Tainted Mountain

by Shannon Baker

  His face didn’t soften. “Then walk away from it.”

  Scott might as well suggest they buy a ranch on Mars. “I didn’t even want to run a ski area! But we’re in it now. We can’t just give up.”

  He shrugged and looked away from her. “I thought it would be fun.”

  When she’d been offered Kachina Ski from her late stepfather, she wanted to turn it down. But Scott had practically begged her, promising they’d do it together. But the picture he painted of growing a fruitful business together and raising children free to roam the mountain had faded with the drought. “When we have reliable snow, it will be fun,” she said.

  He frowned. “We have no right to alter the natural environment for profit.”

  What? Mutiny now they’d just won their victory? He had been on board with the fight for snow making in the beginning. She opened her mouth to remind him of the drought-relief snow making would bring to the mountain. But she simply closed her mouth again. It didn’t matter what the issue, he rarely agreed with her anymore. Never laughed with her. She couldn’t remember the last time he even kissed her.

  The stress of the ski business killed their hope. The drought not only sucked the land dry, but her energy and resources as well. If she could get a good year or two, pay down the debt, ease up the pressure on them both, they’d be okay together, she had felt sure of it. Maybe they’d slow down enough to have a baby. Making snow meant making money, and to Nora, that meant saving their marriage as well.

  “Scott, when we started this fight you were all for doing whatever it took to keep Kachina Ski alive. What’s changed?”

  His eyes darted away from hers. “Things.”

  Controlling her impatience was like trying to keep a tree upright after the lumberjack had yelled “Timber!” “You said you thought snow making was a good idea.”

  Scott shook his head. “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  He shifted from one foot to another. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Sudden tears burned. More secrets, when he used to tell her everything. She remembered sitting in a mountain meadow, their packs discarded under a tree. They held hands and Scott told her how he never loved anyone as he loved her. When he laid her down with her back against their mountain and the sun in her eyes, it felt to her that their souls joined in their lovemaking. Now she struggled to get him to talk about his day.

  “When have I ever not believed you?” she said.

  “Since you stopped believing in anything except cash flows and lines of credit.”

  A nice one-two to the heart. “Kachina Ski won’t run itself, so someone has to think about the business.”

  He glared at her. “See what I mean?”

  Idiot. She always said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. What changed your mind about snow making?”

  “You won’t get it.”

  “I want to get it. Tell me.”

  He leaned against the building. “Okay. Up on the mountain yesterday when I ran the Ponderosa trail, about four miles into it, near the summit … ” He paused as if reluctant to go on.

  She and Scott used to run the trails together. Other than this morning, she couldn’t recall how long it had been since she’d had time for such outdoor exercise. Now, walking Abbey from the lodge down to Mountain Village constituted a big outing.

  Scott started again. “I saw something blue in the trees and I stopped to get a better look.”

  Nora froze, suddenly alert.

  “It was a guy. I mean, he had arms and legs. He was all decked out in some kind of costume and had a mask. He had a blue sash and held feathers and a hatchet.”

  Like her kachina, the one broken and abandon in the gutter or the guy she didn’t see in the forest. A hard pit formed in her stomach. “Maybe you caught a Native American in the middle of a ceremony.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I got the feeling he was expecting me.”

  She ignored the hairs that stood on her neck.

  A thin sheen of perspiration formed above his lip. “It was like the whole forest stopped moving and held its breath.”

  “What happened?”

  “I started walking toward him and he raised his hatchet.” Scott’s eyes lost focus. “He didn’t say anything. But it felt like he was warning me.”

  “Warning you?”

  “He was telling me not to make snow.”

  Her belief lost its suspension and crashed to the ground. “What happened then?”

  “I took another step toward him and he ran away. I chased him and he darted behind a tree and then … he was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yeah. Vanished. Like he was never there. I searched all over but never found a trace of him.”

  “Let me understand this. Some guy dressed in a kachina outfit met you on the trail and you got the feeling he was giving you a message from Native American mythical gods to sabotage your means of livelihood.”

  His face closed up.

  “And you believe this?” She cringed at the incredulous tone of her own voice.

  “See? That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

  “Why, because I have a firm grip on reality? Because I have some perspective?”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Because for you everything is black and white.”

  “The only reason you can give me for ruining our chance at success is a phantom visit from a mythological spirit. How can you expect me to believe that?”

  His ears turned red, a sure sign he was losing his temper. “If you insist on snow making, something bad is going to happen.”

  “Why are you suddenly so against snow making?”

  He bristled. “I told you why.” He stared at her a moment. “And …

  never mind. Forget it.”

  Her teeth clenched so tight against a retort her jaws hurt. “What?”

  “If you don’t believe the kachina, why should I bother you with anything else?”

  “What else?”

  “It’s best if you don’t know.”

  He was dismissing her from his life yet again. “Or what? You’ll have to kill me?”

  He looked worried. “Just don’t make snow, okay?”

  Nora ached to give Scott everything he wanted and she would, as soon as they started making money. “Scott. This is our only chance at survival.” She wasn’t talking about the business.

