by Nancy Cupp
“Be safe,” he said as she was leaving.
“Thanks, you too,” she said with a wave. Nice guy, she thought, just a little lonely and beat up from being on the road, like all of us.
With counting and paperwork done, and claims department notified, Joyce pulled forward to shut the doors. She noted the damaged cases of beef stew left behind. Nice—I can’t use three cases of the stuff, but somebody can.
Her time had run out while she was waiting in the dock so she needed to get parked right away. DOT regulations require that a driver must complete their eleven hours of driving within a fourteen hour window from the time they start in the morning. Technically, she was not allowed to drive anymore that day, but she also was not allowed to stay on the company’s property after being unloaded.
Because this kind of thing happens all the time, there’s a clause that allows drivers a half-hour to find a “safe haven” for parking. Checking her truck stop book, she discovered the nearest truck stop was about sixty-two miles away. Too far to make it in a half-hour, even if I could get there it’s likely to be full by now, she thought. I hope there’s a rest area, or Wal-Mart I can get into.
Joyce started driving, scanning for a spot to park. With the computer timing her, she had to find something fast. In exactly thirty minutes it started beeping like crazy, a DOT violation had occurred. “Crap,” she said, “still no place to park.” Not able to shut off the alarm while in motion, it beeped on while Joyce drove.
In a few minutes she saw a wide place in the road ahead. Maybe that’s something, she thought, slowing down to look. “Bingo!” she said, guiding the big rig off the road. It wasn’t much, just big enough to get the truck off the road. The area was a pull-off for a historical marker with an overflowing garbage container.
It had no restrooms or water, but it was a parking spot. “This will have to do for tonight, Lucille.” Joyce was prepared for nights like this. She had jugs of water, and food in the truck. She always kept empty jars, to take care of her bathroom needs, so she had no reason to go out of the truck until morning.
Joyce expected it would be a quiet night once the passing traffic thinned out. There wouldn't be other trucks next to her, and with any luck the highway patrol wouldn’t feel the need to chase her out of there. Drivers only have to take a ten hour break, so she’d be up and rolling early in the morning.
Joyce woke to the sound of an idling truck. Checking her side mirror, she saw a refer truck squeezed in behind her. His trailer wasn’t quite completely in the rest area, but it was off the road. Apparently, the driver was even more desperate for a parking spot than she had been.
During her morning pre-trip inspection, Joyce remembered the cases of stew in the trailer. The trailer had to be swept clean and empty for the next load, so she had to deal with it now.
The cases of canned stew were heavy, and she struggled to carry them to the cab of her truck. She couldn’t lift the full case up into the cab, so she began putting cans into the cab one at a time. When she had the first case almost empty, she heard a voice behind her.
“Can I help you with that?” Joyce turned to see the driver from the other truck standing behind her.
“You sure can! Do you want a case of stew? I don’t have room for three cases in here, I can hardly move around as it is—I hate to just dump it.”
“I feel your pain,” the other driver said, “sure, I can use a case of that. Let me hand this other case up to you. No sense wearing yourself out.”
“Thanks!” Joyce said, climbing up to shove loose cans out of the way. She took the other case from him and put it on her bunk. They chatted for a few minutes, then the driver lifted the last case to his shoulder and carried it back to find room in his truck.
Women can do this job as well as a man, she thought watching him walk away, but it would be nice to be able to do that.
Twenty minutes later as Joyce was checking her mirrors for traffic, she happened to catch the reflection of the other driver relieving himself in the shadow of his truck. Joyce laughed out loud and said, “It would be nice to be able to dothattoo!”
Joyce enjoyed driving the twisting roads that climbed into the mountains. She marveled at spectacular views of snow capped mountains and deep valleys full of fall color. Sparkling streams tumbled along the highway and she even caught sight of some deer enjoying the icy water.
On a quick rest area stop a Greyhound bus pulled in behind Joyce. She hurried in to use the facilities before the bus unloaded. On the way out Joyce bumped into a woman with brown hair and glasses. The woman dropped a book she had tucked under her arm. Joyce picked it up and handed it back to her.
“Thank you,” replied the woman, pushing the glasses back into place. Ten women lined up waiting for their turn in the restroom. Joyce was glad that she had gotten there first.
Joyce found a small truck stop near Lee Vining after delivering her load. She needed to park for thirty-four hours, to reset her seventy hour clock. The area was pretty, a good spot for a rest.
She went inside for a hamburger and fries. I can’t do this too often. Joyce thought about her thickening waistline. A big driver hazard, weight gain, was catching up to her.
After her meal Joyce noticed a rusty white van parked near her truck. She half expected it, and sure enough, soon after she got back in the truck and started to relax, there was a knock on her door. Panhandlers, she thought.
Joyce knew the drill, they would need just a few dollars because they were stranded and out of gas. As she was getting up to answer the door she stubbed her toe on the case of stew that was in the way no matter where she put it.
Joyce knew some people made a living out of going from truck to truck shaking down drivers. Sometimes she’d see the same ones at different truck stops. They seldom remembered their own story. It was funny to hear about the new crisis they needed to get back home for. Joyce rolled down the window and waited to hear the story.
