The evening air was warm despite the fact that the sun was low on the horizon. It had begun its descent into the vast darkness of the Universe. I felt like the sun as I strolled along the river walk toward the pub. I was descending into a darkness, and as desperate as I was for answers, I was terrified of where this quest was leading me.
Stand-up paddleboarders glided along the Deschutes River wearing funky swimsuits with neon-colored rash guards. Families had staked claim on the grassy banks where children ran back and forth in the shallow water while parents watched, drinking wine in plastic glasses. Everyone appeared so carefree, soaking up the last hour of sun. I wished I shared their attitude. My footsteps were like lead, each inch forward feeling heavy. Even the eye agate weighted my pocket down. Gam had been right about needing protection, but I was past the point of help from a stone. I needed an army.
When I arrived at the bar, Matt was waiting at a table. There was a pitcher of amber ale and three pint glasses waiting. “I figured we were going to need a pitcher.” The twinkle lights strung above made his eyes glow as blue as the Deschutes. He smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “Woah, Megs, are you okay?”
“Huh?” I pulled out the barstool and took a seat. “Yeah, why?”
“Megs.” He folded his arms across his T-shirt, which had the design of the periodic table with beers as the elements.
“What?”
His eyes became tender. “You’ve been crying.”
“Is it that obvious?”
Without answering he poured me a beer and slid it across the table. “What’s going on?”
I started to tell him about the file when Greg approached the table. Matt’s gaze hardened.
Greg waved to someone seated near the bar and then clapped his arm on Matt’s back. “Good to see you, man.”
Matt flinched slightly. I noticed his jaw tighten as Greg took the empty stool between us, but Matt forced a smile.
“Is this up for grabs?” Greg pointed to the pitcher.
“Help yourself.” Matt handed him a glass.
The tension exuding from Matt was thicker than the stout flowing from the taps behind the bar. While Greg poured himself a pint, I continued to fill Matt in on what I had learned from the file. Matt listened with icy focus. He refused to look Greg’s way or even acknowledge him when Greg would add something to the conversation.
I had a feeling this might happen. Matt hadn’t trusted Greg for so long, and I knew that part of that was due to me. My initial crush on Greg hadn’t exactly made Matt warm to him. Those feelings had been fleeting and were long behind me, but Matt still teased me, which was probably his way of trying to gauge how I really felt. I reached into my backpack and pulled out the anonymous letter from the file folder, then I handed it to Matt. “Read this.”
Greg raised his brow and took a sip of beer.
I nodded and held up my hand for him to wait.
After Matt read the letter he let out a low whistle. “Woah.”
Greg clapped him on the back again. “Right?”
Matt met his eyes. “Right.” Then he looked at me. “Charlie wrote this.”
“I know!”
Greg placed his beer on the table and flicked a cardboard coaster in his hand like he was flipping a coin. “You guys both think so?”
“For sure,” I said.
“No doubt about it,” Matt agreed.
“That’s what I thought too.” Greg tapped the coaster on the table. “I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you everything I know.” He said this more to Matt than to me. “Charlie and I worked together at the O. I got hired to intern with him after I graduated from college. If you can believe it, I thought I wanted to do investigative work.” He glanced at me and smiled.
Maybe there was a future for me in outdoor reporting after all, and maybe Greg and I had more in common than I had realized.
“Charlie was incredible. He was such a great mentor.”
Matt topped off his beer and interrupted Greg. “I’m with you on that.”
They raised their glasses in a toast. “I credit Charlie with teaching me everything I know about journalism and ethics,” Greg continued. “In fact, one of the reasons that I’m seriously considering selling now is because I think back to conversations that I had with Charlie and wonder what he would think about the direction the magazine is headed.”
We all paused in silence, I had the sense that each of us were remembering our own conversations with my dad. It was surreal to think what an impact he’d had on two men who had become an integral part of my life. Had he known the ripple effect of his advice and guidance?
