Canyon Echoes

by Miranda Nading

  11

  Slamming the last file drawer shut, Hudson leaned back on his haunches and looked around Lester's office. He had spent all morning combing through Lake, talking to Lester's family and trying to find anything, any reason, why someone would have wanted to off the man. So far, he'd come up with zilch, zip, nada.

  The only negative impression he'd gotten, was from the pre-season understaff. Being a micromanager and perfectionist was not usually enough to make someone want to throw you into an acid bath. People had been killed for less, though, so he would still need to go through all the background checks before he could rule out anyone for certain.

  The files and boxes crammed into the small office Lester shared with his assistant held every piece of paper, and every report the dead man had touched during his five-year tenure as the top dog on location. More boxes, labeled and taped in the attic of Lake Hotel, held every scrap of paper that had crossed the man's palms since the day he stepped into the management ring, first as F&B manager for Lake, then as Front Desk Manager, until he finally clawed his way up to managing everything.

  As far as Hudson was concerned, it bypassed obsession with detail and jumped head first into hoarding. The man was a packrat.

  “Ranger Foster?” a small voice asked from behind him.

  Hudson turned to find Lester's sister-in-law, Silvia, standing in the doorway, a laptop cradled close to her breasts. She took a step over the threshold, thought twice and stepped back outside. Her eyes were puffy and raw from crying and her hair was a mess. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days.

  His first take on her had not been a generous one. Despite her tears and the devotion she showered on her sister, she struck him as high maintenance, snotty. They were in the Yellowstone wilderness yet she sported high heels, designer jeans and a blouse that looked more in line with high society.

  He shook off his personal feelings and tried for a sincere smile. No matter what kind of person she was, she was suffering. Grief, true grief, was hard to fake. There were always tells that gave even the best actors away. There was no doubt in Hudson's mind that she was in pain. “What can I do for you, Silvia?”

  “Karen wanted me to give you this,” she offered up the laptop, careful not to cross the threshold. “You sounded so sure that this wasn't an accident, that someone he knew…hurt him. If there's anything in here that will help you get the bastard that did this, you should have it.”

  As he accepted the laptop she handed him a small, folded page from a notebook. “Karen didn't know for sure which password he was using, but these are the ones she could think of.”

  The phone on his hip began vibrating, sending an elk bugle trumpeting through the small room. It was unprofessional and he felt like a heel for being disrespectful. The elk bugle needed to go. He pulled it out and checked the caller ID. “Thanks, Karen. We can use all the help we can get.” He nodded to the door as he stepped past her. “I think I'm done in here for now. Thank you.”

  Thumbing the button to connect with the coroner in Bozeman, he headed for his truck. “Hey Doc, prelim done?”

  “Worked on him all night. We still have a lot more to do today, but I'd say homicide is a safe bet. Blunt force trauma on both the occipital and frontal regions of his skull, caving on the left temporal zone. There were some wood fragments still embedded in the wounds that match the wood fragment that was sent with the body. Speaking of which, we've got a positive ID on the victim. 53 year old Frederick Lester Dunkirk.”

  “That was fast.” Considering the condition of the body, boiled in a hot acid bath, Hudson hadn't expected a positive ID until dental records could be pulled.

  “Looks like he's a Wilderness Resorts lifer.” The doctor sighed heavily on the other end of the line. “Med-Core had all of his records. Mike was right on the money when he sent in the request to release his records to me. A major heart attack put a pacemaker in his chest about six years ago. The serial number on the one I've got matches the one in his medical records.”

  “Speaking of Mike, I'm surprised you didn't call him with this. He's the lead on the case.”

  “Tried. Been trying since seven-thirty this morning, but can't get ahold of him. Figured you would work just as good.”

  Hudson thanked him for the information and after getting a promise from the good doctor to call if they discovered anything else, disconnected. He dumped the laptop in the evidence locker in the back of his truck, locked it and climbed behind the wheel.

