Big Bones (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 2)

by Jackson, Melanie

  And he was beginning to think that she might, in a limited way, be correct. It was disappointing to discover that the media, his teachers, his parents had lied about life. No one could play by the rules created by society and truly be free. You know how odds always favored the house? Well, rules favored the existing power structure, and the accepted structures, which he had used to construct his adult life had, at least for a while, trapped him within the walls of conventional thinking and expectation. His black and white world, only enforced by his job, had foreshortened his view, and having no windows on other worlds, he didn’t know that there was another way to perceive things. Now that he had seen otherwise, he felt as imprisoned as some of the criminals he had arrested.

  Yes, there were troubles with Butterscotch’s world, but you wouldn’t catch anyone in The Gulch calling up the hotline to betray their brother-in-law because he had smoked up someone’s supply of marijuana.

  Chuck was a fair man, and he acknowledged that his present situation was partly his own fault. It was karma coming back at him for breaking the rules he’d been raised to live by. When he had run up against circumstances that were intransigent and lives were on the line, he had found himself doing an end-run around bureaucratic expectations to help Butterscotch and her friends. He had done what felt ‘right’ and not what was expected of him as an officer of the law. And that was because, in that moment, the law and its procedures had indeed seemed like an ass, wanting the impossible from him and expecting him to trample any number of people to achieve its ends.

  Officially, no one had blamed him for the death of all Russians who had been terrorizing the town. One man could not have stopped a planeload of mercenaries. And it was hardly his fault that their airplane blew up and fell through the ice of the lake where it had landed, taking the whatever-the-hell-it-was with it.

  Unofficially, he was being punished. His old boss, too, since he had just disappeared without so much as a going away party. Chuck suspected that he had also been followed for a long time after the incident. He was absolutely certain that someone was still watching Brian O’Shay. He didn’t have any proof, but he was pretty sure that Brian was the one who had betrayed the information about the downed plane to the Russians. The real mystery was why he hadn’t been fired or arrested. If the higher-ups even suspected that he was a mole, he should be gone. But instead they just watched him and Brian seemed oddly amused by it all. Or he was high on something.

  It was all very confusing and convoluted and colored in too many shades of gray for him to figure it out just yet. Chuck just wanted to be away from it all for a while, to go somewhere that didn’t require everything be sorted into categories of black and white. He needed some color.

  Was this temptation to stray again a good thing, or a sign of moral decay? Should he stay on the safe, beaten path, or go four-wheeling into the unknown and risk the wrath of his superiors?

  “The press is free and may go where they will, chasing whatever idiotic story they wish,” he said at last. “But I think it might be best if I came up to have a look at these bones. Just in case.”

  “In case it’s Bigfoot?” Butterscotch asked.

  “No, in case they’re human. It could be a lost hiker.” Inspiration struck and he spoke for the benefit of those who might be listening to this conversation. “Or it might be that there were more Russians on that plane than we knew about. It would have been easy for someone to get lost in that whiteout.”

  If there was a listener, they would be salivating at the idea that their mystery object might have ended up somewhere other than the lake. He just had to hope that they wouldn’t be so eager to find it that they muscled him out of the way to take over the job themselves.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Butterscotch said after a moment. She hadn’t thought of that because it was ridiculous, but she knew how to follow a lead when it was stuffed under her nose. “I have the mayor here with me and Big John is nodding. He thinks it might be best if you came up to have a look at the bones. Just to be sure. I would sure hate for some family to be left waiting for word from a loved one who was missing.”

  “I’ll see what I can do and then call you back. You can make arrangement with The Wings for transport?”

  “No trouble,” Butterscotch said, sounding more cheerful. “Bring hiking boots. The region where the skeleton is at is remote and can only be reached on foot.”

  “Okay.”

  “You aren’t allergic to poison oak, are you?”

  “No.” Actually, he was, but he would be careful.

  Chuck hung up the phone feeling a little giddy. At thirty-one he was finally taking off the training wheels and going for life without a full complement of governmental rules and regulations. He would probably regret the lie later, but for the time being he was feeling liberated.

  Chapter 3

  Chuck looked healthy and happy as he climbed off the plane, so The Wings had obviously been nicer this trip. The Mountie was also probably less alarmed by landing on the street now that there was paving.

  I wondered for an instant if Chuck liked my new sweatshirt which was pale green and trimmed with satin ribbon, and then I pushed the thought away. I didn’t want to start thinking like that, wondering if other people— men— okay, Chuck— thought I was attractive. That was stuff you worried about when you lived a normal life in a city, not in McIntyre’s Gulch.

  “Butterscotch, you look great,” he said, putting down his duffle bag and giving me a light hug. The Flowers got one too and Big John got a handshake. Max even got a quick pat on the head. We were all a little surprised at the physical display, but pleased that The Mountie was feeling kindly toward us since our parting had been a bit stressful. We were also a little surprised at his attire of jeans, plaid shirt and hiking boots. Chuck has always seemed like kind of a uniform and polished shoes kind of guy. “Bingo must be going well. The new road looks great.”

  Bingo was going well, but not that well.

  “Thanks. It will be a blessing during the rainy season.”

