Bear of a Honeymoon

by Laurie Carter

  "It's part of the plot," Brooke said, after Liam broke the connection and confirmed that the conservation officer was on his way. "Just one more nail in the coffin somebody's trying to build for us."

  "Dangerously convincing, though," I was forced to admit. "When Roy was telling me about the trade in bear parts, he said the middlemen, 'suppliers' he called them, often operate from restaurants. What a perfect scenario—struggling lodge owners cash in on illegal trade."

  "You make it sound like a headline," Dan grumbled.

  "That's exactly what it could be," I shot back. His stricken expression made me want to cut out my tongue.

  "It won't hold water," Brooke countered, all her old spunk behind the words. "If we'd known the parts were there, we would have moved them as soon as we knew the freezer wasn't working."

  "Someone could argue you didn't have a chance," I said, playing devil's advocate. "There were people around the whole time."

  "But if we were trafficking," said Dan, reasonably, "we wouldn't keep the stuff in the restaurant freezer anyway. There'd be too much chance of one of the staff finding it."

  "Or a government inspector," Brooke added.

  "That's true," I conceded—gratefully. "In fact, I remembered Roy saying pretty much the same thing." It was a relief to find a plausible excuse for letting my friends off the hook. Sentimental arguments don't get far in court.

  "Then it's a frame-up," said Clair, her young voice sounding very mature as she stated her conclusion with conviction. I'd hardly been aware my goddaughter was with us, but she'd been sitting quietly, listening and evaluating as we talked.

  "Not necessarily," Liam said, frowning as he continued. "What about the staff?" He paused, glancing around the circle. "What if one of them is the local poacher?"

  That idea launched a flurry of conjecture and we continued to debate without resolution until Roy turned up. A small delegation comprised of Brooke, Dan, and Liam led him off to the crime scene. The rest of us waited, fidgeted and said almost nothing. We were talked out, exhausted by the weight of the problem. If Ritz and her remaining kittens hadn't been there to provide a little distraction, we might not have been able to hold out. But eventually the others returned, minus Roy. He'd left, thankfully taking the gruesome evidence with him.

  At last we were free to finish emptying the walk-in. It was comforting to know that Roy had made a thorough search. None of us wanted to move a box and find another grotesque surprise.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Clichés are tired, overworked phrases, but they're invariably based on a kernel of truth. Take the one about how it never rains, but it pours. No sooner had we ferried the last of the frozen food to the temporary walk-in, than an official looking car pulled into the drive. It contained the fire department captain I recognised from the day before and a man he introduced as the deputy chief. Evidently, the big guns were out to investigate.

  Brooke and Dan both looked harried and anxious as they escorted the uniformed arrivals to the cabin area. At least they were doing it together, which I took as a positive sign. And since the rest of us were left with nothing to do but quell our curiosity, Matt and I decided to revert to plan.

  It was a glorious day for a ride into town. The road meandered through the forest, skirting boulders and steep rock faces, climbing and plunging over camel-hump terrain and occasionally clinging to the side of heady vertical drops. Matt drove at an easy pace, nothing like my race of frustration just a few days—or was that a lifetime—ago. It was leisurely enough for us to appreciate the clumps of yellow and white wildflowers and remark on a single bald eagle tracing watchful circles overhead. Sunlight beamed into open patches like well-aimed spotlights, and the air smelled of Christmas trees.

  Our shopping spree was a huge success and much-needed diversion. I could literally feel the built-up tension draining away. The local mall had a remarkably good selection of clothing stores and we were astounded to find a really great camera shop. In a couple of hours, we outfitted ourselves with new shorts, jeans, and tops; had a wickedly successful time at the lingerie shop (preparing for unforeseen emergencies); filled up a new camera bag; and even found Matt a spanking new cowboy hat. My little Toyota's cargo bay was crammed as we pointed it back to Bear Lake and for a while we drove in companionable silence.

