“Maybe tomorrow we’ll face an actual survival situation,” Jeremiah said.
Doug straightened up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’d you think I meant?” Jeremiah asked.
“After the note my father received, you really have to ask?”
“I was talking about the game. You gotta admit, the challenges were obviously dumbed down because Rowdy Hunter’s scared someone will get hurt and sue.”
“A little late for that.” Nigel glanced toward the bar.
Nigel’s wife Irena sat at one end of the bar with Mason and Roberto. Bender sat on the other end, whispering in Candace’s ear. Even after his earlier complaints about being hung over, Bender tossed back a whiskey sour. Jeremiah noticed Candace holding the same full glass of wine she’d had since they arrived. How she could tolerate the old goat sober, Jeremiah couldn’t imagine. Nigel lowered his voice to a whisper.
“If Harv doesn’t sue Mr. Hunter for that ATV wreck, he’s a fool.”
Nigel left out Jack Bender, but Jeremiah supposed it wasn’t good office politics to suggest suing the boss in front of the boss’s son.
Rankin set his pool cue on the table. “I’ll be back.”
The huge redhead lumbered toward the restroom door with the “Cowboys” sign. As Doug lined up his shot, Jeremiah watched Candace ease off her barstool.
“I have to powder my nose.”
Bender began to slap a hand to her backside. Candace blocked his grope, then shook a finger at him.
“The poison ivy. Remember? Now be a good boy until I get back.”
As she headed for the Cowgirls room, Candace turned and shot a look at the back of Bender’s head. If Jeremiah hadn’t written the death threat note himself, he’d sure believe there was a “die, die, die” in her eyes.
The instant Candace closed the door, Doug approached his father. Jeremiah went to his table, ostensibly to partake of his refreshments, which were conveniently close to the bar. Still, Doug mumbled too low for Jeremiah to overhear.
Bender responded in a loud broadcast. “I already pay you more than you’re worth.”
Nigel winced and turned away.
“There are factory floor workers making more than me,” Doug said. “I’m supposed to be a vice president.”
“Then act like one,” Bender said, “instead of spending all day at the gym.”
“Pay me what I’m worth, and I’ll run the whole plant.”
“That’s pointless, and you know it.”
Jeremiah stopped crunching chips. Pointless? Running the plant? Why?
“You want money,” Bender continued, “go cry to your mommy.”
So Jack did remember he had a wife.
Doug’s eyes burned with patricidal hatred as he returned to the pool table. Jeremiah mimicked Nigel’s pretense that he had heard nothing. When Candace returned, she read Jack’s mood instantly.
“What’s wrong now?” she asked.
“I’m surrounded by idiots. At least I have that boneheaded Scotsman watching my back. The guy’s short on brains, but he makes up for it in muscle.”
Jeremiah considered it unfortunate that Rankin exited the Cowboys’ room at that moment. The weight of Bender’s insults seemed to be piling up on the big man. The same look flared in his eyes that Jeremiah had seen in both Doug’s and Candace’s.
If Bender turned up dead, there would be a long list of potential murderers.
ROWDY HUNTER’S
SURVIVAL TIPS
Even a greenhorn knows water is essential for survival. You’ve got to find it, make it safe to drink, and find a way to carry it, all things you’ll learn in Chapter Three of Twelve Tips for Survival. What you’ve got to keep in mind is that the same water that can save you can also kill you.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Sotheara followed her GPS to the one-story brick post office. She glanced around, checking for the presence of coworkers. No one had wandered to this back street, occupied on one side by an elementary school, the muddy playground empty. Summer vacation. Sotheara remembered those days of freedom, before work and saving the planet sucked up all her time.
She stepped through the post office door and tugged the hood of a plastic rain poncho off her hair. A lone clerk occupied the space behind the counter. He was spindly as an aspen seedling, with a lumpy Adam’s apple bisecting his long neck.
“How may I help you?”
“Do you sell packaging? I need a box and bubble wrap.”
