“No way, man.”
“I’ve got to get back down. Things are out of control with all the cops around,” Dupree said.
That didn’t make sense. The strong police presence at the scene of the crime made it stable, not out of control. I followed him. I wanted to know more about Harley, but Dupree was fast. For someone who had such a chill attitude, the guy could move.
“Hey, Dupree!” I called. “Wait up.”
He paused and turned. When he realized it was me, he waited.
“Thanks,” I panted. I was already winded—on the way down—which wasn’t a good thing. “I wanted to ask you about Harley.”
His gaze was hard. “What about him?” How had he not even broken a sweat? Especially in his Forest Service uniform? I would have been dying in long pants.
I tried to keep pace with his stride, but his long stick legs were no match for mine. He was on a mission and didn’t seem interested in talking about Harley. I decided to try a different tactic. “I think he could be an important piece of my story. My core focus is on the battle over this land.”
That did the trick.
His pace slowed ever so slightly. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Start from the beginning.”
“Shouldn’t you take notes or something?”
I tapped my head. “It’s all up here. Young brain cells, you know?”
He didn’t look like he knew, but he launched into a rant about Harley and Congressman Riley. “Everyone at the Forest Service knows Harley. He’s infamous. We keep denying his grazing permits, and he keeps letting his cattle roam on our land. Don’t believe that crap he’s trying to feed that this legislation would give the land to the local government. That’s not why they’re doing this. They don’t care about the land.”
As he spoke, his tone became increasingly agitated. “They have all their sleek business suits spinning it as giving the people the land for recreation. They don’t want it for the people. They want it for themselves. They want it for their four-wheelers and motor bikes. He wants to let his cattle roam on the mountains. These forests are sacred. They want to destroy this beloved land. No one owns this land. Do you know much about Native American lore?”
I shook my head, although in truth I did. Gam had a deep connection with the teaching of the Northwest’s original inhabitants, but I wanted to keep Dupree talking.
“They were one with the land, but they didn’t believe in ownership. That’s just a ludicrous power concept that the government wants you to believe. The land owns us, not the other way around. Our forests and mountains are living and breathing, and the caves are a sacred space. The Native Americans believed the land held the spirits of our ancestors.” He glanced behind us, where the rest of our group was just beginning their descent. “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this space from Harley and his puppet, Riley. They’re not going to get their gas-guzzling, noise-making rigs anywhere near here if I have anything to say about it. And trust me, I have something to say about it.”
He started to say more but stopped himself. “Look, I need to get back to the cave. I’m way behind on my mapping project, and who knows what’s going on down there. I’ll catch you later.” Without another word he started to jog down the caldera.
I was more confused than ever. Not that that was a new feeling for me. There were multiple questions battling for air time in my brain. First, the fight between the Forest Service and Congressman Riley. Whatever was going on with Professor LeAnna, and why she had asked Sam to steal samples from the cave and lie about it. Could studying microbes be financially lucrative? Then there was Dupree. He obviously had serious contempt for Congressman Riley and Harley, but how was that connected to Kira’s death? I sighed, wishing I could find the answer to just one of these questions.
The rest of our hiking party—Sam and Professor LeAnna—were still at the fire lookout. I continued on alone, happy to have time to process my thoughts and not have to worry about being embarrassed by my burning cheeks and sweaty skin. Dupree had made the climb look like nothing more than an easy warm-up. Come to think of it, why had Dupree joined us? Was I missing some kind of obvious connection?
Once I made it back to my car, I checked my phone. There was no cell service. Dang. I was dying to know what (if anything) Matt had learned from the DEA, but like the other questions invading my mind, that would have to wait too.
Chapter 16
Once back at the hotel I checked my phone. There was no message from Matt. That was strange. He had promised to check in as soon as he talked to the DEA agent. I shot him a text. Then I left a message for Detective Summer telling him about the missing trowel on Professor LeAnna’s vest and my other suspicions. I had feeling he would probably delete my message, but I felt better having sent it. With that complete, it was time for a much-needed shower. My skin was sticky with sweat and blotchy from the sun. The cool shower helped bring my body temperature and anxiety down.
As I stepped out of the shower my phone started to buzz. I grabbed a towel to dry my hands and then raced to answer my phone. It must be Matt!
To my surprise Greg’s number flashed on the screen.
“Hello,” I answered timidly.
“Meg Reed, what am I going to do with you?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t play innocent with me. I’ve heard the news, and you, my young friend, are in trouble. Huge trouble.
“Wait, let me explain . . .” I started to say, but Greg cut me off.
“What did we agree on before you left? No drama. I remember that conversation. Do you remember that conversation?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But nothing. Another body, Meg? Really?” He exhaled. “Do you know what this looks like for the magazine? People are going to start talking, wondering why anytime Northwest Extreme is on a story, someone ends up dead. This is not good for business.”
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t try to find Kira’s body.” I swallowed and tried to fight back tears. “It was terrible.”
