Paws of the Yeti

by steve higgs

  ‘Well, there’s an overnight train that leaves in four hours. Can you be ready by then?’ I asked.

  I could hear his cogs turning. ‘I have a couple of dates to cancel, but there will be plenty of women where we are going. Sure, I just need to dig my ski gear out of storage and pack a few things. You gonna pick me up?’

  ‘In my car? No, we’ll have to take yours to get to the station with all the gear in it.’ I loved my two-seater Porsche, but I had to admit that it wasn’t exactly practical unless one wanted to go fast.

  ‘Ok, count me in,’ he said. ‘I’ll be around your place in a couple of hours.’ We disconnected and I tried Jagjit again.

  This time it connected, his familiar voice saying, ‘Tempest, you’re a hard man to get hold of.’

  ‘I was on a case,’ I explained. ‘I understand you have a Yeti problem in Tignes.’

  ‘It’s not Tignes, actually. It’s a small exclusive resort not far from Tignes called Harvarti but I guess it comes under Tignes because there is nothing here other than the hotels, a few shops and restaurants and the ski centre. Anyway, a woman was killed yesterday; the daughter of the owner of the hotel we are staying in and another woman who was with her was hurt. He announced a €50000.00 reward for its capture, but I figured this was right up your street.’

  Questions were lining up in my head. I was going to have to write a list before I started forgetting them, but a couple instantly jumped to the front of the queue, ‘Is the owner looking to hire me, or is this just about the reward?’

  ‘I did mention that I knew a paranormal investigator and showed him your webpage. He asked me to make contact with you. You might want to call him yourself though before you set off.’ My brain was running fast, I had a lot to consider but my first thought was that I wanted to go skiing. During my time in the Army there had been semi-regular opportunities to take to the slopes, they encouraged adventurous activities and subsidised it for those that went. We didn’t get taught to ski backwards while firing a machine gun like you see in the James Bond movies though. Instead, in between the fun stuff where we got taught to ski, we had to participate in survival training where we would dig holes in the snow and spend the night not dying from the cold because we learned how to deal with it. We also learned what cold was, something few people do because the army loved to help us test our limits.

  What I said in reply was, ‘I’m coming anyway. Big Ben is coming too. I’ll call the hotel owner shortly and discuss the case, mostly because I don’t want the man to throw away his money when it will be some fool in a Chewbacca outfit he bought online and bleached.’

  ‘When will you get here?’ Jagjit asked.

  ‘Tomorrow late morning. We are going to take the overnight train.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘Are there rooms available?’ It was going to be a problem if there were not.

  ‘Yes, quite a few actually. There’s a bit of a stink about a rival hotel stealing all the business. I don’t know if that’s true, but you won’t have to worry about bunking with Big Ben.’

  We talked for another couple of minutes while Jagjit gave the hotel owner’s name and number, and I found out about the extent of the injured girl’s wounds and whether the Yeti had been seen by anyone other than the surviving woman. Jagjit had learned about the Yeti sighting the moment they arrived at the resort. They were issuing a warning to everyone that they should not stray off the pistes; a problem no doubt for many skiers who would specifically look to explore the untouched powder available away from the safer slopes. The Yeti had been spotted by more than a dozen people, but no one had got close to it until the poor woman and her friend had strayed into the woods late yesterday when the slopes were due to close and the sun was setting.

  Are Yetis nocturnal? I pondered, then caught myself and chuckled. How could I deliberate upon the likely habits of a make-believe creature?

  I bid Jagjit a good evening with his bride and disconnected. During our conversation, I had run through a mental checklist of what I would need to pack, so as I pulled onto my drive and killed the engine, I was trying to remember it all and wondering if I had wax for my skis and where the heck I might have put my gloves and goggles.

