I say nothing. It’s nice to have someone else like me, and I’m proud as hell that it’s my daughter. I then think briefly about Aileen, the only other person who I have known who had talents like me. Too bad she didn’t see her own death coming.
A shift in Tanya’s breathing tells me she’s asleep. So much for her being keyed-up. I lie awake with my memories and recollections.
Chapter 9
Life returns to normal in the Price household, whatever that might be. Becky attempts to ignore her new talents, and gets back together with Sarah. She turns seventeen. She gets a part-time job with a pool and spa outfit. She loves it and then two weeks later she hates it. She quits the pool and spa and finds a job life guarding. On July third she gets a letter of acceptance to the University of Texas. It’s icing on her cake after finishing high school a year early, with honors. We celebrate on the fourth and vow to sleep in on the fifth.
It’s after 10:00 when I wander down the stairs. Tanya’s been up for an hour. She and Christi are fooling with pots, dirt, and a variety of flowering plants. Curiosity might get me involved, so I don’t ask.
“Where’s Becky?” I ask instead.
“Still asleep, I imagine.” Tanya is holding a plant straight while Christi pours dirt.
“She never sleeps this late. Besides, I just went by her room. Her bed is made.”
“I haven’t seen her,” Tanya looks up. “Her bed is made? When did that start?”
“I know. She’s been strange for the last couple of days.”
“She’s been strange since she came back from Cancun,” Christi says, taking over what her mother was doing. “Maybe she’s at the pool.”
“Which pool? The one she works at or the one you guys practice at?”
“No practice today, Dad. She’s probably at the other one.”
I leave them and go into the kitchen to toast a couple of frozen waffles. It’s Saturday morning and I have no burning list of projects to get done. Tanya might have such a list, but I’ll put off asking her—maybe until Sunday night. A glance out the window reveals that Becky’s car is gone. Although she slipped back into a little of her rebellious stage about the time she rolled over the seventeen year mark, she remained reasonably good at keeping us informed as to what she was doing, where she was going. Her work schedule is adhered to the refrigerator with a Tweedy Bird magnet. It ended on Friday. There is no new schedule.
The waffles pop up. I apply butter, a liberal amount of syrup, and glance back at the work schedule with the two hand written words, Becky Price, at the top next to the typewritten name of the pool. I’m having a bad feeling. I hate it when I get feelings like this, because no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, the feelings always have a reason.
There is a phone number.
I sit with my waffles and think about it while I eat. She’s going to think I’m checking up on her, so I’m going to have to have a reason to call. I could want to know what time she gets off because we are doing something together as a family. It’s Fourth of July weekend and there are events all over the city. I’ll say there’s something going on downtown. We don’t actually have to go. I’ll just say I’m thinking about it.
I drop the plate into the sink, lift the phone from my belt and punch the speed dial for Becky’s phone. It rings a half-dozen times before her voicemail kicks in. I hang up and dial the number that’s on her work schedule. It rings five times before I get a girl’s voice. “St. Steven’s Rec Center,” she says.
“May I speak with Becky Price?”
There’s a pause, and then she says, “She’s not here.”
“Could you tell me when she’s due at work today?”
“Ahhhh . . . just a sec.”
The line goes silent except for the sound of kids in the background. “No running!” I hear an adult male voice yell. A few seconds later the same voice says into my ear, “This is Coach Mark. What can I do for you?”
“Mark. This is Zach Price, Becky Price’s dad. I’m trying to track her down. Do you happen to know when she’ll be working today?”
“She won’t be working today,” Mr. Price. “She quit on Thursday.”
“She quit! Did she say why?”
“She was taking a trip.”
“A trip?” If I was sitting down, I think I would have stood up. I sit down.
“To Montana.”
Chapter 10
“Thank you, Coach,” is all I can think to say. I end the call.
Tanya is standing inside the kitchen entry, black dirt hanging off her hands. “What about a trip?”
“She quit her job two days ago; said she was taking a trip to Montana.”
She steps back one step, pauses, and then says, “Oh God!” She turns and disappears. Her feet pound on the stairs as Christi pokes her head in. “What happened?”
I stand and walk over to her and brush her hair back, and then move on past her, toward the stairs. “It seems that your sister has decided to go to Montana.” I study her face just before I begin my ascent up to the second floor. Her mouth is hanging open. She didn’t know, I’m convinced.
Tanya meets me at the top of the stairs. “Her luggage is gone!”
Everything inside me says that chasing after her would not be productive, except that we would feel like we’re doing something. I retreat down the stairs to fetch the road atlas. Tanya is following me like a mother dog who has lost her puppies and doesn’t know what to do. Christi is hovering close. I drop onto the sofa and open the map to the full layout of the United States. “Do we have any idea what time she left?” Tanya appears on one side, Christi on the other.
“I was asleep by midnight,” Tanya says softly. “She came in and kissed me goodnight. She said she loved me,” she adds and then bursts into tears. “How long has she been planning this?”