  We were already well along the mountain road when Matt spoke up. "Who do you think is doing it?" he asked, still looking straight ahead.

  "I wish I knew," I said, feeling the tension creep back. "I keep running scenarios through my mind. But nothing jumps out. There are lots of possibilities. Too many possibilities."

  "True. But let's try to talk it through."

  I was game. Maybe we could trigger some new ideas. "Okay. So far we have four incidents." It was unsettling to note that Matt didn't question my use of the phrase "so far." Apparently, he shared my fear that the troubles might not end until the culprit was physically stopped. I went on, ticking off points on my fingers. "Computer foul up— rattler attack—cabin fire—and now, freezer sabotage."

  "Right," he said. "And I think we have to assume that for this much trouble, the motive is very strong."

  "No question," I said, turning in my seat to look at my husband as I talked. "But that still leaves lots of choices. Max Edelman may be the most obvious. He's spent a lot of time and money trying to convince Brooke and Dan to sell. And it's possible that he's answerable to some financial backers who want a deal soon. But I can see others."

  "Like Lyle."

  "What makes you suggest him?" I asked, uncomfortably aware that, like it or not, the taciturn First Nations man was on my own list of candidates. I was curious to hear if Matt's reasoning was the same as mine.

  "Just a feeling I got the night we went for the campfire ride." Matt frowned, hesitating, as though searching for the right words. "I don't know. It was just sort of spooky—the way he told that legend. It left me with a sense that there was a whole lot of emotion behind it."

  "Like he might resent what he perceives as desecration of traditional ground?"

  "Sounds a bit far-fetched, I know, but not impossible."

  We were on the same wavelength. I decided to float another trial balloon. "What about Walt Craddock?" Matt's eyebrows shot up and he flicked me a glance. "It's an idea I got when we talked the other afternoon," I persisted. "The subject of Brooke and Dan came up and Walt said he sometimes wished they'd just sell the place. Could he be trying to give them a push?"

  Now Matt's eyebrows drew together in a tight frown and he shook his head. "I know you want to cover every possible base. But that one sounds like a mighty long stretch. Especially when you consider the cabin fire. That's a direct financial loss. Why would he hurt his family that way?"

  "Insurance?" Now I was wondering aloud. "Walt's heavily invested in the lodge. He'd know if there were insurance to cover any short-term loss."

  "It still doesn't fit," Matt countered. "And if that were a motive, Brooke or Dan could have been involved."

  "In the fire maybe, but what about the rattler attack."

  "From what I gather, Brooke's none too thrilled with Dan's latest venture. Could be this is all a domestic dispute."

  "You can't seriously believe that," I fired back.

  "No more than I believe Walt Craddock's involved."

  I conceded the point. "So, we're back to Max and Lyle."

  "Until this morning, yes, I would have agreed. But now there's a new twist."

  "The bear parts."

  "Exactly. Before Liam found that bag, did you have any reason to connect the poaching thing with the lodge?" Matt asked.

  "Not at all. It never occurred to me."

  "And now?"

  "I admit it's possible."

  "Then we have to consider who might be involved in the trade."

  I thought for a minute. "Liam did mention that Shane Deeks hunts bears—and he's certainly had opportunity, but what about motive? From what we've heard, he's got every reason not to want
to hurt the Craddocks."

  "If you want motive, maybe we should look at Adam the bartender." "Why," I snapped, "because his ancestry is Asian and the trade has an Asian connection? That's not fair."

  Matt shrugged. "He's also had opportunity."

  "And he's connected with Jasmine," I was forced to admit, reluctantly climbing down off my high horse. Not only was our server/ housekeeper also of Asian descent, but her family owned a store in Vancouver's China Town. An outlet for traditional remedies? Who knew? Still, it was a possibility. In a few words, I told Matt about our conversation.

  "That makes the scenario more plausible," he agreed.

  "But there's another angle," I cautioned, remembering something else I'd learned while Matt was away. "Belle and Art brought me lunch on Friday and just as they were leaving, they saw Adam. He was going into Denise Pardue's cabin."