“Sorry to bother you ma’am. But our van broke down and we just need about fifteen bucks to get it fixed. We haven’t eaten because we’re saving money for repairs. We need to get to LA because Bobby here, well—his momma is real sick and he really needs to get home to be with her. We wouldn’t ask except for his momma.”
Joyce noticed a bunch of ropes, clips and camping gear in the back of the van. “Are you climbers?” The three young men were unshaved, and dressed in ragged jeans and sweatshirts, but they were physically fit.
“Uhm—yes ma’am,” we live in the park at the climber’s village near El Capitan. “But we can only stay so long before they run us out of the park. Then we have to leave or camp somewhere else for a while, until we can go back again.”
Joyce was familiar with Yosemite, having done a month of volunteer work there one summer. She knew some climbers lived in the park and made a living by panhandling. But she’d seen them on the sheer rock and was amazed by their athletic abilities.
“Well,” she said, remembering her stubbed toe. “I can’t give you any money, but I have a case of beef stew you can have.”
“Thank you ma’am. I’m sure somebody will eat it, but Don here is a vegetarian. Could you spare a few bucks so he can get something?”
“How about a few granola bars?”
Joyce handed the heavy case of stew, and three granola bars out to the young men. They loaded it into their van and drove away without any evidence of engine trouble.
Joyce was glad to be rid of the stumbling block in her bunk, for once it didn’t bother her to be taken advantage of.
8
Lance Larson
The bus arrived in Yosemite early on Tuesday morning and disembarked passengers in front of the Ahwahnee Hotel. Everyone that got off the bus seemed to be trying to get their cell phone to work, but the walls of the valley prevented a signal from getting in or out. Margret dragged her baggage to the curb and sat down on it in a heap.
I really need coffee, she thought. Looking around she spied a sign with a coffee cup
and curling steam. Hoisting her pack onto her shoulders, she staggered a bit to catch her balance. It caused her to bump into a short, muscular man wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt. The man scowled at her as she excused herself.
Margret made her way into the beautiful old hotel. Once inside she was greeted with high, beamed ceilings. A fire burned in a stone fireplace surrounded with comfortable soft chairs and sofas.
The coffee shop was just off the lobby, so Margret lumbered over to a chair, dumped her pack on the floor and went to get a cup. Returning, she saw the same man that she had bumped into before, sitting and sipping coffee in the chair next to her pack.
“Excuse me,” she said, bending over to retrieve the pack. As she grabbed the pack, its clumsy weight caused her to wobble the cup, splashing a drop of hot coffee on the man’s heavily muscled arm. He gave her a sour look, wiping the drop off of his bulging bicep.
As Margret sat drinking her delicious fragrant coffee, she studied the man in the chair that she’d first chosen. He was fair skinned with blonde hair cut short, like in the military. He’s a bodybuilder, she thought, all wrapped up in himself.
When her coffee was finished, Margret shouldered her pack and left the hotel in search of her yurt. “Where would I find the yurts?” Margret asked the person standing beside her without looking up. She was dismayed to get the answer from the bodybuilder she’d spilled coffee on.
“Other side of the valley,” he growled. “You need to take the shuttle bus.”
“Thanks.”
Margret wrestled her pack aboard the shuttle bus and sat down with it still on her back. Not able to sit fully on the seat, she perched on the edge behind the driver.
The driver called out the names of the cliffs and waterfalls as they came into view. The top of the bus had been cut off so the view was unobstructed. When he called out “Half Dome,” Margret’s jaw dropped. She slipped off the seat and landed on the floor hard.
“Oh—my—god!”
The formation he pointed out was high above the valley. The rock was a massive monolith that looked as if it had been cut in half. Its face was a sheer cliff that dropped about two-thousand feet to the valley floor.
Margret writhed around on the floor trying to get up without much success. The driver noticed her dilemma, “It has that effect on a lot of people—Lance,” he called, “could you help this little lady up please?” From the back of the bus a man came forward and extended his hand.
“Oh no—you again,” said Margret, looking up at the bodybuilder.
“That’s what I was thinking—Lance Larson. I manage Camp Curry.”
“Camp Curry?”
“Yeah, that’s where your yurt is.”
“What exactly is a ‘yurt’ anyway?”
Lance groaned and pointed to one of the many small tent-like structures dotting the park.
“That’s a yurt? Do they have furniture—a bed? Are there lights in there? What about a shower?”
Lance and the driver laughed. “Sorry, none of the above!”
“Not even a bathroom?”
“Nope.”
“Oh great—what am I gonna do?”
“Looks like you have enough gear there. You camp.”
Margret had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “I was going to hike to Half Dome—and then come back and relax.” She pulled out her dog eared paperback. “My book says it’s for beginners.”
“I wouldn’t recommend that hike for you.” Lance shook his head with a stern look, “Just enjoy the valley. You need a permit to hike up there anyway.”
“A permit? Where do I get that?”
“Other side of the valley,” the driver and Lance said in unison. “Did you get to the part in the book about bears?”
“Bears?”
“You can’t keep any food in your yurt. The bears will come right through the walls to get it. You have to keep it in locked steel containers.”