  “Then I’m outta here.” Scott spun around and took off.

  She agreed to take over Kachina Ski because he wanted it, and she fought for four years to make it work. She worked seven days a week, filed lawsuits, sat through court hearings. All for Scott, to somehow make him happy so he wouldn’t leave her. Hell, she’d even forgiven him for what he did two years ago. She couldn’t let her marriage end in a side alley to a parking lot. “Wait!”

  When she burst around the corner onto the sidewalk, Big Elk and his usual knot of devotees stared at her from across the street. Cole stood between her and Big Elk’s contingent with his arms crossed. Great. She and Scott were afternoon street entertainment like the noon shoot-out reenactment in Tombstone.

  She couldn’t worry about that now. “Scott! What did you mean?”

  He turned around. “I mean I’m done. Finished. Through with Kachina and through with you.”

  She negotiated and worked deals in business, fought daunting court battles, and created business plans to make Donald Trump weep. A modern businesswoman to be sure. Yet Scott always managed to have the upper hand with her. She wouldn’t beg. Couldn’t let herself. “Please, Scott.” Damn it, have some pride. “Don’t go.”

  She could feel the eyes of the crowd on her, sense their interest in her private affairs. Thank goodness her mother, Abigail, was still alive. If not, there would be major grave-rolling-over at this little episo
de of the Jerry Springer Road Show.

  Scott’s gaze made her feel like a hairy spider crawling across the kitchen floor. “You’re strong, Nora. You don’t need me.” No more shouting and red ears, just a disgusted shake of his head as he turned.

  She watched her husband’s back moving away down the sidewalk, dragging her heart on the pavement behind him.

  Five

  Barrett did not like mountain hikes, but he’d learned early on to do whatever it took to keep his family and McCreary Energy safe. If that meant meeting this earth muffin in secret on a mountaintop, then he’d do it.

  While they climbed, Barrett let Scott yammer about protecting the environment and people’s health. As if the bonehead knew anything about saving people. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness probably came next on Scott’s list of talking points.

  Barrett was beyond happiness; pursuing it for himself would be a waste of time.

  Scott strode along the trail ahead of Barrett. “I want you to know I appreciate you meeting me.”

  Barrett thought about swatting the back of Scott’s head. “You said you wanted to talk about groundwater on the Hopi reservation.”

  Scott stopped and waited for Barrett. “Did you know this mountain is sacred to fourteen tribes?”

  I even know why. Barrett stepped around Scott and kept walking.

  Past sixty and overweight, Barrett’s main exercise consisted of riding his champion quarter horses on his ranch. His monthly hiking meetings with Scott stretched his patience as well as his stamina.

  Scott followed closely on Barrett’s heels. “You read the last report, right?”

  The trail rounded a curve and Barrett saw what he was looking for, a sheer drop on the side away from the cliff. A boulder field bottomed out on jagged lava rock 100 feet down.

  Barrett struggled to get his air. Flagstaff sat 7,000 feet above sea level, so they must be at a good 10,000 feet on this mountain. That left little oxygen. He hated the sweat dripping down his jowls and couldn’t wait to get back, to shower and wash the slick film covering his body.

  Scott’s breath sounded soft as a sigh. “We need to go public with this information right away.”

  Barrett saved his limited air.

  “I know something this big will impact McCreary Energy.”

  Impact it? You cretin, it would destroy it.

  Scott fidgeted in the silence, as if unsure what to do next.

  Barrett leaned against the cliff wall.

  Scott stared at him, voice incredulous. “You aren’t going to do anything about it?”

  “Why yes. Your lovely wife is going to make snow on Kachina Mountain.”

  Scott shook his head. “But—with these results—that’s not okay.”

  Barrett pushed away from the cliff wall and took a step forward. He spoke quietly. “Making snow is good for business. Making snow will eliminate our little problem. Everyone is happy.”

  Scott looked wounded and stumbled back a step. “I thought … ”

  Barrett narrowed his eyes. “What evidence do you have about this?”

  Scott gazed toward the meadow, hundreds of feet below them. “I submitted the well logs to you. You wouldn’t hide this, would you?”

  “Did you make copies?”

  A spark of panic lit Scott’s eyes. “You can’t cover this up.” As Barrett suspected, Scott was too much of a dolt to keep copies.

  Barrett took another step toward Scott. “The problem is being taken care of.”

  The nervous man glanced down the trail, no doubt searching for escape. Barrett guessed Scott was now regretting trusting Barrett and not making copies. “Pumping water on the peaks is no solution,” he said.

  Barrett sighed. He hadn’t wanted it to come to this, but the moron left him no choice. He might be old and out of shape, but his extra weight wouldn’t hinder him now. Without another word, Barrett lurched toward Scott and slammed into the fool, launching him over the edge.

  The granola cruncher had been paid well to keep his mouth shut and until now hadn’t had any temptation to open his trap and spoil his good deal. The only person who might know about this was his wife, but if she spoke up, the whole snow-making deal would be off. He’d keep an eye on her, but she struck Barrett as too smart to let that happen.