I realize she didn’t say a word to me, didn’t even wish me goodnight; not that she had in the last year or two. If she knew she was leaving, and she said goodbye—using the words goodnight—to her mother, why didn’t she do the same with me? The answer comes nearly as quickly as the question. Because she knew there’d be a chance that my sixth sense would pick up on her plans. “She probably left before dawn.” I move my finger along the map. “I’m sure she’s past Oklahoma City by now, if she went that way. She could have gone West and then up through Salt Lake.”
“Which is shortest?” Christi asks.
“Through Oklahoma City and Denver.”
“She’s only seventeen,” Tanya declares. “I thought we were getting along a lot better. Why did she think she needed to run away?”
I lay the map on the coffee table, stand, and then begin pacing. “I don’t think it’s running away that she’s doing. I think it’s more like running toward.”
“Toward?” Tanya says in anguish. “Toward what?”
I stop and turn to the oldest and youngest of my three ladies, sitting together, one turning into a perfect subset of the other.
“Smilodon,” I say. “She’s gone looking for Smilodon.”
Chapter 11
I don’t sleep on planes, even when I can’t sleep the night before. Tanya and I had lain awake, cuddled together, saying nothing. I think she eventually slept for a short time, but I continued trying to imagine where Becky would go, what she would do in the immenseness of the Montana wilderness by herself.
When the alarm went off I slipped away into the shower, stepping out ten minutes later to a hot cup of coffee. Tanya said nothing as she handed it to me. She padded around in her slippers and robe for a time, and then quickly got dressed while I threw my things into the trunk of her car. When she appeared with her keys in her hand, Christi was with her. The garage door went up and we robotically got into the car.
Now as I sit with a stiff neck and a headache—the plane is making its approach into Glacier Park International Airport—I think back to those final seconds before I stepped up to security to practically strip myself naked for some mean lookin
g woman with a badge. “Find her and bring her home safe,” Tanya said. “Easier said than done,” would have been an understatement. My gut says that this may turn into another Price adventure. While Tanya and I were fretting around about Becky taking off, and after I revealed my conclusion that she had gone off looking for Smilodon, Christi met the mail lady at the mail box. She came bursting back in the door.
“This was already in the mailbox!” she'd blurted. “It’s from Becky!”
It was one sheet of handwritten paper in an envelope marked, “Mom & Dad.”
Mom & Dad,
I’m sorry. Please don’t be too upset with me. I’m 17 and there are things I want to do before I start college. I didn’t ask you because I knew you would say no, and I also knew I would do it anyway, so by just going, I’m avoiding a fight.
By the time you read this I will be well on my way to Montana. Don’t worry about me. I have plenty of money and a place to stay. I have a friend I made on the Internet. Don’t worry, Dad, I’ve checked her out and she is not a dirty old man disguising himself as a woman. She is an adult woman. I will call after I’m settled and let you know I’m okay. Please don’t try and call me first. I won’t answer.
Please don’t be angry with me. All I ask is that you support me. If you ask why I’m doing this, I won’t be able to say why. Maybe I need an adventure. Maybe I need to prove to myself that Smilodon really does exist. Ever since I saw the stuffed replica in Cancun, I’ve been thinking about this, angry because I was laughed at. I used to wonder how you could stand up to the ridicule, Dad. You told me that it was because you know in your heart that they exist, because you have witnessed them with your own eyes. I think that is what I need to do. I need to see them myself and therefore know in my heart that I am right. I read your book three times and felt even stronger that this was something I needed to do.
I love you all,
Reba
Reba! She hadn’t called herself Reba in eight years.
The plane banks and I look across the mountains wondering how many cats with long sabre teeth there are now. Eight years ago there were nine; two were with kittens. That added two to six more to the sabre-tooth den. How many more were born over the years? Did they stay in the area, or did they migrate? There’ve been reports, but they’ve been taken no more seriously than Big Foot, despite the unexplained loss of domestic animals, and a few people. A few years ago there was an article in the Interlake, Kalispell’s daily newspaper. A prize show horse was lost to a mountain lion. Authorities determined it had been a very large mountain lion with how the horse’s throat had been ripped open, and then how it was dragged for nearly a half mile before being stopped by a fence. Others thought it was a grizzly. “For crimminy out loud,” I remember saying to the empty house when I read the piece on the Internet. “How many mountain lions, or grizzlies, can drag a horse any distance, let alone a half mile? And why would a grizzly attack a horse?” There was great effort to track the predator, but to no success.
How is it that so many sabre-toothed cats can exist and hunt for this many years without one of them being seen by a hunter, or a hiker with a camera?
Chapter 12
We can’t afford this: the flight—less than 24 hours doesn’t make for the best rates; the rental—they upgraded me to a SUV with a DVD system since the sedan I reserved was not available; the motel—a bit too seedy for my taste I expect, but with my budget in the middle of tourist season, I can’t be choosy. But I can write it all off the business as research. I don’t recall what my limit is on my credit cards. I’ll ask Tanya when I call her. She’ll know. I only have a hundred dollars in cash.