  "Get serious!"

  "I am," I said, looking directly at my husband's chiselled profile.

  The lips pursed, corners drawn down.

  "She's the last person in the world who'd be into trading bear parts," he said.

  "Is she?"

  "You mean, 'The lady doth protest too much...'"

  "It would make for quite a cover, wouldn't it?"

  "Undoubtedly," Matt conceded. "But what could she possibly have to do with the attacks on the Craddocks?"

  "Ask the same about Adam and Jasmine. But if you leave out everybody without an obvious motive, we're back to Edelman and Lyle—with Edelman a clear favourite in my book."

  Matt nodded. "That's how I see it."

  For a few minutes, I considered our conclusions, then reached a decision. "You know what," I said, rummaging in my bag for my notebook. "It's time to get back to my story. And from what I've heard so far, a critical piece of research is still missing. I need to interview a developer."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  My shot at Edelman presented itself sooner than expected. After stowing our more mundane purchases, we presented Dudley and Nell with a pair of catnip mice that they instantly put into energetic service. Our plan was then to take Matt's new camera for an inaugural run. But passing through the lobby, we spied an elegantly casual figure nursing a highball at the bar. The developer was alone.

  "It'd be better for me to tackle him by myself," I reasoned. "Just ask for an interview."

  Matt agreed. "I'll go ahead and get some shots; probably stop off at the stable to talk to Dan. I'll meet you back in the room before dinner?"

  "Perfect," I said, reaching up for a kiss as we parted.

  Max Edelman looked across as I slid onto the bar stool next to his.

  He was disarmingly attractive in a superficial, magazine-art sort of way. Every silver hair, trim and perfectly aligned, highlighted the contrast with skin that had either spent a good part of the winter bronzing on a southern golf course or toasting in a tanning salon. Slim and fit, decked in logoed sportswear, the man would easily have fit in at the most exclusive country club. But the smile he turned in my direction was a mere fixture on those patrician features. The slate grey eyes remained completely untouched.

  "Hello there," he opened, in a pleasantly modulated, mid-range voice. "Don't tell me that new husband has abandoned you again." He put on a show of tut-tutting. "That's a very dangerous practice with such a beautiful young wife."

  I tried not to gag. Pretentious compliments leave me cold. And it was a bit surprising that he knew this much about me. Rachel must have been talking. But I played along and accepted the drink he offered after we formalised introductions. Adam worked with professional efficiency. He poured the house Shiraz I'd requested and set the glass on an imprinted coaster in front of me. When Edelman waved off a refill, the bartender moved to a discreet distance, busying himself with a paring knife and fresh limes. A moment of awkward silence followed, which I filled by tasting the wine and savouring the flavours I could easily pick out—dark plum and black pepper. Assessing my options for getting Edelman to talk, I elected to go with a semi-direct approach.

  "I expect you've heard something about the bear poaching in the area," I offered.

  The developer looked mildly startled. Obviously, this wasn't the tack he'd been expecting, yet he responded easily enough. "I think everybody has. What about it?"

  "Well, frankly, it's got me interested," I said. "I think there's a worthwhile story here and I'm trying to pull it together."

  "I thought this was your honeymoon," the developer replied. "You must be as bad as your husband."

  "Guilty as charged," I admitted, lifting the corner of my mouth in a lopsided grin. "It's an occupational hazard, you know," I said, trotting out my old standby line. "You can take the reporter out of the newsroom. . ."

  "I get it. You're never off duty," he said, looking me straight in the eye, "even when you should be."

  Was that a warning. I shrugged—then nodded—but said nothing. Waiting for him to fill the silence.

  "And what does all this have to do with me?" he finally continued. Gotcha, I thought smugly.

  I proceeded to explain how the poaching incidents had raised other, more general questions about wildlife preservation and the role of development in habitat destruction. "That's why I need to talk with someone like yourself—to get both sides of the story."

