An Old Faithful Murder

by Valerie Wolzien

  She had seen them in the lobby of the lodge as the Henshaws joined the Gordons for dinner, but wasn’t sure where they had ended up until they sat down in front of Susan and Jed. Now …

  “Aunt Charlotte! Aunt Jane! Do you know where my mother is? She said she would meet us here.”

  Susan heard the distinctive voice of C.J. and realized he was speaking to the women in front of her. More Ericksens! She glanced at Jed and realized he was grinning.

  “We’re surrounded,” he whispered to her. “They’re everywhere!”

  “Jed!” she hissed back, elbowing his down-covered ribs.

  “Here comes that cute redhead. Maybe she’s an Ericksen too—she’s just disguised as a park ranger.”

  “Her name is Marnie Mackay,” Susan whispered back. “I told you.”

  “She just says her name is Marnie Mackay,” Jed quipped.

  “Good evening, folks, my name is Marnie Mackay. I’m a park ranger and I’m going to be giving the interpretive talk tonight. We’ll be starting in about ten minutes. We’ll just wait that long for the people who are outside right now watching Old Faithful do its thing.”

  “I’m missing it again,” Susan wailed.

  Jed patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’re going to be here for a week. We’ll see it more than once.”

  “Hi, Mom!” Her daughter dropped down in the auditorium seat next to her.

  “Chrissy! Where’s Chad?”

  “Watching Old Faithful, where else? He said it’s the third time he’s seen it. Have you seen him on skis? He’s going to be sore tonight.”

  “I don’t seem to be seeing much of anything,” Susan said.

  “Have you seen Call Me Irv?”

  “Who?”

  “That’s what we call him because that’s what he says to everybody. His name is Irving Cockburn—Dr. Irving Cockburn. He’s a psychiatrist. And he’s short, dumpy, and bald, and he says to everyone, ‘Call me Irv’—like it’s a big deal that we call him something beside Dr. Cockburn. He was watching Old Faithful go off with Chad and C.J. and Heather and me, and he talked so much about himself that he almost blocked out the sound of the eruption—and that’s some explosion to drown out! And he told us how he started his practice working with teenagers and they spent session after session deciding what to call him until they decided to—”

  “Call him Irv,” Susan finished for her.

  “Yes. And C.J. and Chad kept asking why they called it ‘practice,’ and Call Me Irv didn’t get it.”

  Susan wondered just how rude her son had been.

  “There he is now. That’s Call Me Irv.”

  Susan followed her gaze to the double doors at the front of the auditorium. Her daughter’s description, if unkind, had been accurate: he was short and overweight. Irving Cockburn was a man around forty years old who had, apparently, never learned to dress to show off his good points. His too stiff jeans hung above expensive and, in this weather, slippery cowboy boots with too high heels. His bright parka hung open over an “i skied the big one at jackson hole” T-shirt. A cowboy hat with a feather band topped this attire; it also hid any lack of hair. He looked ridiculous.

  “He’s from Miami,” Chrissy announced.

  “I’m not surprised,” Susan answered.

  “I’m on time,” he announced to the crowd at large before turning to Marnie. “I’m not late, right?”

  “Watch how he’s always trying to get all the attention,” Chrissy said. “Heather thinks it’s odd that he’s a psychiatrist. She says he’s invented a new type of therapy; he talks, and the patient listens.”

  “I didn’t mean to be late, but I just had to grab a few minutes and check on waxes at the ski shack—I want to get an early start tomorrow morning, you know. Say—” he leaned closer to Marnie Mackay, but didn’t lower his voice “—do those guys at the ski shack really know what they’re talking about?”

  “Yes. Definitely.” She shook her red curls for emphasis. “But sometimes they’re great jokers, too.” She turned slightly so she was speaking to the audience as well as to Irving Cockburn. “One of the things they like to do is take greenhorn rangers out on their first ski trip. We all learn to ski pretty quickly here in the winter—when there’s over ten feet of snow on the ground, you don’t have any choice.