  Barrett glanced over the side of the cliff.

  Not much blood, but the angle of the neck proved just how dangerous it was to cross Barrett McCreary III.

  Six

  Nora stood on the wide lodge porch and gazed across the empty expanse of the ski run. There were so few summer mornings to savor on her mountain, and this one had withered away in worry, meetings, balance sheets, and business plans.

  Abbey trotted up the lodge steps, tongue lolling.

  Nora scratched his ears. “You don’t care if the bank is skeptical about snow making and Scott walked out, do you? As long as there is a rabbit on this mountain and food in your dish, you’re content.”

  He slopped in his tongue, wagged his tail, and sat to survey his mountain.

  The restless night alone pounded in fatigue behind Nora’s eyes. With her closest neighbors in Mountain Village, nestled three miles down the winding road at the base of the mountain, she felt isolated at the lodge. She’d jumped at every noise, afraid Big Elk or Knife Guy would come back to finish her off. Hoping maybe Scott would return.

  The nip of pine wafted in the air and the sun filtered through the branches, creating a camouflage of cheer on the grass. Normally the fiery penstemon, the violet flax, and sunny cinquefoil made her heart light. Today, she forced appreciation for the beauty around her.

  She stared at the rocky, red dirt parking lot about two hundred feet down a path from the lodge. She imagined snow piled on the periphery and happy people shrugging into ski togs. She loved those days. Everyone excited and busy, laughter chasing around the mountain. Unfortunately, too many days the parking lot sat empty.

  Nora allowed herself memories of early morning skiing with Scott. They often checked the slopes before allowing skiers on the runs. Sharing the thrill of their mountain, the morning runs had felt as intimate as lovemaking.

  Nora shook away those memories. Enough emotional torture, business beckoned. The morning’s meeting in town with her banker had yielded mixed results. Despite her impressive charts and projections and armed with the court’s decision, her banker considered her already sizeable operating loan and the refinanced business loan. Kachina Ski’s lifeline showed minimal activity. But making snow would not only speed recovery, it would guarantee robust health far into the future. At least that’s what she’d told the banker.

  In the end, the banker offered enough to pay for initial construction of the snow-making equipment, providing she came up with investors to furnish the remaining capital.

  Set my hair on fire, pull my toenails out with pliers, bury me to my neck in hot sand, but don’t make me call my mother for money.

  For the thousandth time since dawn, Nora scanned the forest behind the lodge. Scott might traipse back after camping in the forest. It wouldn’t be the first time he appeared after a night away and they went along as usual with no mention of the argument.

  A ridiculous notion. Failure had been threatening their marriage for months, maybe years. Despite all their efforts, they’d never really recovered from … her mind automatically shifted away.

  A flash of bright blue drew her attention deep into the forest. Scott? But then, it might be Knife Guy, back for blood. Isolated out here, he wouldn’t have to wait for the cover of darkness. Logic did nothing to stop the electric flash of nerves.

  A fat, mean blue jay flew from the forest.

  Just a bird, she thought.

  A crash behind her sent another zing of fire through her chest. Abbey barked. Nora spun and fell against the railing, arms up, ready to defend herself.


  She drew in a breath, probably her last. A figure lurched from the gloomy lodge.

  “Oh, God.” She slowly exhaled, allowing the panic to dissolve. This heart fibrillation needed to stop or she’d keel over dead.

  Charlie—gray-haired hippy, survivor of the summer of love and whatever Jesus freak, earth-loving, peacenik movements surged in the old days—stood in front of the screen door he’d let bang closed. His rusty voice brought his usual good cheer. “Didn’t mean to startle you, dear. You are beauty and grace and give me reason to live.”

  Long live normalcy—at least Charlie’s version. “I’m here just for you,” she said.

  Pabst Blue Ribbon beer can clutched in his hand, Charlie made his way to her, Abbey dancing at his feet. His grizzled face wore a grin and his faded eyes crinkled with affection. “I heard what happened in town yesterday. You ought to keep the back door of the lodge locked.”

  “I thought it was locked.” Her inadvertent vulnerability shocked her.

  Though they called the rambling building a lodge, it more resembled an insulated barn with a few dividing walls to separate the small snack bar, rental and locker area, and her office. On snowy days crowds packed the small place, making it hot and stuffy. The rest of the time it echoed and a constant chill filled the air. With a dependable snow supply, they could expand. Why not build a restaurant, get a liquor license? Possibilities—always lurking in Nora’s mind—warred against her worry.

  “Might think about getting a gun too.” Charlie lived in Mountain Village, edged up to the forest, probably born of the pine needles and cinders after the last volcano erupted. He stopped in with his beer to visit Nora a couple of times a week then headed up one trail or another to perpetrate his peculiar brand of peaceful eco-terrorism. The idea of him wielding a gun made Nora smile.

  “What’s the good news today, Ranger?” Nora asked her usual question.

  Charlie gulped his beer and gave his expected response. “Looks like rain.”

  Nora knew Charlie hung teapots, kettles, coffee cups, and water buckets in a tree in front of his house to encourage rain.