  Canyon had pretty good cell service, but the valleys and passes between there and any other village were black holes that sucked up signal before it could get anywhere near a phone. Even the best cellphone company couldn't penetrate them.

  Still, Mike would have been in Canyon by the time the doc called the first time. He should have answered his phone.

  Hudson pulled the phone back out and speed dialed Mike. On the seventh ring, it went to voice mail. He disconnected without leaving a message and called the Canyon Ranger Station. A female that he didn't recognize picked up on the second ring. “Canyon Comms.”

  “This is Ranger Hudson Foster.” He told himself Mike was a big boy, he could take care of himself, yet the unease from the night before was back. “I'm unable to contact Ranger Michael Garrett; he should have been at your location early this morning.”

  “One moment, sir.”

  Clicking filled the line as he was transferred and this time he found a familiar voice on the line. “Hey Hudson, this is David. Mike was a no show this morning.”

  “Did you try to contact him?”

  “No, we've had our hands full. The roads iced up last night and three different vehicles went into the ditch coming down the hill from Norris. Want me to try now?”

  “No, he's not answering,” The unease in Hudson gut was growing into full-blown certainty. Something was wrong. “Look, I'm on my way to Canyon now. Do me a favor and ping his truck. 336MR132. The drive is going to take me at least an hour, so when you locate the truck, let's do a welfare check.”

  “You got it, Hudson,” David took a deep breath and let it out, filling the line with white noise. “I hope like hell we're about to piss the old guy off.”

  “That makes two of us. I've got to tell you, David, I've got a bad feeling.”

  Slamming the truck into drive, peeling out of the parking lot, Hudson hit his lights and flew through the winding drive that would lead him to Grand Loop Road. If the roads were clear, he might be able to shave the drive time to forty-five minutes. But that was a big if. Pre-season was the perfect time for locals and employees to explore the park. They watched the roads like hawks, waiting for each new stretch to be plowed and opened.

  Two bars. Not enough to break through the forest and mountain tops between where he'd stopped and the nearest tower. Easing back out onto the road, Hudson propped the phone up on the wheel, his eyes in constant motion as he check the road of him for critters, oncoming traffic and his signal strength.

  Fishing Bridge turnout loomed in the distance by the time his signal had finally grown strong enough to make the call.

  “Mammoth Ranger Nielson,” she answered on the first ring.

  “Billie. This is Hudson, I need you to get over to K-Bar and talk to the bartender. Find out the name of the woman who Mike was talking to at the bar last night and find out who she was there with. See if the bartender remembers anything from Mike's conversations.”

  On the other end of the line, Billie was silent. Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Isn't he a little old for a babysitter?”

  “Between me, you and a fence post, Billie; Mike's not answering his phone. It could be nothing, but I think we need to start getting some answers now. If it turns out to be nothing, no harm, no foul.”

  “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Is that about it?”

  “That's about the size of it. Also, check the desk logs. See if he checked in this morning and where he was heading.”

  “I'm on it. I'll call you as soon as I
have something, but you damned well better call if he turns up. I want to know that he's okay, then I want a head start when the ornery old bastard gets ticked that we're checking up on him.”

  “You got it.”

  Ending the call, Hudson started to pull back onto the road when the elk bugle began again. The caller ID didn't recognize the number. “This is Hudson.”

  Wind rushed through the speaker, creating white noise that whistled in his ear. The connection was poor, static blossomed and faded as David spoke but his message was clear. “Found the truck, North Rim at the Brink of the Lower Falls parking. It's been here a while, Hudson. There's still frost on the windows. Footprints in the snow head toward the overlook, but they don't come back out.”

  His gut had been gnawing at him, telling him something was wrong. He still hadn't been prepared to hear it. Burying his face in his free hand, anger and grief fighting over control of his emotions, Hudson couldn't answer for a full minute.

  “Husdon,” David called, “You still there.”