“Charlie was like a dad to me.” Greg’s eyes looked moist. “You’re lucky to have been able to call him Dad, Meg.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Instead I stared at the ceiling and tried to compose myself. A huge mural of terra cotta terraces and copper brewing kettles snaked with hop vines filled the ceiling above the bar. Exposed beams ran the length of the cheery room with cool tile floors and potted greenery.
“My dad was harsh, to put it kindly. He wanted me to take over the family business.” Greg’s eyes drifted to the spider bite on his arm, which if possible looked even angrier than it had at lunch.
“Man, you should have a doctor check that out,” Matt said.
“Nah, it’s fine,” Greg insisted.
Matt didn’t look convinced. “What’s your family business?”
“Shipping.” Greg didn’t expand, and Matt gave me a funny look. “We had a difference of opinion about my future. Things didn’t end well between us when I decided to study journalism.”
“That sucks,” Matt said.
Shrugging, Greg took another swig of beer. “That’s life. Charlie was like a dad to me. In addition to teaching me the ropes, he helped guide my personal life and my career.”
That sounded like Pops.
“In fact, Charlie was the person who encouraged me to start Northwest Extreme.”
“Really?” I was surprised to hear that Pops had pushed Greg away from the O.
Greg picked up the pitcher and motioned to my half-empty glass. I held it out for him to pour. He had a faraway look in his eyes that I’d never seen. It was like his mind was back in time with Pops but his body was here with us. I knew the feeling well, it was just strange to see Greg so overcome talking about his relationship with my father.
“Yeah, Charlie was great about it. He helped me find venture capital to get the magazine off the ground. He even donated some cash himself, but he wouldn’t take any credit for it. I offered him a column—whatever he wanted—but he declined. He said he wanted to see me follow my dream.”
“He didn’t try to persuade you into staying at the O?” I asked, watching a bachelorette party stumble out the front door. The bride-to-be wore a satin sash over her shoulder and a plastic tiara on her head.
Greg shook his head. “No. Not at all. I think, even back then, he saw the writing on the wall, but he also saw me. He knew that my heart was outside. When I was on assignment and out covering a story, I lit up, but being behind a desk and putting in countless hours of tedious research wasn’t for me.” Greg glanced in Matt’s direction. “You know what it’s like.”
Matt scowled. “Not exactly. Covering the tech beat is pretty different, especially now.”
“Fair enough.” Greg nodded. “Anyway, Charlie knew I didn’t have it in me. Don’t get me wrong. I put in the work. I could do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. He had a friend who was looking to retire. He’d been putting out a quarterly outdoor publication, and Charlie connected us. From there, I ended up buying the publication. Back then it was called The Outdoor Voice. With Charlie’s help, and the help of some early investors, we rebranded the magazine, turned it into a monthly publication, and grew it to what it is today.”
“Was my dad involved the whole time?” I didn’t have any memory of Pops talking about Northwest Extreme.
“No, not really. He was alway
s willing to let me toss ideas around with him. We met for coffee every couple months. He’d fill me in on the stories he was working on, and I’d talk about my vision for the magazine. Our relationship shifted. I think he appreciated having someone outside of the O to talk to about his work, and I appreciated his advice and guidance.”
I couldn’t believe that Pops and Greg had been friends for a decade and I never knew. I’d found an old picture of the two of them at the O, but I never would have imagined that they were friends and that Pops had mentored Greg. Taking a drink of the frothy beer I tried to assimilate what Greg had just told me. It all added up. It sounded liked Pops. He had taken Matt under his wing too. I wasn’t surprised that he had become a mentor and father figure for Greg, I was just reeling that Greg had never mentioned any of this to me.
Greg caught my eye and frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, Meg, and I’ll say it again—I’m sorry. You have to believe me that I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling you.”
Before I could respond, Matt copied Greg’s move and clapped him on the back. “You did the right thing.”
“What?” I protested.