Greg’s voice softened. “I know. Listen, Meg, I don’t know what’s going on out there, but I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either.”
He paused. “You haven’t bumped into Sheriff Daniels, have you?”
The question surprised me. “No. Why?”
“No reason. If you happen to see him around town, I want you to steer clear and call me right away, got it?”
“Why would Sheriff Daniels be here?”
“He’s probably not, but keep your eyes open, okay?”
“Greg, you sound like you’re Vaguebooking.”
“What’s Vaguebooking?”
“Posting something vague on Facebook in hopes of having all your friends ask you what’s wrong.”
Greg chuckled. “Meg, you are too much sometimes.”
“I’m serious. Why are you asking about Sheriff Daniels?”
“Just promise me that if you see him, you’ll call me, okay?”
I agreed and hung up. This cycle that Greg and I were in had to end. Regardless of whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was consistently vague with me, and I was tired of it.
I spent the next few hours reading and rereading everything I could find online about Professor LeAnna’s research. She had an impressive résumé, having worked for a number of prestigious universities and publishing more than fifty papers on cave geology. Her most recent article hinted at a breakthrough on space microbes. This must be what Sam was talking about. The article ended with a teaser about an upcoming research study set to be published later this month.
Could her study have a connection to Kira’s death? What though? I wished I had paid better attention in my college geology class, also affectionately known around campus as “Rocks for Jocks.” If my college geology professor had taken us to Lava Butte or the Lava River Caves, I probably would have geeked out on rocks too, but back in college, Geology 101 was just a prerequisite I had to pass for my journ
alism degree.
After a while my contacts felt like lava rocks in my eyes from squinting to read my laptop screen. I gave up. Matt still hadn’t called. I needed a break from the computer and a coffee. I knew exactly where I was going to get one—the coffee kiosk in the warehouse district. This time I opted for a new disguise: a pair of hot pink sunglasses and matching fuchsia baseball cap. When I arrived at the drive-through stand there was a new barista working inside. He wore a pair of board shorts with palm trees and no shirt. It looked as if he had greased his six-pack abs with baby oil.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“I was here yesterday,” I replied, proceeding to give him my cover story and order an iced hazelnut latte. “Have you seen any homeless kids hanging around?”
“Depends on what you mean by homeless,” he said as he pulled a shot of rich, creamy espresso on the bar. “Everyone is kind of a vagabond around here. It’s the lifestyle. We work to live. We don’t live to work, you know?”
I did know. I was very familiar with that sentiment. Portland’s youthful culture and many of my peers had the same philosophy. Work was simply a way to support an active lifestyle. Millennials weren’t focused on buying houses and working traditional nine-to-five jobs for their entire career. They were redefining what it meant to work to live.
“Lots of kids are here to follow their wanderlust. They aren’t homeless. They’re here for an adventure.”
“Right,” I agreed. “I get that. But have you seen any of them hanging around here?”
He handed me my frothy drink. The syrup and coffee swirled with the creamy, cold milk. My mouth watered. “There’s a group that camps out around here sometimes, but I haven’t seen them today.”
I paid him for the coffee.
Giving me a quizzical look he asked, “Are they part of your story?”
Uh-oh. I didn’t want to blow my cover, so I blurted out the first thing I could think of. “Yeah, I’m with Northwest Extreme and we’re doing a feature on exactly what we’re talking about. I want to interview as many twenty-somethings as I can about why they’ve chosen to travel and go on adventures instead of following in their parents’ footsteps and working corporate jobs.”
“That’s cool. I feel you on that vibe. If I see any of them, I’ll send them to you.”
“Perfect.” I kicked myself for not thinking of this angle earlier. Then I dug through my bag and handed him a few of my business cards. “This is my cell. They can call me anytime. And if it’s okay with you, I was going to work a little outside here.”
“Go for it.” He took the cards and read my title. “Adventure reporter? You don’t look like an adventure reporter.”
“I know.” I grinned and walked away. “It’s kind of how I blend in.”
“You call that blending in? No one I know wears that much pink.”
I laughed. “Exactly! Trust me, people underestimate the power of pink all the time.”
He didn’t look convinced, so I took that as my cue to leave. “Thanks for the coffee. If you see any of the vagabond kids I would really appreciate it if you’d send them my way.”
With that I took my coffee and set up shop on the bistro table. Things were pretty quiet. There was much less activity than there had been yesterday. A few workers milled around one of the warehouses, but there was no sign of the homeless, or as my new shirtless barista friend called them, “vagabond” kids. I sipped my latte and doodled in my notebook. This trip was proving to be nothing more than a distraction and a chance to sample new coffees.
I couldn’t believe that Matt hadn’t texted me yet. I knew that he was busy with his job interview, but it wasn’t like him not to at least shoot me a text. I wanted to text him again, but I didn’t want to come across as too needy. I was about to pack up my things when I noticed an unmarked delivery truck back up to the abandoned warehouse. My interest was piqued. I sat up straighter and watched it closely. No one got out of the truck. It parked right next to the boarded-up entrance that I’d seen the kids enter yesterday.
