Hold On (Margret Malone Book 1)

by Nancy Cupp

  “Yes, sir.” Margret looked for a friendly face in the court room.

  “How did you get that?”

  She locked eyes with Greg, and he gave her an encouraging nod. “I found it when I was out for a walk.”

  “Quite a coincidence that you had both the murder weapon, and the victim's necklace. When did you meet Mr. Larson?”

  “On the day I got to the park.”

  Margret was relieved to get off the witness stand when the questions were done. Even though she knew she was innocent, she felt uncomfortable with her own testimony. How did I step into the middle of this mess?

  ☙

  Lance Larson was charged with the murder of Patty Waters. DNA evidence from the canyon was enough to prove his guilt. He claimed Patty and Paul came up with the scheme of robbing the museum. He said that Wilson recruited him to move heavy items from the museum, and to hide them in the cave.

  “Mr. Larson, do you know who drew this map?” The lawyer held up the creased paper that was found inside the handle that Patty held on to even in death.

  “Patty wrote a note and drew the map, so we’d know where she wanted us to put her stuff,” said Lance.

  As questioning continued, Lance pointed to Paul as the reason for his involvement.

  “You’re a bodybuilder, is that correct?”

  Lance proudly flexed his chest muscles, his frame seemed to grow, “Yes, sir,” he said, grinning.

  “Where did you get steroids from?”

  “Paul Wilson got them,” said Lance.

  “Did you pay him cash for them?”

  “Nah, we traded—favors, like if he needed some muscle,”

  The lawyer continued his questions, establishing that steroids were responsible for Lance’s occasional bouts of rage.

  Lance said, “When Paul needed something done, he’d hold back and not deliver. That’s how he’d get me to do stuff.”

  “Is that what happened the night Patty Waters was killed? You needed your steroids, and he was holding them?”

  “I was real mad. Paul had the stuff, but he wouldn’t give it to me until I took care of Patty. He said he needed her gone because she knew where things were.”

  “How did the map get in the handle of the briefcase?”

  “Patty must have put it there to frame Paul, it was his case,” said Lance.

  ☙

  Wilson claimed he was only helping his friend, Lance, to pursue bodybuilding goals. He claimed he knew nothing about the robbery, or the cave.

  “There was a map similar to the one found on the victim’s body in your apartment. How did it get there?”

  “That was Patty’s. She liked to explore caves because she’d find evidence that Indians used them in the early days. She had a file folder with maps of locations she wanted to explore. It was in my apartment because she wanted me to go along.”

  “You said you have never been in the cave where the artifacts were recovered, is that correct?”

  “We hadn’t made the trip yet. So no, I haven’t been there,” said Paul.

  The prosecutor indicated a wooden box, and display of artifacts, “Have you ever seen this box, or these items before?”

  “Of course, I’ve seen the exhibit at the Cultural Museum, before they were stolen. But I’ve never seen that box before.”

  A hair sample, found in the wooden box, proved otherwise. The DNA matched Paul Wilson, and got him convicted.

  41

  Pamela

  Curt’s days were filled with creating plans to keep his promise to himself and Patty. He wanted to leave a legacy to her work in the park, and the things she held dear. Endless piles of paper work and details had to be worked out. Meetings with Coleson Mining executives seemed to generate even more meetings as he worked through problems and red tape.

  Daydreaming, Curt let his gaze wander out the window of his tiny office in Merced. A nice little mountain town, Merced is prettier than most he guessed, but he longed to be outdoors again. It was a warm day late in September, almost a year since Patty was killed. As Curt thought about her, his fingers automatically found her PW pendant that hung from its chain around his neck.

  He’d been assured by the lawyer of Patty’s estate there was enough evidence to convict the killer and his accomplice. But he was still troubled by the insinuation that Patty was involved with the theft. Charles Coleson made sure the best lawyer money could buy would be handling Patty’s side of things. Her family wasn’t able to afford anything more than a public defender.

  Jarred back to reality by his ringing phone, Curt reached to answer it. “This is Curt.”

