daily grilled cheese and tomato soup. In those lean days my grilled cheese consisted of cheap sliced sourdough and one measly piece of cheddar. This was the Taj Mahal of grilled cheese. Decadent and gooey.