“He did,” Matt insisted. “What would you have done if you found out that he knew Pops when he hired you?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
Matt laughed out loud. Greg followed suit.
“Hey, this isn’t funny!”
“You’re right.” Matt frowned. “But you are totally lying if you think you wouldn’t have harassed Greg endlessly.”
“That’s not fair.”
Matt chuckled. “Megs, that’s called truth.”
I sighed. “Fine, maybe I would have pestered you a little, but only because you’re another point of connection to my dad out in the world that I never knew existed.”
Greg patted my hand. “I know, I’m sorry about that. And I know that you already know this, but your dad loved you more than anything else.”
I fought back tears. My mind raced through all the conversations that Greg and I had had since I started working for Northwest Extreme. Had he left any tiny clue that he knew Pops? I mean, when he hired me he mentioned knowing that Charlie Reed could write, but that wasn’t news. Pops’ name was well known in Portland. I thought about all of the phone calls that I’d overheard and witnessed Greg on for the past couple of years.
“Did any of this have to do with why you’ve disappeared for chunks of time and why you’re always on secretive phone calls?” I asked.
Greg gave me a half smile. “Investigative journalism may not have been the career path for me, but I was trained by the best. I’ve been following every lead I could find since Charlie died.”
I wasn’t sure if I should feel angry at him for lying to me or vindicated. My intuition had been right all along—on everything. Everything. I took a minute to let that sink in.
Greg turned to Matt. “It sounds like you’ve been doing the same thing. It’s probably time to put everything on the table and compare notes. I think things are about to blow up.”
Matt watched me, giving me a look of concern as if I was about to blow up.
“I’m good,” I said to him. He didn’t appear to be swayed by my words. I wasn’t sure if I was either. Greg had not only known Pops, but Pops had helped him start the magazine and mentored him for years? How could he have kept that from me? And what did he mean by following every lead? Did he know even more than he’d let on? I felt dizzy from all the questions in my head bombarding me.
“Give me a sec,” I said to Matt and Greg, pushing back my stool and getting to my feet. The room spun a bit as I forced my way through the crowd gathered in front of the bar. I made a beeline for the bathroom, turned on the sink, and splashed my face with ice-cold water. Pops loved the people I loved, and they had all been watching out for me, thanks to him.
Chapter 26
“We were just about to send a search party after you,” Matt said when I returned to the table. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.” In reality, the cold water hadn’t helped. I had anticipated that having answers to Pops’ death was going to bring relief and closure, but so far it was stirring memories I’d been working tirelessly to avoid. Was this some sort of post-traumatic stress reaction? My eyes were twitchy, my nose wouldn’t stop dripping, my skin felt clammy, and I was having trouble concentrating. I couldn’t let Matt and Greg know, for fear that they would tell me to call it a night. I had to show them I could handle this.
“It’s a lot to digest,” Greg said. “I didn’t mean to dump it all on you at once, but I don’t think we have another choice at the moment.”
“You’re right.” I sighed, forcing my feet to make contact with the floor. Gam would tell me I needed to ground my body, but my head continued to spin and a chill came over me that I couldn’t blame on the temperature inside the cheery and warm pub.
Matt reached to his feet and grabbed his iPad. He clicked it on and proceeded to show Greg his notes and files on the research he’d done on Meth Madness. Greg studied the information carefully, then he scowled. “We should have combined forces sooner, shouldn’t we?”
Shrugging, Matt turned off the iPad and winked at me. “I don’t know. Maybe, but then again, Meg and I had some pretty wild theories about what you were up to, didn’t we, Megs?”
I chuckled, hoping that my voice didn’t sound as weird to them as it did in my head. “We did.”
Greg leaned back and rested his head on his hands. “Oh really? I’m all ears.”
“Let’s just say that we tossed around a few theories.” I smiled. “You know, like the CIA.”
“I wish.” Greg grinned.