“Right over there.” He pointed with a boney finger. “Just ring the bell when you’re done. I’ll be in the back, sorting mail.”
Sotheara selected a box and a roll of bubble wrap from a neatly arranged display. She unloaded the water samples from her backpack, wrapping each in a strip of bubble wrap. After sealing the box and labeling it with Sage’s address, she approached the counter. She tapped a finger on the brass bell. Cute! The ding didn’t seem that loud, but the clerk instantly popped through from the back room to his post behind the counter.
“I need to mail this.” Duh. Captain Obvious. “Can I overnight it?”
The clerk looked truly pained. “Lodgepole isn’t the big city, you know. We only have mail delivered and picked up once a day.” He rested a hand on the box. “This will go out tomorrow, but I can’t guarantee it’ll arrive at its destination before Saturday.”
“Oh. Is there any faster way to mail my package?”
“You could drive to Taylor Junction. They have a FedEx office.”
“I don’t have a car,” Sotheara said. “This will have to do.”
The clerk set the box on a scale. “Anything liquid, fragile, perishable, or hazardous?”
“Uh.”
The clerk looked from the scale to Sotheara. “Ma’am?”
“There is liquid, but it’s just water. Is that okay?”
He raised one eyebrow. “You’re mailing water?”
“In little bottles. Water samples. We’re testing mountain water for purity.”
The clerk smiled. “Are you with the university? They mailed samples of water when they were studying the bats.”
No. “Yes.”
Certain she had just committed a federal crime by lying to a postal employee, Sotheara’s hands shook as she handed the clerk a twenty. Good thing she’d decided to use cash. It would be harder for the feds to track her down.
When she escaped to the sidewalk, the rain had stopped. While the sun didn’t exactly burst through the gray clouds, it was a pleasant, washed-clean July afternoon. Sotheara was relieved she had completed part of her mission. Now it was time to have fun.
She found adorable plush bat toys for her niece and nephew. Okay, and one for herself, too. She bought Save the Bats sweatshirts for Sage and herself. A few trinkets for her sisters, mom and dad. Every shop and festival display was full of items guaranteed to catch a tourist’s eye, and drag a few dollars from her purse.
The binge went against her minimalist philosophy, but Sotheara deserved a break after her frightening foray into the post office. Five days into Survive or Die camp, and she finally felt like she was on vacation. Then she saw a Main Street Going Batty Days booth with what looked like a jail cell door on display. Back to work.
“Is that from the museum?” Sotheara asked.
“No, it’s a bat gate.” The attendant wore a green uniform shirt. A nametag perched above his right pocket, while a Department of Wildlife badge was pinned above the left. “Ranchers concerned about people falling into abandoned mines bury the entrances. If bats occupy the mine, they’re trapped inside.”
“I’ve seen one of these out hiking.” Sotheara grasped the gate’s metal bars. “I wondered what it was.”
“We’d like people to see a lot more,” Ben said. “The gates offer a solution protecting both bats and huma
ns. Bats still have access to the mine, while people are kept out.”
“Rowdy Hunter could use a gate,” Sotheara said. “Our boss fell in a mine at Survive or Die camp.”
“Save the Bats is trying to convince Mr. Hunter to stop filling in abandoned mines on his property. Maybe you can put in a good word for our project.”
In between interruptions from casual tourists, Sotheara grilled Ben. She took a photo of the bat gate and texted it to Sage, initiating a flurry of texts.
Do you think our group would like to sponsor a bat gate?
Not top priority. Maybe after Operation Clean Sweep.
Bats and mines, Sotheara texted. They could be related to toxic waste dumping.
Good point, Sage texted. See what you can find out.
Ben might have just the information she needed, saving her more fruitless and frightening solitary hikes through the forest. She put her phone away.
“Ben, you said ranchers fill in mines for safety reasons, but do they ever use them to bury trash, or other things?” Like hazardous materials?