  “Well, my first ski trip, one of the guys who runs the shack took me up to Solitary Geyser and suggested I ski down. Now, that’s something none of you folks should do. That trail is for snowshoes only—it’s very steep. Well, of course, I fell immediately, and then I had to scoot down the rest of the way on my butt, pulling my brand-new skis and poles behind me.”

  Her audience chuckled. Dr. Cockburn blanched. “They suggested I take a trail … Let’s see, I wrote it down and put it in one of these pockets.…” He started pulling handkerchiefs, sun block, and ski goggles from his parka. “You don’t think—”

  “I’m sure they only play those games on staff. Believe me, Yellowstone can be a dangerous place in the winter. We’re all here to keep you safe—not to cause problems.

  “Maybe we should start on our talk,” she continued, moving to the front of the room. Dr. Cockburn, ignored, noisily sat himself down in the front row, distributing his belongings on both adjoining seats.

  “Mother and Father are going to be late,” the older sister, the one C.J. had called Aunt Jane, whispered to the other as the lights, responding to a button Marnie had pushed, began to dim.

  “When did Father ever miss anything—” Charlotte began, when the rear doors of the auditorium opened to reveal a couple in their sixties. The man was tall, and both his clothing and his build implied that he hunted, fished, climbed, and split logs daily. He wore jeans held up by bright red suspenders over a wool plaid shirt, and heavy hiking boots on his feet. A wool watch cap covered longish gray hair that led to a full beard. His wife, whose dainty shape only accented his largeness, wore similar clothing, minus the suspenders. She, of course, didn’t have a beard. She wore tiny gold glasses, and her gray hair was short and fluffy. Of course, she had two pretty adult daughters, Susan thought, she was still pretty herself.

  “See, they made it. I told you Father never misses anything,” Charlotte whispered to her sister, waving to get her parents’ attention.

  “Too bad. We’d all be happier if he did,” was Jane’s enigmatic reply.

  FIVE

  “I don’t know about you, but I’d love a mug of hot buttered rum before going back to the room.”

  “I told Chad to hurry, unpack, shower, and get into bed. We should all be up early—and I’m pretty tired tonight,” Susan said, letting her husband lead her into the tiny rustic bar next to the dining room.

  “It’s vacation, hon. Don’t worry. He’s old enough to start taking care of himself. And you’re tired because of the time change—it’s almost midnight back home in Connecticut. Remember, we were in a taxi to Kennedy Airport at five-thirty this morning.… Two hot buttered rums,” he said to the young waitress who immediately appeared at their table. She hurried off to get their order, and Jed leaned back in his chair and yawned. “That was an interesting talk. I didn’t know how few wolves were left around here.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it?” Susan muttered, not paying much attention, her eyes wandering around the dozen tiny tables and their occupants.

  “Chad said that a coyote came up to him when he and C.J. were stopped to fix his ski binding. He said it looked just like a dog—until it opened its mouth. I think they were more than a little surprised to see the length of the fangs.…”

  “Fangs!” Susan’s attention could always be commanded if she thought one of her children was endangered. “Did it snap at him? Did you tell him not to get too close?”

  “Evidently it didn’t do anything,” Jed assured her. “He said it just sat down a few yards away from them and yawned.”

  “Yawned?”

  “Some of the coyotes around here have become beggars—like the bears used to be.” The waitress
had reappeared with their drinks and some information. “They’re getting to be a problem. The naturalists don’t like it because it alters the natural environment—coyotes are scavengers, not beggars—and, of course, it’s always potentially dangerous when a wild animal gets too close to people. They’re asking everyone to report beggars to the rangers.”

  “We’ll have to tell the kids,” Susan said, picking up the cinnamon stick protruding from the steaming white ceramic mug and licking it off.

  “Anything else?” their waitress asked.

  “Not right now, thanks.”

  “Done any skiing today?” she asked before trotting off to help another tourist.

  “No. We just got here.”

  “Well, have a real nice visit.”

  “Everyone here is so friendly,” Jed commented, sipping his drink and watching the charming girl hurry off.