A waiter came by with a platter of cheese, sausage, bread, spicy beer mustard, and pickled veggies.
“Those aren’t for us,” I said.
The waiter balanced the tray and checked his ordering ticket.
Greg pushed aside our glasses and the pitcher. “You’re in the right spot, man.”
I didn’t remember anyone ordering food. Was I that out of it?
Matt must have picked up on my confusion, because he reached for a slice of bread and said, “We ordered when you went to the bathroom. We figured we might be here for a while.”
“Thanks.”
He handed me a plate and I helped myself to three kinds of spicy sausage and house-made mustards.
“Did you fill him in on last night?” Matt asked as he poured the last of the pitcher into our glasses.
Greg stabbed a slice of sausage with his fork. “No. I want to hear everything.”
Matt and I explained how we’d gone out to the industrial district and seen Sheriff Daniels unloading the wooden crates.
“Are you serious?” Greg dropped his fork and looked from Matt to me when we finished. “You’re one hundred percent positive it was Sheriff Daniels?”
“Without a doubt.” Matt turned his iPad on again and showed Greg the pictures he’d taken last night. I hadn’t seen them yet either and, if I hadn’t watched Matt take them myself, I would have thought that he shot them from close range. The photos were so clear that I could make out the lines on Sheriff Daniels’ weathered cheeks. There was no mistaking his identity.
Greg ran his fingers through his hair. “Who knows about this?”
“No one,” I replied. “Just us.”
Matt wavered. “Well, the DEA. When I spoke to the agent this morning he asked me to send him all of the pictures. I e-mailed them to him, and he said he’d been in touch soon.”
“Have you heard from him yet?”
“Nope.” Matt shook his head. “I checked my e-mail right before I came to meet you. In fact, it’s kind of weird, because he wanted to talk to you yesterday, Megs, but now he’s gone silent.”
“Check again.” I pointed to the iPad.
Matt swiped the screen and scanned his e-mail. “Nothing.”
“Why are they moving so slowly? I don’t get it. By the time they do anything, Sher
iff Daniels and whatever he’s hiding in the warehouse will be long gone.”
Greg flicked the coaster in his hand and hit it on the table as if he was trying to pound out his train of thought. “No, actually that’s a good thing. It doesn’t work the way it plays out on TV or in the movies. They’ve been working this case for years and have to be methodical about their approach. Who knows, but I would bet good money they have someone—if not multiple people—working undercover on this one.”
“Do you mean the sheriff?” I asked. Had we gotten it wrong? Could it be that Sheriff Daniels was working for the DEA?
“That’s what I thought at first,” Greg said. “But no, I don’t think so. I think he’s on the inside on this one.”
I sighed. “How do we prove any of this? What do we do next?”
“Nothing,” Matt and Greg said in unison.
“What? Nothing?”
Greg narrowed his lips. “Nothing. This one is up to the authorities. Matt has looped in the DEA. I have a contact at the FBI who I’m going to call as soon as we’re done here.”
“But shouldn’t we go back to the warehouse? We could see if we could get inside and at least take photos of whatever is in the crates.”
“No way!” Matt made a time-out sign with his hands. “Greg is right. We’re done. We’ve involved the right people. They’re going to have to take it from here. It’s way too dangerous.”
Greg nodded. “And stupid, frankly. We could interfere with their case and potentially negate whatever evidence they’ve gathered or whatever their plan is for intervening.”
I knew they were right, but sitting by and doing nothing was going to be torture.
“You’re covering the press conference tomorrow morning?” Greg asked.
“What press conference?” I hadn’t been notified about a press conference.
“The e-mail came in a while ago. Professor LeAnna is addressing a team of reporters first thing tomorrow morning. Apparently, she has a groundbreaking announcement about her research.”
She must have decided to come forward with her study. Promising Greg that I would be on the story, I thanked them both for their help and left. Were they right? Would the authorities finally be able to bring Pops’ killer to justice?
In Cave Danger Page 17