Ben shrugged. “Some have been sealed because they’re leaking toxins.”
Sotheara felt a jolt, like she’d just hit the jackpot. “Toxic waste is buried in the mines?”
“Not exactly,” Ben said. “Many hazardous materials occur naturally. Mining could expose a vein of, say, lead, arsenic, or cadmium, which then finds its way into the air and water. Modern mining techniques are heavily regulated, but Colorado is peppered with abandoned mines from a hundred years ago. The former owners are long gone. Cleanup of old mines is an on-going project.”
“How many mines are on Rowdy Hunter’s ranch?” Sotheara asked. “I’ll need to know when I talk to him about how many bat gates he needs.”
Ben unfolded a topo map of abandoned mines in Lodgepole county.
“I don’t hand out copies,” he said. “Search and Rescue wouldn’t get a day of rest if kids or amateur prospectors had a map to old mines.”
Sotheara nearly had the ranch memorized. Ben pointed out a few mine locations not marked on Sage’s map. Then a Pinon Pine troop arrived for a scheduled talk. Sotheara thanked Ben, and headed for the museum.
Her quest had morphed from academic supposition to cold reality. Suddenly ashamed of how easily her focus had strayed from her mission, Sotheara vowed to renew her efforts on behalf of Operation Clean Sweep. Jack Bender was potentially committing two sins against the environment. The waste would pollute the groundwater, and burying the mine entrance would kill bats.
If Jeremiah Jones was serious about his death threat, she wished him luck. Bender deserved to die.
The wine and the rain made for a thoroughly romantic afternoon. Aubrey tried to forget about Survive or Die camp for the precious few hours they had the room, but after she glanced at her cell phone, she shook Grant’s shoulder.
“We’ve still got time to make the museum tour.”
Grant sat up, running a hand through his thinning blond hair. He yawned and stretched, then checked his watch on the nightstand.
“We’ve got the room until the bus goes back to camp. Wouldn’t you rather relax in bed than learn about Mad Stockton?”
Aubrey climbed off the soft mattress and headed to the bathroom. Stepping inside the clawfoot tub, she drew the shower curtain closed.
“I told Madison I’d meet her at the museum,” Aubrey said. “I’m worried about her. Even though Jeremiah said his death threat note wasn’t serious, I still think there are plenty of campers who want Bender dead. I don’t want Madison caught in the crossfire.”
“Jeremiah has taken a shine to her. He’ll protect her.”
Aubrey stuck her head out the curtain. “He wasn’t with her when she found us at brunch. Besides, you like small town museums.” She pulled the curtain closed again. “I’ll go by myself if you want to take a nap instead.”
Grant was silent while she lathered with lavender scented soap. Aubrey wondered if he’d taken her advice and fallen asleep. Then he spoke again, his words not exactly enthusiastic.
“I’ll go to the museum, but only to keep you from getting into more trouble. I’m not interested in Mad Stockton. I deal with enough cannibals at work.” The shower curtain parted. “Mind if I join you?”
The museum was on yet another side street. Sotheara marveled at narrow old buildings that had survived both demolition and restoration. Judging from the peeling paint on a few rundown houses, they had been built in the late 1800s, and hadn’t been touched up since.
As she passed a shop, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her through a doorway. Sotheara squealed, uttered some choice Khmer words she’d learned from her Grams, then realized Madison was the perpetrator.
“Quiet! In here!”
A cast iron bulldog propped open the door to a church-run thrift shop. Although the IT nerd’s method was crude, Sotheara was glad to be inside.
“Oh. I like this place.”
“We’re not shopping,” Madison whispered. “We’re spying.”
She leaned out the door and peered down the sidewalk. Sotheara joined her, adopting a less discreet posture, her many shopping bags rustling.
“Back up.” Madison whispered. “She’ll see you.”
“Who?”
“Shirley. She has a bag on her shoulder.”
“So does almost everyone from camp,” Sotheara said.