The flight touches down a few minutes early, according to the pilot. It’s a sunny 93 degrees with light winds, he says. The last time I flew into Kalispell it was 25 degrees below zero and within a few weeks I had nearly frozen to death twice, the second time after narrowly escaping being eaten by a den of sabre-toothed cats. With one eye completely gone and a sharp stick pinning my tongue to the rough of my mouth, I managed to carry Tanya—with her back broken—from one near-death to another in a blinding snow storm. I replay the entire night in my head in the time it takes to taxi to the gate. I remain sitting while everyone else disembarks, a bit apprehensive about getting off the plane. Eventually I come to my senses—possibly helped by the encouragement of the stewardess—and make my exit.
By the time I have my luggage and have cleared the rental agency, it is 3:48. My watch says 4:48. I adjust it and go looking for a forest green Chevy Blazer.
“Is Sheriff Shwartzberg in?” I ask the person who answers the phone.
“It’s Sunday so he wouldn’t be in today even if he was still the sheriff. The new sheriff for the past two years isn’t in either. This is Deputy Sloan. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No. I haven’t seen Brian in years and since I was in town, I thought I’d look him up. I’ll try him at home.”
“He’s not here in Kalispell anymore,” the deputy says. “He moved up to Columbia Falls.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that. Can you tell me how to get a hold of him, then?”
“Afraid I can’t. Privacy and all that. I doubt he’s in the book. People still harass him about some events that happened a number of years back, so he likes to keep himself private.”
“I understand.”
“If it’s important, I can probably get a message to him, and he could call you.”
I consider that for a moment and then say, “Sure. Tell him Zechariah Price is in town and would like to visit with him. I can give you my number.”
There’s a long pause before he says, “Zechariah Price.” Good cops don’t forget names, and this one is no exception. “Sabre-toothed Zach. I was a rookie when that company burned to the ground. I met you briefly. How’s the eye?”
“Still gone. I wear a plastic one now.”
“Too bad. You still have a reputation around here.”
“Good or bad?” I already know the answer.
“Let’s just say, I hope you’re not staying around too long.”
“Humph! No longer than I have to.”
“That would please us. I’ll pass the message on to Brian.”
“Thanks.”
Sabre-toothed Zach. I know of the nickname, but I haven’t heard or seen it for quite some time. I’d hoped it had died. Apparently it had not.
I open the road atlas on the bed and analyze the route I expect Becky to come in on. I figure it’ll be US 93. She’s good with maps and will take the most logical route. The question is when? It’s nearly 1900 miles. If she left at 5:00 Saturday morning, and drove until dark, she could put in an easy 900 to 1000 miles. Another day like that and she could roll in before dark tonight. It’s not something that I could do, but she’s young.
Where will she spend the night? I can’t imagine her getting a motel room. When I was her age, I would have slept on and off at rest stops and continued driving through the night.
I look at my watch. It’s nearly 5:30. She could be arriving now. I grab the keys.
I head south on US 93 until I find a place on the edge of town where I can comfortably watch the north-bound traffic. While I sit, I begin calculating the hours again. Considering the time change, it has been roughly 38 hours since she left. Allowing four hours of sleep, time for gas and food stops, and I’m looking at 32 hours. If she averaged 65 miles per hour, she could make over 2000 miles. Even at 60 it’s over 1900 miles. If she is running with a heavy foot or less sleep, she could have been here before my plane landed.
I get sick to my stomach. If I don’t catch her on her way in, I have no idea where to find her.
I sit and watch until it turns completely dark, which is nearly 10:00. I dial Tanya, give her the news and then sit a little longer, watching headlights and taillights flash by, feeling defeated and useless. I couldn’t have gotten an earlier flight, but I could have come out to my watching post right from the airport instead of going to the motel
first.
After a bit I convince myself that it wouldn’t have made any difference. She probably left earlier than I thought and made better time than I estimated, arriving long before my flight. I leave my post and return to the motel. Monday morning I’ll begin my search.
It’s 6:10 and I’m showered and dressed, just stepping about to go out the door for some breakfast. My phone rings.
“What are you going to do?” Tanya doesn’t give me even a, “Good morning, how are you?”
I’m not alert enough to think about it yet, hardly sleeping at all the last two nights. I tell her the only thing that comes to mind. “I’ll visit the police and sheriff’s offices.”
“How did you miss her yesterday?” she demands.
I give her my calculations.
“I told you that you should have left on Saturday, but you convinced me you could be there before her.”
“Yes I could have gotten a flight as far as Salt Lake on Saturday, but I would have had to lay over there for the night and still wouldn’t have gotten to Kalispell until the afternoon.”
“You would have gotten there before noon. I know because I looked. I don’t give a shit how many hours you would have had to wait in Salt Lake. This is my daughter . . . our daughter and I hope to hell you’ll do whatever it takes to get her home safe. If you had let me take care of it, it would have been done right and you would be with her right now.”
“Yes. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t God damn sorry me. You find her, and you find her TODAY!”
“All right! I will!”
“If you haven’t found her by tomorrow morning, I’m coming there.”
“What about your patients?”
“Don’t you hear me, Zach?” I have to move the phone from my ear. “This is my daughter! To hell with the patients!”
“Okay,” I say, but I don’t think she hears me.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 44