  I live in the small village of Finchampstead, a couple of miles outside Maidstone in the South East corner of England. We are surrounded by slopes, but they are undulating hills not mountains, so I was glad that the excellent ski resorts of the Alps were no more than a few hours to get to by car. It was too far to be a practical weekend destination, but easily driveable in a day. Trains ran there overnight, the time of the next one had been the very first thing I had checked, but now I wondered if we might be better off just driving.

  My front door barked as I got to it, the two Dachshunds on the other side excited to see me and wanting their dinner. I greeted them with, ‘Hey, guys,’ as they climbed my legs and did their best to block my way in.

  Dozer rolled onto his back as I took to a knee to fuss them, their demand for attention was fleeting though. I had been out of the house for a few hours so they wanted to visit the garden and then they would very much want their dinner; it was a well-practised routine.

  As they dashed across the lawn for a reason only known to them, I asked the air, ‘What do I do with you two?’ I pretty much universally took them everywhere with me when I could. My only concern with taking them to the Alps was the cold. They were tiny dogs and prone to feeling the cold. I could leave them with my parents as my mum and dad loved having them to visit, but I couldn’t say how long I would be away, and it seemed likely I could conduct the case even with them in tow. It was settled then; the dogs were coming on a ski holiday too.

  While they snuffled outside, and the kettle boiled some water for tea, I jotted a list of things to pack on a handy pad I kept for writing my grocery needs. Then I remembered there was another person I needed to call – Amanda Harper.

  I had met Amanda Harper on a misty morning ten weeks ago and had been instantly attracted to her. The attraction had turned to infatuation and if I am honest it had been a problem for me that I had struggled to control. While I was lusting after her, she saw me as a potential employer and had asked for a job at a time when I knew I needed to take someone on. Working together though had created a barrier to my desires, not opened a door, and she had been dating someone else while I tried to quell my thoughts for her by dating others.

  Then we had both found ourselves single and without partners at Jagjit’s wedding just three days ago and the magic had happened. I had admitted my feelings for her, and she had kissed me. Several times. I had a room at the wedding venue, but we didn’t fall straight into bed as some couples might. Instead, we had talked for several hours, tucked away in the corner of the reception and laughed about how rubbish we had both been about getting together. The following day we had met for coffee and had kissed again. We were in no rush to get to the next stage, although I will admit that Mr Wriggly was getting very impatient and threatening strike action if something didn’t happen soon.

  We had dinner planned for tomorrow night, both of us taking things slow by mutual agreement because we worked together and knew that getting this wrong would make continuing to work together difficult. Now though, I was off to France and needed to postpone our next date. I had no concern that this would upset her, but it did occur to me that she might want to come along.

  The dogs barked at the back door, their tiny claws propelling them across the carpet and through to the kitchen once I opened the door enough for them to wedge their heads through it. As they chowed down their dinner, I picked up my phone again and called Amanda.

  As she answered, she said, ‘Hi, Tempest, what’s up? How did the Fiddler bust go?’ Her voice always sounded like a choir of angels singing to me.

  ‘It was an easy bust, thank you. The clients were very happy, and the kids didn’t see a thing.’ We had discussed the concept of using the kids as bait when I was trying to work out how to catch the Fiddler. It didn’t sit well with e
ither of us, but neither could devise a plan that would work better.

  ‘Oh, good,’ she replied, then fell silent while she waited for me to say why I had called.

  I got on with asking my question, but did so in a round about way, ‘I, um, need to cancel our date tomorrow night. Something has come up.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ I could hear the surprise mixed with disappointment she was trying to hide.

  ‘I wondered, actually, if you might like to have our next date in France?’ I let that hang for a second so she could process it, but spoke again before she had a chance to. ‘There’s a Yeti at the resort Jagjit and Alice are staying in. It killed a woman yesterday.’

  ‘A yeti? You mean some moron in a costume.’ It was exactly what Big Ben had said. ‘Are you going straight out there?’