Anticipation flooded my body as I watched the white truck. Why wasn’t the driver getting out? I squinted to try to make out who was driving. I was too far away, but it looked like a guy wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses, just like me.
Why would a delivery truck park in front of the abandoned warehouse? As much as I hoped it had something to do with the homeless kids I’d seen yesterday, I tried to think logically. Maybe the truck was waiting to unload at one of the other warehouses. There were delivery trucks at both of the other buildings.
Duh, Meg. It’s probably just waiting its turn to unload.
Only, when the other delivery trucks pulled away it didn’t move. It sat parked as if guarding the warehouse doors.
I waited, trying to remain calm and act busy, for another hour. There was no sight of even the slightest movement from the delivery truck or the warehouse. A text message sounded on my phone, making me jump.
It was from Matt. He was finished for the day and wanted to meet for an early pint. I was torn. Part of me wanted to keep watch on the truck and warehouse, but I also wanted to hear what Matt had learned from the DEA. So I packed up my things and headed to meet Matt. There was no question in my mind: I was coming back tonight—with or without him.
My mind wouldn’t release the image of the delivery truck as I drove to Worthy Brewing, the pub where I was meeting Matt. It had to be connected. Could I finally be close to meeting one of Pops’ sources?
A gorgeous garden of fresh herbs and hops greeted my senses when I pulled into the parking lot at the brewery. Each plant was labeled with handwritten tags. The hops that spiraled up tall cedar poles were part of a collaboration with Oregon State University. The agricultural department had a greenhouse on-site where they cultivated new hop varieties.
Matt was waiting for me in the outdoor beer garden, which mirrored the fragrant front garden boxes. There were picnic tables, hops snaking up the walls, brightly colored hanging baskets, a huge fire pit, and oversized lightbulbs on strings creating a circuslike dome around the patio.
“Hey, I already ordered,” Matt said, nodding at the pitcher of beer on the table. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I never mind when you order beer.” I grinned and slid onto the bench across from him.
“Is that a dig on ordering wine last night?”
“Never.” I winked.
He handed me a glass. “Give it try. It’s their Hop Gusher.”
“Sounds hoppy.”
“That’s the point.” Matt poured us both a pint.
“So, what did you learn?”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you even want to taste that before you launch into your assault?”
“No. Not this time.”
His expression softened. “I know. I’m trying to keep things as light as I can, Megs. This is some dark stuff that we’ve landed in the middle of.”
“Is that what the DEA agent said?”
“Not in so many words, but he didn’t have to say much more. It was obvious within minutes of our conversation that you and I are in way over our heads. But there is good news. He wants to talk to you. I think for the first time he might actually believe me.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. I don’t think he can, or maybe he won’t.”
“Did you tell him everything?”
Matt ran his finger around the rim of his pint glass and nodded. “Everything.”
“And even after that he didn’t say anything?”
“Oh, he said quite a lot—mainly how he wants to talk to you immediately and how we both need to drop this right away. He’s worried that we’re going to blow their cover.”
“Whose cover?”
“The DEA’s.”
“How would we blow their cover?” I brushed a bee away from my beer. The rosemary and lavender plants near our table were fragrant with late fall flowers and literally buzzing with what looked like a colony of bees.
Matt shrugged. He was wearing a Blazen T-shirt. I was afraid to ask if that meant he had decided to take the job. “I wish I had more to tell you, but maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“Actually, I think I did have a stroke of good luck this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked suspicious. “What kind of luck?”
I told him about the delivery truck and begged him to come with me to check it out when it got dark later.
“Megs, I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He cracked his knuckles.
“Matt, we have to do something.” I scooted forward and nearly spilled my beer.
Rubbing his temples, he exhaled and stared at his glass for a minute. “We don’t even know if this building has any ties to the source.”
“That’s what we have to find out.”
“I don’t know. I think we should leave it to the DEA.”
“Do you really think they’re going to stake out a building on a hunch by some ‘kids’ in their eyes?”
Matt vacillated for a moment. I knew I had him.
“Look, if we find anything we can call them right away, but let’s at least check it out and see if there’s anything to see.”
“Megs, how do you always talk me into doing crazy stuff?”
I grinned. “Because you know I’m right and it’s spontaneous. You need more fun in your life.”
“I’m not sure I’d classify this as fun.”
“We’re not going to do anything. We’re just going to get a closer look.”
“Okay.” Matt hesitated and took a sip of his beer. I still hadn’t touched mine. “But any sign—any—of activity and we call the DEA.”
“Deal.” I lifted my glass in a toast. “It’s a stakeout.”
He rolled his eyes. “Hey, did you give any thought to my idea?”
“Your idea?”
“Yeah, moving to Bend.” He pointed to his T-shirt. “I asked the HR manager at Blazen about the social media team, and she wants to take a look at your résumé.”
In Cave Danger Page 12