“Where are they? Don’t tell me—other side of the valley.”
“No,” Lance smiled, “they’re right outside the yurts.”
Lance told her where the showers and bathrooms were and got her signed into her yurt. Margret walked once around the bare space, then locked her stuff in a locker and went to look around.
9
Missing
A small crowd of tourists gathered in front of the Permit Office on Tuesday morning. Most just wanted information on trails and maps to the most scenic spots to take pictures. A few were waiting to get permits and camping spots. The chill morning made everyone eager to get what they came for so they could get their vacation done in two days or less.
The gold painted sign on the window said the office would be open at eight. Paul Wilson got there at nine, it was his day to start late.
Patty should’ve had things running already. She was almost always early, so darn reliable it was annoying. He assumed that she overslept. It must have been a long meeting, he thought. As soon as he had the campers placated he gave Patty a call, anticipating a chance to rub it in. He got no answer, but he figured she’d step in the door any minute. He had a sarcastic remark all ready for her.
“Hey where’s Patty?” Doug from Security, asked. Doug carried a cardboard tray with three steaming cups of coffee and a bag of doughnuts. It was their ritual to have coffee and doughnuts on their ten o’clock break.
“She didn’t show up this morning, and it was her turn to open. I called her, but she didn’t answer. I thought she’d be here a long time ago—like maybe she overslept because of that meeting last night. I’m a little worried, Doug.” Paul gathered and stacked some lose brochures on the countertop, leaving his coffee and doughnut untouched.
“Yeah, it’s weird for Patty to be late. She called in a bear sighting last night, but we already had them on the run—I hope she didn’t have trouble. I’m gonna radio it in and ask if anybody’s seen her.”
Minutes after Doug had broadcast the message his radio started crackling with reports from the staff. They hadn’t seen or heard from Patty.
“I have to stay here to keep the office open. Could you run over to her cabin and check on her?” asked Paul, looking past Doug, out the window. Doug was already moving toward the door.
Paul didn’t have a radio, but he knew something was up when he saw four rangers moving toward Patty’s cabin, all of them talking into their radios as they ran. Sweat trickled down his back as he paced the floor around the center kiosk in the small room.
The last of the morning rush of tourists wandered out the door into the bright morning. Paul hesitated for a moment, then closed the door and locked it. It would only be minutes before someone else would come in looking for information. He turned over the open sign on the door and hurried toward the cabins.
Ashen faced, Doug filled him in when he got there. “We didn’t find her, but there’s blood smeared on her door and steps. The door was still locked—she isn’t in there, her keys were lying on the steps.”
“Bears? They wouldn’t drag her off. Nobody heard anything—a scream or anything? Patty knows to make a lot of noise if she’s threatened by a bear. Did you find anything besides her keys on the steps?”
“Nothing.”
“Not a briefcase? She left with it last night.”
“We called the investigators. Everybody available is combing through the woods. We’ll find her.”
A few tourists were milling around, attracted by police activity and flashing lights. They were curious to know what all the commotion was about, bored with too much nature. Speculating, and anticipating a TV style news story, they pushed closer to get a first hand look.
The park police blocked off the area and closed the roads. Rangers not involved in the search did the best they could to dispel rumors and usher the crowds away.
Around noon a pickup truck arrived, a tall man with tousled blonde hair and a scruffy beard got out. He had Hollywood looks and rock star confidence. The rangers knew him by name, Curt Coleson.
&nb
sp; Curt had been a ranger for seven years but quit when Coleson Mineral, his family’s mining company, created a conflict of interest with the park. Curt was now working with law enforcement of Mariposa County as an investigator.
“Hello Curt,” said Paul, his voice cold. “What brings you here?”
“Patty, of course. I heard she was missing and got assigned to the case.”
“News travels fast,” said Paul.
Curt and Patty had been engaged to be married before he left his post at the park. In the two months prior to his resignation the couple’s relationship had become stormy. Several times Curt got angry with her, and the park police had been called to settle disputes.
“It’s my job,” Curt said with a condescending grin. Doug and several others gathered around.
Inches from Curt’s face, Paul said, “Where were you last night?”
“How many men do we have available for a ground search?” Curt said, without breaking eye contact with Paul.
Doug interjected, “We can use all the help we can get Coleson. We’ve combed the immediate area and found nothing indicating bears in the area, although she called in last night saying she thought she heard them in the woods.”
“I need a room with a land line and a computer where we can call people in to question them,” said Curt, “and a list of everyone at that meeting last night.” His eyes remained locked with Paul’s. “The meeting room in back of the Permit Office would work fine.” Paul nodded his agreement and went to open the room.
10
The Necklace
Margret rode a shuttle back to the other side of the valley taking in the sights on the way. She wanted to walk to the base of Yosemite Falls, but found the area blocked off. Lots of park police cars were moving around and a helicopter hovered in the air, making the place seem more like inner city than National Park.
Despite Lance’s warning that she should’t attempt hiking to Half Dome, Margret looked for the Permit Office. She thought maybe they’d tell her Lance was wrong. After all, the hike was in the book for beginners. She found the office closed. Permits can’t be too important if they don’t even keep the office open, she thought.