“No one else has Stewart’s camera bag.”
“Whoa.” Sotheara considered the development. “She must be taking it to Nel.”
“Then why drag it along on the day trip? She’d have driven straight home.”
A stoop-shouldered old woman approached. “May I help you?”
“I’ll be back,” Madison said, “but first I need to catch a coworker.”
When they trotted to the end of the block, Sotheara flattened her back against the brick building and peeked around the corner.
“She’s gone.”
Madison pointed. “There she is.”
Shirley huddled under a pawn shop’s green awning. Madison splashed across the rain-wet street. When Shirley noticed her pursuers, she bolted, her sandals clacking on the sidewalk. She flung the camera bag into a sidewalk sale bin of T-shirts. Sotheara grabbed the bag, then chased after Madison and Shirley for half a block before the older woman doubled over, panting.
“What was I thinking?” Shirley gasped for several breaths. “Trying to run at this altitude. I must be crazy.”
“Where did you get this?” Sotheara held out the camera bag. “This was Stewart’s, right?”
Shirley pressed her hands to her thighs, then straightened to face Sotheara. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then why were you running?” Madison asked.
Shirley’s eyes were on the camera bag as she explained. “I realize this might look bad. But it’s not what you think.”
“What should we think?” Madison asked. “Care to tell us?”
“You should mind your own damn business.”
Shirley grabbed the camera bag’s strap and jerked. Sotheara wasn’t expecting an act of aggression, and let the bag slip from her hand. Shirley turned to run.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Grant changed into cargo shorts and a Denver Avalanche jersey, while Aubrey opted for one of the sundresses she’d brought when she thought they’d be staying at a resort. She added a sweater. The July afternoon was cool. They held hands as they strolled to the museum. Aubrey felt relaxed and renewed, until she noticed Sotheara and Shirley fighting for possession of a boxy bag bearing the Aspen Cameras logo.
Shirley snatched the bag from Sotheara and spun around, only to run into Grant. Aubrey held her arm. Sotheara wrenched the bag away from Shirley.
“I’ll scream,” Shirley said. “This is robbery. Assault!”
“Di
d you kill Stewart to get his bag?” Aubrey asked.
Shirley’s pink-coated lips parted as her jaw dropped. Then her shock switched to rage.
“How dare you! Kill him?” She folded her arms across the front of her tailored blouse. “Stewart’s death was an accident.”
“Why do you have his bag?” Sotheara asked. “Hiding the evidence?”
Shirley’s shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to drain out of her.
“I’m flat broke,” she said. “I saw an opportunity and I took it. That kind of initiative is admired in some circles.”
“How can you be broke?” Grant asked. “I’ve seen your car, and you wear a new outfit to work every day.”
“Nice things cost money, and you know what Bender pays.”
“Did you steal Lavelle’s souvenir money?” Madison asked. “You need to give it back, or we’ll tell everyone.”
“I don’t have the money. I gave it to Doug Bender. You can blame him.”
“Doug?” Madison asked. “Why would he need money?”
“I heard you talking to Doug.” Aubrey knew she was solidifying her reputation as a snoop, but now was the time to press Shirley for answers. “Tuesday night.”
Sothera bounced on her bare toes. “Me, too! I heard them arguing Monday night. Now I know what you meant by ‘I don’t have it.’ You owe him money.”
“I don’t owe him anything. Doug thinks I did something funny with the books. He told me to pay back the missing money, and threatened to turn me over to the police.”
“That would have been the right thing to do,” Grant said. “You’re just digging yourself deeper in the hole, going from bad to worse.”
“Tell that to Doug. I paid him back in full, but he insists I owe the company more.”
“You assumed I was just a dumb kid, fresh from college, but I found the discrepancy.” The quiet accountant’s words tumbled out in a rush. “The toxic waste disposal account has been drained, and it wasn’t used to pay the disposal service. Where is the money going? Where is the waste going? Those plating chemicals are bad news.”
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