  Hudson could hear David cursing reception as he pulled the phone away from his face and checked his signal.

  “David,” Hudson swallowed hard, trying to get his heart out of his throat and keep his voice from breaking. “Make the call. Get them in the air, I'm on my way.”

  It was David's turn to fill the line with silence. They both understood what Hudson was saying. This very scene had played out at least once, sometimes twice, a season. Always with tourists and employees who, overwhelmed with the beauty of the Canyon, forgot for a brief, terrible moment that they were still in the wilderness. One misstep, one second of distraction, was all it took. A heartbeat was all it took for a life to be lost, another search to start and a family to be shattered.

  Hudson waited, knowing that David was wrestling with procedures. The manpower and equipment for a search cost a hell of a lot of money and losing someone in the Canyon never looked good to the brass, especially a ranger. A decision like this had to go through HQ, but that would take time.

  “We'll get the ball rolling.”

  Hudson let out a shaky breath and thanked David before he ended the call. He couldn't put the truck in drive. Reports he had written, statements he had taken, loved ones he had comforted over the years, replayed through his mind. He wasn't a man to give freedom to his imagination. He honored logic, esteemed fact, and revered evidence. Yet his mind's eye had no trouble painting a portrait of the fear, panic, and pain suffered by anyone going over the brink. It was a long way to fall; a lifetime lived in a few moments as one faced death.

  If Mike had gone into the Canyon, there would only be one way out, if they found his body at all—in a body bag.

  12

  The supply shop in maintenance was the perfect place for Gracie. During peak season, the men and women who kept the location running would be in and out, searching for parts, tools and a break from frustrated tourists. In another month, her shop would be her sanctuary, a haven from the throng outside. Now, in mid-May, even the world beyond her shop door was quiet.

  Each of the twelve-man crew would be working on unfinished projects from the previous season. Once every hour or so, one of the guys would pop in, but for the most part, she had the room to herself, putting away parts and supplies that had come in after she closed up the previous year, ordering parts she thought the guys would need, or dealing with maintenance requests.

  She pulled another box off the stack and cut it open to find a plethora of copper and galvanized plumbing joints. It was her favorite section of the shop, everything was perfectly ordered according to the type of metal, part, size and number. There was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. The rest of the shop was ordered much the same way, but compared to plumbing it was an assault on the eyes, a chaotic hodgepodge of parts, sizes and colors.

  A red light came to life in the corner of the shop, above her desk, as the rollers on the giant door to her shop rumbled open. She put the box of bell reducers and joints on the floor and headed to the front as Greg hollered hello.

  “What's the word, Gracie?”

  She grinned. Greg, six and a half foot tall with a long grey ponytail and black fingernail polish, had a habit of forgetting the niceties of being civilized. She grinned at his Dead Head t-shirt and answered, “Please is always good. I like 'Thanks', too.”

  “Hardee har har,” he mocked and then laughed. “Try a different one.”

  A subtle thumping caught her ear before she could ask him what he wanted. He had left the door open when he came in. In another couple of weeks, that gray cement corridor would be packed with employees, their raucous laughter, conversations and yelling blocked by the big metal door to her shop. Now, it was empty, silent and blissfully still.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Greg tilted his head, and then shook it. “I'm deaf as a post, Gracie. Played with too many rockets in my younger days.”

  She could feel the thumping growing stronger, building pressure. She forced herself to concentrate in case it was just her mind playing tricks, and opened her mouth to ask him what he needed. Before she could speak, several men walked by. Morris poked his head in on his way by. “We got choppers.”

  Greg turned, grumbling, “Season ain't even started yet,” and followed them out.

  Gracie felt rooted in place. Helicopters were never a good sign at Canyon. Except for search and rescue, and the occasional visit by a President, the airways over the park were a no fly zone.