  ‘That’s the plan,’ I admitted. ‘Big Ben and I are going but it could be a lucrative case and I am guessing that it won’t take long once we work out who stands to gain.’ I dropped the timbre of my voice, deliberately giving it a husky, bedroom tone, ‘I have visions of log fires and schnapps to keep us warm after a day on the slopes. We can take a couple of days for ourselves once the case is solved. It’s supposed to be spectacular there.’

  Amanda sighed. ‘I can’t say I am not tempted. I need to finish the case I am on though. I couldn’t possible leave now, the clients need me.’

  I scrunched my face in disappointment. However, I wasn’t surprised that she wouldn’t drop the case she was on for a few days away; her diligence and determination were factors I had wanted when I employed her. Like me, she did as she ought, not as she wanted.

  I had her tell me about the case she was on and wished her luck closing it swiftly. My offer would stay open if she could get to France before I was done. We bade goodnight to each other, each wishing the other luck and expressing a hope to see each other soon. I placed my phone back on the kitchen counter and took a swig of tea. I was disappointed that I would not see Amanda for a few days but told myself to shut up and get on with it. I would see her soon enough.

  And she had better be naked!

  Mr Wriggly’s thoughts aside, I was looking forward to the relationship evolving. I couldn’t think about that now though. I had to pack for France.

  Meeting One’s Quota. Tuesday, November 29th 2313hrs

  There wasn’t much to look at or anywhere to go on the Eurostar car train. Specifically designed to take people in their cars from England to France or vice-versa in just over half an hour; the carriages were little more than a series of car parking spaces one after the other for the length of the train. There was no bar or snack shack; the only concession was toilets set every few carriages.

  Though it was only a short journey on the train, I got the dogs out of the car anyway. We were in for a long drive overnight, which Big Ben and I would share, and the dogs would sleep in their bed that was on top of some bags on the back seat. I doubted we would hear from them at any point, but it was prudent to make them stretch their legs now.

  Big Ben got out as well, spotted two women in the car behind us which was also loaded up with ski gear, and went to talk them out of their knickers. Big Ben drove a shiny black, huge, kitted-out Ford Ranger utility vehicle with a truckman cab over the load bed. He had money to spare so had coughed up the extra to add the Deranged body kit which flared the wheel arches, then added twenty-inch wheels and put a massive bulge on the bonnet. It looked like the car that Batman might drive if he wanted to go cross-country. I couldn’t deny the practicality though. We had fitted four pairs of skis, two each because it’s nice to have some choice, plus boots, helmets, bags of clothing, plus all the gear that the dogs needed and a holdall that Big Ben assured me was full of condoms and would be coming back empty. Putting all of that in had barely dented the available load space though there was already a vague plan to bring back several cases of French wine when we returned.

  While I walked the little dogs up and down the carriage we were in, I thought back to my conversation with the owner of the Constantine Hotel, a man who was now my client. Hubert Caron was managing a lot of conflicting emotions, that was evident to me in the first few seconds of listening to him speak. He was gravely upset about his daughter’s death, angry about several things including his daughter’s death, and he was ready to blame the owner of the other hotel in the resort. I had outlined my fees, but he had scoffed at the costs. I guess if you own and run a luxury hotel in an exclusive resort, you probably don’t have too many cash concerns, although he did express that he was being squeezed out of business by his rival and the Yeti was the latest problem in a long line of issues that had blighted his hotel in recent times.

  My stroll with the dogs had taken me to the far end of the carriage. There were doors to lead me though to the next carriage but no reason to go any further when it would look exactly the same as this one. I walked behind the rearmost car and started back up the other side. I could see Big Ben ahead of me, leaning against the wall of the carriage while grinning lazily at the two ladies who had now left their car and joined him. They both had their backs to me as they faced him but turned to see what he was looking at as he chucked a wave in my direction.

  It was a tactic on his part because he knew girls, in general, went mad for my dogs. These two were no exception. I estimated their age to be late twenties or perhaps early thirties, they were both slim and attractive and of Asian descent although I would struggle to pin point a region or country. Chances were they had lived in England their entire lives.