  “Curt, it’s Pamela. How are you?”

  “Pam! It’s good to hear your voice. I’m fine. How are your folks?”

  They chatted for a few minutes catching up with each other’s family news. Pamela Waters, Patty’s older sister, was almost a year younger than Curt.

  “Well, the reason I called is—I have Patty’s ashes. Mom and Dad decided they could let go enough for me to carry out her wishes. I’m sure you know she wanted to stay at Yosemite forever.”

  “Yes, she did,” croaked Curt, through a tightening throat.

  “I’m coming to Yosemite with her—ashes to—gosh, this is hard,” Pam squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual. “I need to—she wanted—could you help me to—to scatter her—ashes?”

  “Pam, I’ll do anything I can to help you,” Curt said, with tears streaming down his face. “But I think it’s illegal to scatter ashes in a National Park.”

  “I know, but if you could take me for a hike out in the back country somewhere, nobody needs to know.”

  “When will you be here?” They made arrangements for Curt to pick her up at the airport in a week, and signed off with an emotional good-bye.

  Curt spent the week wrapping up some details of his project. He felt his energy renew with a sense of purpose. He dug into closets and rummaged through the basement for hiking gear.

  He applied online for a hiking permit, and made plans to be gone for a few days. He knew Pamela wasn’t an experienced outdoor woman like Patty, but he hoped he could help her accomplish her goal.

  Thursday morning promised to be a beautiful day. A quick check of the weather report confirmed the entire week should be free of rain and pleasantly warm. Curt whistled a little tune as he waited for Pamela’s flight to get in. He was unprepared for his reaction when he saw her walk out of the baggage claim area.

  “Pamela! Over here,” he called, walking over to help her with luggage. Pamela was a small woman like her sister, but unlike Patty, she had long, dark hair that reached past her waist. Her features bore the family resemblance, but hers was a glamorous, more sophisticated look.

  She wore leopard print leggings and fashion boots with a four inch heel. Her jacket was faux rabbit fur, that looked better on her than it ever would on a rabbit. Her make up, applied with a skilled hand, made her face a work of art.

  A smile lit her face when she saw Curt. She glided over to accept his welcoming hug with a designer carry-on bag slung over one shoulder. Curt picked up her luggage as they walked to his waiting pick-up. “Did you have to wait long?”

  “Only a few minutes,” he said. “I got you reservations at the Ahawahnee for tonight, and for the night before you fly out.”

  “I thought it was hard to get in there unless you called a month in advance!”

  “I still know a few people in the park,” he said with a grin. “We’ll have dinner in their dining room tonight.”

  “Nice!” She replied, flashing a smile that clenched at Curt’s heart.

  That evening over dinner, Curt filled Pamela in on the work he’d been doing. “Patty felt strongly about the need to educate Native American youth locally. She saw many of them leaving to attend schools elsewhere, but they don’t come back. Her idea was, if the Indian community had funds to run and maintain their own school, their culture would be preserved. By preserving the culture, you maintain a part of Yo
semite that has existed for at least four-thousand years,”

  Curt sipped his brandy. “We argued about it because I thought the natives should be integrated into public schools, they’d become part of America. I thought the land and the mineral rights should be exploited to pay for public schools.” Curt’s voice strained. “I couldn’t see the value of old Indian ways, I tried to convince her…” he trailed off.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Curt. She was killed because of the greed of two men. They needed to pin the blame for their stolen property on someone else.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “I’ve changed, I see her side of things clearly now. I’ve set up a foundation to build, fund, and support the building of an Ahwahnechee school. My father signed an agreement to stop exploration on Indian and public park land.”

  Pamela reached across the table and laid her hand on Curt’s. He looked at her, “I’m using my interest in Colson Mineral to fund the project. With the right management it should produce enough to support me and the school.” Pamela nodded her approval, and sipped her wine.