  Edelman eyed me with open scepticism. "You're just another tree-hugger," he said, dismissing me with his tone. He refocused his attention on the contents of his glass.

  "Not true," I countered, maybe a little more hotly than intended. "What I am, is an honest reporter—trying to be fair."

  The expressionless grey eyes locked onto mine, regarding me speculatively, then returned once more to the amber depths of his drink. "Maybe."

  Hardly a raving endorsement, but I seized on the grudging comment as an invitation to continue. "To this point," I began, adopting a businesslike tone as I opened my notebook on the bar, "everything I've heard has been harshly critical of human incursion into wildlife habitat. According to the people I've interviewed, developers are far more dangerous than hunters or even poachers. How would you respond to those allegations?"

  "Normally, I wouldn't bother," Edelman said, with a caustic edge. "But since you've cornered me, and since I might actually believe it when you say you want to be fair," he continued more neutrally, turning to face me, "I'll tell you what I think. First off, these other sources of yours are starting from a faulty premise. For some reason, people like them appear to have lost contact with reality. It might be helpful if they read some Darwin—survival of the fittest and all that? If there is some impact on this precious wildlife—because of the development of a new subdivision or a shopping mall or even a multi-purpose resort—what does it matter? Can't they understand that these projects mean jobs, prosperity, and economic security for a great number of people? It's people who are important."

  "I doubt that anyone would dispute the importance of people, and certainly jobs are a vital concern, but your use of the phrase 'some impact' strikes me as a bit mild for the potential extinction of whole species."

  "You think all this fuss about extinction is anything more than hysterical scare tactics?" the developer demanded, his voice rising perceptibly.

  "Documentary evidence is hardly a mere scare tactic," I countered, fighting to keep my own emotions in check.

  "What evidence?" he sneered. "Is there any shortage of your precious bears or deer around here?"

  "Not yet," I replied evenly. "But many species are threatened when development overruns their habitat." In a few words, I repeated what Roy Friesen had explained about carrying capacity and the impact on deer populations from incursions into their winter ranges. "The land these animals need for survival is being swallowed up."

  "In this area, possibly. But there is plenty of wild space left and every year one government or another sets aside more land for parks and refuges. There are huge tracts that your beloved animals have all to themselves—no development, no logging, nothing whatsoever."
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  "And you think that's enough?" This guy's pat answers were starting to get to me. I could feel my objectivity slipping. "As long as sample populations can live in little zoo-like enclaves, we've fulfilled our obligation?"

  "What obligation?" Edelman demanded, his expression now openly contemptuous. "You're talking like a tree-hugger again. All this brouhaha is only happening because we're here to see the change. In a hundred years, no one will give a damn. Look at the cities back east. New York, Toronto, Chicago—take your pick. Those places were all once virgin forest. First the trees were cleared for farms, then the farms gave way to urbanisation. It's progress. You don't hear people in Brooklyn or Rosedale or the South Side griping because they don't see deer or bears. Like I said, a hundred years from now, nobody here will be worried either."

  I didn't buy that logic for a single minute. A century ago attitudes were completely different. With the exploitation of the "New World," there'd been a sense that resources were endless. North America was so vast and so rich, people thought they could take whatever they wanted and it would never matter. But now we knew differently. We knew that resources are limited, that pollution is spoiling much of what's left, and that population pressures are irrevocably changing our planet. It struck me that a hundred years from now, our great-grandchildren would care very much about what we'd done.

  Fighting hard to keep my feelings to myself, I bought a little time by jotting notes. "That's an interesting perspective," I said at length, trying to sound as non-committal as a court-appointed psychiatrist responding to the lunatic ramblings of a criminal psychotic. "You see no difficulty in expanding development in areas such as this?"

  "Certainly not." Edelman's eye's sparked for the first time in our conversation. "In fact, this valley is perfect for development—relatively mild winters with enough elevation for good skiing; hot dry summers; three major cities within driving distance; and easy access for the Asian market."