  “Do you think we should get hold of Chad right away?” Susan insisted.

  “He’s in his room listening to C.J.’s tape deck. No coyotes are going to attack him there, Sue.”

  “Well, okay.” Susan took a sip of the warm liquid and tried to relax.

  “What time do you think we should set the alarm for?” Jed asked, after a pause. “We should be at the ski shack at eight-thirty to get our skis. The lesson starts at nine. We’ll all want to have a good breakfast first. And knowing our daughter, she’ll want to wash and dry her hair.… Sue, are you listening to me?”

  She wasn’t. She was leaning back in the chair with her head resting on the partition that divided the bar from the rest of the room.

  “Sue?” Jed realized what was going on. “Hear something interesting?” he asked.

  “Shhhh!”

  Jed gave up. He knew his wife well after nineteen years of marriage, and if she found something intriguing on the other side of the wall, she would listen to it. It wasn’t that she was nosy in an ordinary sense; it was more that she found people fascinating. And since this fascination had helped more people than it hurt and had, in fact, helped one or two of their friends out of serious trouble, he certainly wasn’t going to discourage her. He smiled and reached across the table for her hand.

  Susan looked up and grinned. “It’s the Ericksens again—I’m becoming obsessed with them.”

  “Which one this time?” he asked, pretty sure that they wouldn’t be overheard in the low hum of the full room.

  “Jon and Beth—although Beth isn’t an Ericksen.” She laughed at herself. “See, I even know all their names.”

  “They’re some family.”

  “Interesting.” She agreed with what he didn’t say. “Don’t you think it’s a little unusual that out of five grown-up children, only one is married?”

  “Well, the youngest, the boy that was sitting at the end of table who was wandering around before dinner …”

  “His name is Darcy—and he’s gay. I know.” She scraped the bottom of her empty mug with the cinnamon stick.

  “How … ?”

  “Just look at the way he and his friend—I haven’t managed to catch his name yet—look at each other.”

  “His friend’s name is Randy,” Jed said. “I overheard Darcy talking to his parents. They didn’t appeared to be thrilled—to say the least.”

  “Really!”

  “In fact, Mr. Ericksen senior—”

  “George,” Susan prompted.

  “Okay, George. Well, he looked a little like he was going to have a stroke—he turned red and purple, and clutched the glass he was holding so hard that I was surprised it didn’t break.”

  “How did Phyllis take it?”

  “Phyllis is the family matriarch, I presume?”

  Susan nodded.

  “She seemed to be more in control. She held out her hand to Randy with only a slight hesitation. And she smiled—possibly through gritted teeth. In truth, she seemed more interested in how her husband was taking the introduction than anything else.”

  “That’s interesting.…” Susan looked off into the distance.

  “It’s always a little sad when adult children are so influenced by the opinions of their parents,” Jed suggested, wondering about the future of his own family.

  “True,” Susan muttered. She moved closer to her husband. “Do you know what I was listening to when we first ordered? A conversation about whether to tell Dad. About what would happen if they told him—or what would happen if they didn’t tell him and he found out.”

  “What?”

  “What?” she repeated his question.

  “When—or if—he found out what?” Jed explained patiently.

  “Actually, I don’t know.” She drained her cup. “I missed that part.”

  “Maybe you should ask them to speak up next time.” Jed laughed at the expression on his wife’s face.

  “I—” But Susan didn’t have a chance to defend herself: embarrassingly enough, they were joined by one of the people they had been discussing.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Henshaw! I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Phyllis Ericksen, and my daughter-in-law tells me that my grandchildren have become great friends with your children.”

  Susan and Jed exchanged looks: Had their conversation been overheard? They had the same thought, and both of them blushed. This habit was possibly one of the reasons they had been happily married for so long.

  But Phyllis Ericksen gave no indication of having overheard. “May I sit down for a few minutes, or were you just leaving?” She appeared to detect some hesitation in their hospitality.