  After dinner Pamela and Curt walked among the pines and gnarled Black Oak trees that surrounded the hotel. The breeze played among the branches as they walked paths that once were part of Patty’s life. Pamela listened as Curt told her about some of the park’s history, pointing out historical artifacts, and naming the magnificent landmarks that made up the park.

  As they stood on an old stone arch bridge, listening to the Merced River tumble over its rocky bed, Curt told Pamela they’d better say goodnight. Morning would come soon enough, and they needed to get an early start.

  Back at the hotel, Curt said, “I’ll be here at five and we’ll get a quick breakfast before we head out. You do have another pair of shoes, right?”

  Pam laughed, “Of course silly, my sister did tell me a thing or two about being in the wilderness. You aren’t driving all the way back home are you?”

  “No, I’ll be in the campground.”

  “I thought you had connections in the park.”

  Curt smiled “I do, but I prefer the outdoors.”

  “You’re so like Patty,” she said, patting him on the cheek.

  Early the next morning, after breakfast, they took the shuttle to the Mist Trail. They headed up the trail as the sun lit the trees and rocks. Curt carried a large backpack with everything they’d need for their overnight hike, and Pamela carried her small daypack with Patty’s ashes.

  Wearing rain gear, they climbed the steep rock steps next to Vernal Falls in the dim morning light. At the top of the falls they watched the sun break over dull grey rocks, bringing everything vibrantly into full color. When they’d dried off, they continued on. Few people were on the trail that early, allowing for a peaceful hike.

  Around ten o’clock Curt directed Pamela up a series of step-like rock ledges. The well worn trail brought them to a short downward slope until they stood at the base of Half Dome. A pair of steel cables were anchored to poles placed in the rock. Between the cables, laying against the steep rock face, were sturdy boards every ten feet or so for a foothold. Looking at what lie ahead, Pamela blanched. “So it’s up there, huh. It’s bigger than I thought it would be.”

  Curt held out a pair of leather gloves for Pamela to wear, “Are you afraid? I could take her up there.”

  “No—I want to do it. She’d want you there too, so let’s go.”

  Curt smiled, and pulled on his own pair of gloves. “You go ahead of me, I’ll be right behind you. I’ll be able to hold you if you slip. Just grab the cables and start walking. You can stop at each cross board to rest.”

  Pamela started the long, steep climb, hesitating every few steps. After the third or fourth rest stop, she turned to say something to Curt, who protectively stood with his arms on both sides of her. When she saw how high they were, she said, “Oh my God!” Her was voice shaking, “I don’t think I can do this!”

  “Don’t look back down,” he said. “I’m right here. I’m going to walk with my body right at your back, it’ll help to push you up.” She took a small step, and then another. “That’s it, you’re doing fine.” When she took a step, he took a step, and they continued up the nearly vertical slope in lock-step together.

  The climb took almost thirty minutes. By the time she reached the top, Pamela was exhausted. With Curt’s encouragement, she turned around, and looked at the path she’d just come up. She sat down rather abruptly on the smooth rock surface, “Wow—I can’t believe we just did that!”

  Curt chuckled and sat down, putting his arm around her. “I knew you could do it. Wait until you see the view from this place! Patty loved to come up here, but the first time, she said exactly what you said.”

  When she’d recovered, Curt helped Pam up and they walked to the sheer two-thousand foot drop that was the face of Half Dome. Jutting out near the center of the dome, a point slightly overhangs the cliff. Curt helped Pamela walk to the edge where they stood together for a few minutes marveling at the view.

  “It’s so vast, and beautiful. It almost doesn’t look real,” she whispered, as if they were in a cathedral. “You were right, this is exactly the right place to do it.”

  Curt noticed a few other hikers appearing on the top of the dome. “We need to do it right away, before anyone else comes over here. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She took out the small box that contained Patty’s remains and hugged it close to her heart. With tears in her eyes, she looked at Curt’s tear streaked face and he nodded.

  She opened the box, took a small pinch of the gritty ash, and let the wind take it from her hand. Then she held out the box for Curt to do the same.