  “How goes it with the reporters? Are they still here?”

  “They’ve seen the bones and are very excited,” I said glumly. “But we have some time before they do anything with their story. The anthropologist needs to confirm things and as you know, there is no cell coverage in the area. Wendell has taken them hiking in the outback to see the Sasquatch lair and they will be gone for a couple of days. And by the time they get back they’ll be covered in poison oak and ticks and mosquito bites and hopefully just want to go home.”

  I didn’t add that Wendell’s homemade ‘mosquito repellent’ had sugar in it.

  “And is there a Sasquatch lair?” Chuck asked, picking up his duffle. Though we hadn’t made any definite arrangements we all began walking toward my cabin rather than the pub. “I watched some of the videos on Youtube but never saw anything about a lair.”

  “Not exactly. There is an abandoned bear den though, and it is miles in the wrong direction,” The Flowers said with a small smile.

  “How does Old Thunder feel about this planned distraction?” Chuck asked. And I was proud of him for understanding that this old man and his pride was key to our problem.

  “Not happy since this was supposed to be his hour to shine with the Sasquatch Watch, but Wendell has convinced him that if the scientist finds the real Sasquatch that he’ll want to trap him or even kill him, so he’s cooperating for Bigfoot’s sake.” I shrugged. “Our real concern is that the divers are back early. And they have someone new with them. This guy is a little scary. He wears sunglasses and skulks. He couldn’t call more attention to himself if he put up a neon sign. The divers are being really cagey too and not saying much about who he is or what he’s after.”

  To Chuck’s credit, he didn’t smirk at my description or downplay my concern. Maybe he knew that in these parts, if you needed protection from the rare sun, you wore a hat. Sunglasses marked you as an unfriendly outsider. Even Wings didn’t wear his out
side the cockpit. And everyone knows about skulking.

  And maybe he had been expecting to hear that someone else was here with the divers. I would feel him out later when we were alone.

  “Do you need some time to rest before we go?” I asked, hoping he would say yes. I had been having a bad feeling about this venture ever since I called Chuck, and they had redoubled after Dark Glasses arrived.

  “No. But can we reach this place today? We’re getting a late start.”

  “We should be able to. Old Thunder will be our guide so we won’t have to hunt it up on our own.”

  “You don’t look real happy,” Chuck said. “What’s wrong?”

  I shrugged. I have never liked hiking in real wilderness and didn’t think that Chuck was going to like it either. Potential danger aside, I find the idea of pointless physical labor unappealing, even in theory, and damned uncomfortable in practice. And that’s if all goes well. Things could go from uncomfortable to untenable very quickly, and there would be no phoning up a helicopter for rescue.

  Chuck is a policeman, armed, stronger than me, resourceful too. In his normal life he could track down drug dealers and robbers and maybe even killers and be confident that he would survive the encounter, but that was in a familiar environment. Those city skills didn’t matter out here where we didn’t have skyscrapers and streetlights and cell phones. In the wilderness, he was my responsibility. I had to keep him safe while we tracked this rural legend. Or hoax.

  And it was just a legend— or so I hoped. Because once we were out of town and in its safe territory, it would have the advantage. We would have guns and flashlights, but in my heart of hearts I didn’t think that this was enough if there was some being out there that didn’t want us in his neck of the woods.

  Max licked my hand and I felt better. Yes, having Max along would help. His nose and instincts were better in the wild than all our human organs and intellects combined.

  “I’m just not looking forward to a long and uncomfortable hike,” I said. “We’ll drop off your stuff, collect some flashlights and guns and be on our way.”

  “Flashlights? How far away is this place?”

  “A ways. Days are long now and we should be back before nightfall, but even with a full moon, it gets dark in the heavy forest and ravines. I’m just going with the whole ‘better safe than sorry’ thing.”

  Chuck nodded. He was scanning the street and I saw when his eyes did a little hiccup. I looked the same way with what I thought was great casualness and noticed Dark Glasses was skulking in the bushes near The Bones’ empty house.

  Some people— most people— are social animals. They understand that there are rules to social interaction. Among these is showing your eyes and not skulking in other people’s bushes. This one was either clueless or arrogant. He made me want to throw a rock at him.

  But the more you tell people— especially government people— to go away, the more they want to stay and figure out why you don’t want them. Because we don’t like you isn’t a good enough reason for them. Nor can you negotiate or trade or bribe. Show them anything new or interesting and they will be after you forever. You have to either bore them, give them what they want, or make them think you’ve given them what they want. And you have to do this before they get dug in and comfortable.

  “We will let you at it then,” Big John said, also noticing the stranger but being careful not to stare. He knows about handling dangerous animals too. “We’ll expect you back tonight. Butterscotch, ring us up on the wire when you get back.”

  “Will do,” I said and then waved The Flowers and Big John on their way. The two of them were headed for The Braids. I doubt they actually needed anything at the store, but they would begin passing the word that The Mountie and I were on our way to see the Sasquatch bones.