  Jed set to work to make up for any lack on their part. “We were just going to order another hot buttered rum. Why don’t you join us? Or—the waitress recommended the mulled wine.…”

  “That sounds wonderful. If you’re sure you were planning on staying.”

  “Definitely.” Susan swallowed a yawn.

  “Fabulous.” Phyllis Ericksen pulled an empty chair up to the table and sat down. “You know, the change of altitude affects everyone differently. I know it makes some people sleepy, but I find it invigorating. I actually find I need less sleep at higher elevations.”

  “Do you ski?” Susan asked, as she had asked everyone since arriving in the park.

  “Of course. We’ve been cross-country skiing for years. We used to downhill, too, but George—that’s my husband—took a bad spill about four years ago. The first thing he did after getting out of the hospital was sell all his downhill equipment. He had been complaining about the crowds on the slopes for years. Cross-country is much quieter, much less destructive to the environment, and more civilized.”

  “So you gave up downhill, too?” Susan asked.

  “Of course. And the cross-country trails here are fabulous. We’re lucky that the snow is perfect right now.”

  “You’ve been in the park for a while?” Jed asked.

  “Three days. We did eleven miles yesterday.”

  “Joyce said that the family was here to celebrate your anniversary. Was it a surprise party?” Susan asked as Jed waved over their waitress and ordered their drinks. She wished she could suggest leaving the rum out of hers; she certainly wasn’t finding the altitude invigorating. It was 1:00 a.m. at home; she had spent four and a half hours flying from New York to Wyoming, one hour on a bus, three and a half hours on the snowcoach. She was exhausted. But Phyllis (who asked to be called that: “We believe in informality in our family”) was answering her question.

  “No, it wasn’t a surprise. In fact, I spent hours and hours phoning long distance trying to work out the arrangements. It isn’t easy to gather twelve people from all over the country in one place at the same time, I can tell you.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t,” Jed agreed.

  “Where do you live?” Susan asked politely.

  “Just outside Chicago. Joyce and Carlton are living in Los Angeles. They probably told you about their recent move from Paris. They decided it was time to come home. Carlton got a wonderful job offer in California, and I know that they’re h
oping their children will go to American universities in a few years. My daughters, Jane and Charlotte, live on opposite sides of the continent. Charlotte lives in San Francisco. And it is almost impossible to get Jane to leave her condo in New York City. She has become a true New Yorker.”

  “And the rest of your family?”

  “Jon is finishing up requirements for his doctorate in geology at the University of Colorado in Boulder—and he wants to stay somewhere in the West when he’s done. It depends upon job availability, of course. And Darcy, my youngest, is in college in Boston. He’s an artist,” she added, displaying pride in her youngest’s choice of vocation.

  “Really! A painter?” Jed asked, distributing the drinks that their waitress had brought.

  “Yes. Although he does some design work to pay the bills. He’s a very talented silversmith. He started with precious metals as a freshman in high school. So he’s had almost six years of experience. He’s worked in various galleries in Provincetown—out on Cape Cod—for the last three years. He’s saving his money. He hopes to study in Europe this summer.”

  “How interesting,” Jed said as she stopped to drink.

  Very, Susan agreed, but she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t difficult to see which one of her children Phyllis preferred. Darcy was certainly her delight, but had she detected a note of sadness when mentioning his approaching trip to Europe?

  “This is excellent. I must tell George about it. He would love it.” Phyllis sipped from her glass mug. The deep ruby liquid shimmered in the light of the candle on the table.

  Susan felt a chill shimmy up her spine, and suddenly, incongruously, she remembered a feature in a magazine her children had loved in their preschool years.

  Each month a full page had been devoted to a black-and-white sketch of a common scene: a classroom full of children, a family on a picnic, a baseball team competing on a summer day. Except that in the classroom, the writing on the blackboard would be upside down and one of the children barefoot, or the scene would show men in the moon staring down upon it instead of a bright sun, or the boy up at bat would be swinging at a cabbage instead of a ball. And the heading at the top of the page, in bold type, would ask a simple question: What’s wrong with this picture?