  “I love you Patty,” he said.

  Pamela shook the remainder of the ash into the wind and the two of them stood in an embrace, watching, as Patty became part of the park she loved.

  Sensing that others were waiting to take in the view and get photos on Half Dome’s ‘beak,’ the two of them walked back to a less popular area of the monolith. Pamela puzzled at curious stacks of rocks that stood all over the top of the dome. “What are these all about?”

  “They really aren’t anything. People just stack ‘em up to say they were here. Patty would make a small stack every time she came up here. I’m sure some of these are hers.”

  “Oh, that’s so Zen, let’s make a stack for Patty.” The two of them gathered a few rocks and stacked them one on top of the other. When they were finished, they stood looking at it for a few minutes.

  Curt got a small, battered book out of his pocket. “This book was Patty’s, she loved the way John Muir wrote about nature. I picked out a quote.”

  ‘I am well again, I came to life in the cool winds and crystal waters of the mountains’[2]

  “That’s beautiful Curt, thank-you,” said Pamela, leaning against his chest.

  Curt took off the gold necklace that hung around his neck. He held it for a moment and then he put it over Pamela’s head. She touched it and looked up at him, “I’m not Patty, Curt. I’m nothing like her.”

  “I know,” he replied, holding her close.

  A few moments passed and Curt smiled, “Are you ready for the trip down?”

  “I guess so—how bad can it be?” They walked over to wait their turn to descend the steep slope. “Oh my God,” she said, when she looked down. “It’s a lot worse! You have to look down the whole way—I can’t do it.”

  “Yes, you can. If you want, you can back down. I’ll go first, lean on me for support.”

  They inched their way down the cables, backwards, until they were on level ground. Pamela fell in a heap at the bottom of the cables, laughing as she turned to look back up. “I can’t believe I just did that! I could never have done it without you.”

  “Thanks for letting me be here—It meant a lot to me.”

  “Wait until I tell Mom—she won’t believe I did it. Patty’s always getting me in trouble,” giggled Pam.

  “Are you ready to find a camp
ing spot?”

  “Aye, aye, Captain, lead the way.”

  ☙

  Curt stirred the campfire and put on another log. Pamela sat on a flat rock, warming herself, watching the cherry red glow of the coals.

  “It’ll be just a little longer, and our gourmet, dehydrated, chicken with wild rice and vegetables, will be ready to eat,” Curt said with an artificial French accent. Pamela giggled, and he continued to clown, “Would Madam enjoy a beverage, perhaps, a fine rosé Gatorade?”

  “But of course, Monsieur!”

  Curt sat down next to her, and Pamela smiled, leaning against him. “So how do you like camping so far?”

  “I could get used to it. Curt?” Pamela turned toward him, “Could I ask you one more favor?”

  “Sure, anything at all.”

  “The Park Service contacted us. Now that the case has gone to trial, and the investigation is closed, they want us to clean Patty’s things out of the cabin. Do you think you’re up to helping me do that?”

  Curt hesitated, “Wow—that’s a hard one. But yes, I think I can help you, as long as you don’t mind seeing me cry.”

  “I’ll be doing a fair amount of that myself. But I think we can help each other get through it.”

  ☙

  When Curt and Pamela got back to the valley the next day, they found some empty boxes, then went to Patty’s cabin. Pamela held the key the park service sent her. “Are you ready?”

  “No. But let’s go,” answered Curt. Pamela unlocked the door, and Curt pushed it open. They stepped inside the cabin that was Patty’s home for four years. Once inside, memories flooded back to Curt. He drew a deep breath and held it for a moment. The place had been closed up for almost a year, but it still felt and smelled like Patty. Pamela looked at him and he nodded.

  She took a few slow, tentative steps, then walked from room to room touching her sister’s things. Curt stood at the door, unable to pull himself out of his thoughts.

  After her initial circuit through the rooms, Pam came back, took Curt’s hand, and they walked through again. Pamela clutched the pendant at her neck, as she remembered her sister.