  Tourists were few and far between in pre-season. Most of the hikes and trails around the canyon were still hip deep with packed snow. Though they had more than their fair share of employees fall to their deaths, in pre-season, even that was rare. Most headed for the lower elevations where the weather was better, temperatures warmer, and hiking trails were ready and waiting.

  After Lester, this was too much of a coincidence. Her brain screamed that the two deaths were connected. Thankfully, there was no way she could have had anything to do with this one.

  Are you sure? That damned voice, low and mocking.

  Gracie shook her head, slammed a mental door shut on that hateful voice and pushed away from the counter. With the door to her shop shut, the large padlock in place, she followed the rest of the guys to the loading dock behind the building.

  Conifers swayed in the breeze, pinecones pelted the vehicles beneath them, and rangers prowled everywhere. The thwump-thwump-thwump of a helicopter pushed against her skin as it flew overhead, heading south for the canyon to join in the search.

  “Gracie,” a voice called from behind her. She turned to see Mac, the location manager, heading her way. A tall, lanky ranger she recognized was by his side. “We were just on our way to see you. You remember Ranger David Mathews?”

  “Yes, of course.” Her brain felt like it was going on lock down, shutting off her ability to access even the most basic of vocabulary. She couldn't think of anything to say over the clambering in her head. Why her? Why did they want to see her?

  She forced herself to hold still inside her skin and nodded toward the woods, in the general direction of the canyon. “What happened?”

  “That's actually what I'd like to talk to you about, Gracie.” The ranger smiled as if he hadn't just suggested she was a murderer. Gracie cringed inside, but returned his smile. “We think we might have lost a ranger and we believe you might have seen him yesterday. We'd like you to hang out upstairs until one of our lead investigators can break free from the search to come over and talk to you.”

  She nodded her head, not wanting to find out if her voice would betray the panic and fear she felt, and followed them to the sidewalk that ran the length of the Lodge. Though the stairs to the main level were wide enough for two people to walk side by side, Ranger Mathews motioned her ahead of him. Heading for the main deck, Mac in front of her, the ranger at her back, Gracie felt more and more like a snared rabbit.

  Once on the deck, the ranger kept his place behind her. She could a
lmost feel his eyes boring into her back as they turned toward the registration building. Inside was dark and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. No one waited behind the massive registration desk that wrapped around one corner of the room.

  On her right, directly across from the desk, Cornelius—Kristi's husband and Corny to his friends—stood at his activities desk. He stopped working as they entered and stood with boxes of supplies in both hands, his eyes widening as he watched them march her through like a convict on her way to the gallows.

  At the other end of the room, as they turned left toward the back offices, Gracie looked out the glass doors that led to the parking lot. Managers from every department stood on the walkway talking to another ranger. As they neared the door, all eyes turned toward Gracie, staring, accusing. The campground manager, Cathy, met her eyes. The contact was brief, but it was enough to make Gracie burn with shame.

  Embarrassed, Gracie turned her gaze away but it was too late. Jonathan, Deana, Sandy, Chelsey, people she had considered friends, that had been kind to her, now turned to follow her passage, staring, judging…accusing.

  That little voice in her mind–the little voice that constantly whispered in her ear, the little voice that was always ready to tell her that she didn't belong, didn't fit it, and they were out to get her—that little voice began to whisper.

  The location manager pushed open the door that led to Julie's office and motioned her inside. Another ranger stood next to the doorway that led to the registration desk. Relief washed through her when she saw Julie sitting at the small activities computer Kristi and Kari sat on the floor near the back wall, leaning against the recycling bins and supply lockers.

  “Hey, trouble,” Kristi offered a smile as Gracie pulled up a spot on the carpet and rested against the printer cabinet.

  Kari continued to stare at the box of arts and crafts Julie kept tucked into the corner of the back room. Holdovers from her winter teaching job, Julie used the arts and crafts to keep her staff amused and engaged. Right now, they were the only thing in the room that had Kari's attention. She refused to look at anyone, much less talk.