  The first one to spot Bull and Dozer was closest to the car, her hip leaning against the driver’s door. She glanced, did a double take and as her eyes widened, she tapped her friend on the arm. ‘Look, Maisy. Look at the sausages.’

  Maisy turned her head and then turned around completely and crouched to make cooing noises while the two boys struggled against their leads. I kept them in check, but we got there soon enough. With their tails wagging so fast they were barely visible; the dogs accepted the affection the ladies were offering as if they were continually starved of it living with me.

  Above the ladies’ heads, Big Ben was gesticulating at me. I took his actions to be a question: Which one do I want?

  I mouthed, ‘Neither,’ silently while shaking my head in despair. That he knew I was with Amanda now, and would consider even the slightest exchange of affection with another woman as cheating, never entered his equation. He and I were very different in some respects.

  He saw my response though and laughed at me, saying out loud, ‘All the more for me then, wet pants.’

  ‘All the more what?’ asked Maisy as she stood back up again. Then turning to me she said, ‘Your dogs are delightful,’ with a smile.

  ‘What are their names?’ asked her friend, which gave me cause to talk about the dogs for the next couple of minutes. As I finished regaling them with Dozer’s adventure in the river a couple of months back, the tannoy pinged followed by an announcement that we were just a few minutes from arriving and a request that all passengers now return to their cars.

  ‘It was nice meeting you,’ said Maisy as she stepped to her car and opened the driver’s door. Her friend said the same and they were gone leaving Big Ben looking confused.

  Cheerily I called out, ‘Come on, Ben. There will be girls where we are going.’ I slid between the cars to get around to the passenger side. He stomped along grumpily to settle behind the wheel while I tucked the dogs back into their bed. With a final pat, I pulled a blanket over them and joined Big Ben in the cab. ‘You look unusually irked at losing your prey,’ I observed.

  He turned his head toward me. ‘I am behind on my quota,’ he replied dryly.

  I had to laugh. ‘Do you mean you have been getting less than usual?’

  ‘Yes. Last week the cleaning activities at the Dockyard, Jagjit’s stag do, where you refused to let me bring strippers, and then the wedding all conspired to rob me of opportunity. I’m not complaining about sorting out the business at the
Dockyard and helping out your dad,’ he was holding his hands up defensively, ‘but I am behind on my monthly quota and plan to catch up this week.’

  ‘Didn’t you hook up with no fewer than three of Alice’s friends at the wedding?’

  ‘Yup,’ he admitted happily.

  ‘And didn’t you invite a bus load of beauties to Jagjit’s stag do anyway. Surely one of them must have gone home with you.’

  ‘Two of them,’ he boasted.

  ‘And yet you claim to be behind on your quota?’

  ‘Indeed.’ The traffic ahead of us was starting to move. Big Ben turned his engine on and waited for the car in front. I genuinely didn’t want to know anymore about it. I would be quite content if I got to a point where Amanda and I engaged in nocturnal activities on a semi-regular basis. Relationships were, in my experience, quite hot at the start until the fire of passion burned down a bit. I was looking forward to both stages.

  With that thought in my head, I settled into the seat and got comfortable. Big Ben was going to drive the first shift and wake me when he got tired. It would take between six and seven hours to get to Tignes where we had to abandon the car and take a cable car to the resort. I was going to get some sleep.

  The Resort. Wednesday, November 30th 0545hrs

  It was still dark out when I opened my eyes, but the first tinges of daylight could be seen on the horizon as we travelled east. I smacked my lips a few times as I squinted at the clock on the dash and stretched in place. Driving might have been the easiest and fastest solution, but it wasn’t the most comfortable even in Big Ben’s giant car.

  Big Ben’s hand swung in front of my face with a fast food chain soda cup in it. ‘Some caffeine?’ he asked.

  I yawned and accepted the cup. My tongue felt like it was coated in glue. ‘Where are we?’ I asked as I sat myself up straight in the chair.