  Old Thunder was waiting in my yard, sitting on the sunny bench where I had arranged my new pots of what would soon be flowers. Max likes the old man, maybe recalling him from when he was a puppy, and came dancing up for his expected pets. Though upset with events, the old man smiled at my wolf dog and ran his knobby hands through his fur. I noticed that his right hand was bruised and wondered what he’d been doing with it. Of course, I wouldn’t ask.

  “Marshall Thunder, this is Chuck Goodhead.”

  “Mountie,” Old Thunder said, dipping his head politely. No hand was offered. This wasn’t discourtesy, just custom.

  “Sir,” Chuck answered back.

  “Let me pick up some flashlights and we’ll be off.”

  I really like my new flashlights. They are of a crank variety and never need to have the batteries replaced. They also have a hook on the end so you can hang them up and use them as a lantern.

  Our hike was as unpleasant as I anticipated, but I enjoyed visiting with Chuck, at least for the first hour. It can be indescribably wonderful to see a new face and hear fresh thoughts.

  But the further we went into unfamiliar territory, the more the feeling grew that we humans weren’t wanted out there. This was a place for creatures with hooves and claws, who went on fours instead of twos, and we had a lot of nerve bothering those things which chose to live out there away from man.

  After awhile, the rocks began to breathe around us. I smacked myself with commonsense the moment I thought this and reminded myself that supernatural fear got toxic fast. This was just stray wind in broken ravines, nothing more. But I found myself walking with one hand on Max’s head, heart pounding hard enough that I decided to give up the caffeine for a while.

  * * *

  In Winnipeg, Brian O’Shay stood out on one of the small balconies and smoked defiantly. Once in awhile he looked at his phone as though checking for messages. And he was looking for a message, but not from a person. He had at first been pleased when the higher-ups failed to find the damning black box in the possession of the Russians, but now he was beginning to worry.

  He had an application on his phone, a very special, very custom app that could take care of this problem, but he was reluctant to use it. After all, the box was a great bargaining chip, a get-out-of-jail-free card. Those were handy when you were serving several brutal masters.

  But how long could he leave this?

  Chapter 4

  Chuck hadn’t worn his hiking boots for a few months and his feet were making their grievances at the extended mileage known. But he couldn’t very well complain when a man as old as his grandfather and a woman he liked and wanted to impress were marching along like this was a stroll through a city park.

  Butterscotch had fallen silent though. It could be fatigue, but she also seemed increasingly unnerved by their surroundings, looking behind them every few steps, and Chuck began to wonder if they had been followed. Perhaps by the man in dark glasses?

  Let him follow. He wouldn’t see anything except some bear bones. There were no lost Russians out here.

  Chuck was glad they had a guide. Usually good with directions, he knew that he would have been lost very quickly. The country was confusing. Slovenly glaciers had dropped a lot of large rocks and carved the hills into uneven ruts that challenged even the strongest ankles. The belts of trees they passed on the gully bottoms, though not especially tall, were dense and unfriendly, begrudging even the small space needed by a human to pass between them. Then they had to scramble back up another ridge, avoiding patches of loose shale. They repeated this process all too often, stopping only twice for water and a rest, apparently traveling as the crow flies and not by easier but longer trails. There were no landmarks, just more of the same as they walked and walked under the shifting sun, and he began to wonder if they were going in circles. You couldn’t judge from the sky that was either too large or two small, depending on whether you were looking at the thin strip of blue from the depths of the treed ravine or surrounded by the eye abrading three-hundred-and-sixty blueness when standing on a ridge. The sky in the city was always the same size, whether downtown at a hit-and-run or in the suburbs hunting robbers, or counting corpses
in a warehouse outside of town after some drug-smuggler’s shareholders meeting had gone awry.

  The sounds around them were strange too. At first meaningless but then growing more important when there was nothing new for the eyes to see. He couldn’t identify what he was hearing though, beyond a stray wind in the rocks and sometimes the drone of some kind of bee or wasp.

  They finally came to a deep gully, one that couldn’t be crossed except by pole vaulting or by the preposterously small tree trunk that spanned the dark gap in a makeshift bridge.

  Chuck wasn’t particularly afraid of bears. He wasn’t especially afraid of heights. But he found that he was actually afraid of falling into that abyss. Peering down into the ravine, all he could see was dark shadow and sharp rocks. That would be a bad way to die.

  Old Thunder walked across the gap without even slowing. Max followed and then Butterscotch. Screwing up his courage, and focusing on the opposite ledge, Chuck stepped out onto the skinny trunk. He didn’t breathe until back on terra firma, but he was pleased that he wasn’t sweating any more than a man decently should on a summer day when the wind had died and the air began to get sultry.

  Old Thunder stopped fifty yards on at a minor clearing and gestured at a pile of rock that looked entirely too much like a cairn.

  Chuck put on his detective’s hat and started analyzing. First impression, this wasn’t a patch of wilderness that would ever be made into a park. It wasn’t created with humans in mind. The underbrush was aggressive against anything without hooves and uneven stones were waiting to turn human ankles. The proportions of the space were also too big without being in any way beautiful or grand enough to rate a postcard or even a snapshot, though Chuck decided to take some pictures anyway since this might be a crime scene and he would need to write up some sort of report.