by Kelly Wacker
When she stood back and looked at both paintings together, the curving arc of the pine and the flowing river almost seemed intentional. She enjoyed the tension between them. While one was calm, pleasing, and inviting, the other was sublime in its truest sense, awe-inspiring, even a little frightening.
Melissa especially recalled this painting hanging in her grandmother’s dining room. As a child, she had been scared of white water. Her family had almost always camped or picnicked in the mountains and near a river. Invariably, her parents had warned her not to go into the cold and powerful river lest she be swept away. Even so, she would get as close to it as she could without being scolded and would sit quietly and watch. Sometimes she saw the dark shapes of trout hiding in the shadows of rocks in the clear water. Jays often paused in the branches of nearby trees to check her out, looking to see if she had some crumbs of bread or, better yet, peanuts. She usually did, and some jays were bold enough to swoop down and take them from her small, outstretched hand. Little striped chipmunks, also looking for an easy meal, scurried from rock to rock with their short tails straight up in the air and their legs a blur of movement. Peering at her over the edges of the rocks, they would also be rewarded for their bravery. In her grandmother’s dining room, she was equally mesmerized by the painted river and would sit on one of the creaky chairs and just stare, imagining she was there at the river’s edge, surrounded by life.
Melissa turned her attention to the third, smaller painting hanging on the wall opposite, between two tall bookcases. Different from the other two paintings, it contained figures. The painting depicted a glade, a brightly lit area ringed by dark ponderosa pines. A woman stood in the center with one arm bent, the fingertips of her right hand lightly touching the center of her chest just above the swell of her breasts, her left arm outstretched with the palm up—a gesture of beckoning. The pose reminded Melissa of figures in early Italian Renaissance paintings, especially those of Sandro Botticelli and Giovanni Bellini.
At first, Melissa thought the setting might be an alpine Garden of Eden, but no Adam was present, no snake, not any of the other animals common in such a scene. The woman in this painting peered into the forest, at a solitary dark figure with a shaggy coat and rounded ears. The figure gazed back with intensity, its eyes highlighted with tiny dots of titanium white—unmistakably a bear.
This painting had also captured her imagination as a child, and she had invented many stories about the woman and the bear. Most clear in her memory was a story in which the bear was lonely and the beautiful woman coaxed it out from its forest of solitude. Melissa imagined herself there in that glade, with both the kind woman and the fearful bruin, the three of them playing together. The reminiscence brought a smile to her face.
As an educated adult, Melissa had come to realize how very different this painting was from the others. It had a fairy-tale-like quality, and Melissa wondered if perhaps Ursula had received a commission to illustrate a story. Maybe yes, maybe no, and perhaps she’d never know.
Yet, Melissa thought, people made strong connections with the people they knew and loved, the places they lived, and the things they owned. Traces of those connections often remained, even across a long expanse of time. But a researcher had to look for them, sometimes very carefully. This was why she’d be traveling to Buckhorn, the mountain community where Ursula Bergen had lived, hoping to find any trace the artist might have left behind. Even incomplete fragments of an artist’s life could help reveal why the artist painted in a particular way or why she chose particular themes and subject matter. It was a bit like forensic science: the more pieces of evidence the investigator uncovered, the clearer the picture.
Chapter Three
Sula Johansen slid carefully into the booth in the Blue Mountain Diner. Thanks to her Scandinavian heritage, she was a little over six feet tall and had learned to be mindful not to bump her knees into the metal supports under the vintage red Formica-and-chrome tables.
“Good morning, Sula,” said the waitress, Danni. Sula was a regular customer, and Danni was always especially nice to her. When she’d first started working at the restaurant she often commented about Sula’s naturally wavy hair or her unusual amber eyes. Danni would have grabbed the opportunity for a date, should Sula suggest it, but she never did. Eventually Danni seemed to realize that Sula just wanted to be a friendly customer.
“Ah, my morning just improved greatly,” Sula said as Danni brought her a cup of coffee without asking.
“Because of me or the coffee?” Danni joked, placing the cup in front of Sula. “Wait. Don’t answer that! You want to see a menu?”
“No. I’ll just have my usual.”
“You got it, hon. I’ll go put your order in right now.”
“Thank you.” Sula poured some cream from the little stainless-steel pitcher on the table into her cup.
After the bell on the front door tinkled, a familiar voice resounded.
“Hey, Smokey!”
“Hey, Officer Martinez,” Sula said without looking up. “You looking for doughnuts?”
“Ha-ha.” The police lieutenant spoke flatly but with a smile. “Nope. I’m looking for you.”
Sula had known Lee Martinez for years, and there was no animosity between them. Quite the opposite, actually. As a bear biologist and the executive director of the Colorado Bear Conservancy, Sula worked hard to develop good working relationships with local law-enforcement officials to try to reduce the frequency of bears killed by car accidents or on purpose because they had been labeled as nuisance animals. The conservancy’s “keep bears wild” program had been successful. Fewer bears were being killed, and she was known in the community for being a strong bear advocate.
A number of people, especially hyper-masculine wildlife officers and law-enforcement types like Lee, sometimes called her Smokey, as in Smokey Bear, no doubt due to her affinity for the bruins but also because of her size. She always figured that she made them a little nervous and that the teasing was a way of compensating. But Sula also knew that Lee teased only people he liked, so she suspected him of starting the nickname. While she didn’t hate it, she didn’t love it either.
Sula reached for the bear-shaped plastic bottle next to the sugar dispenser and squeezed honey into the cup. While she stirred her coffee, she looked up to see Lee striding toward her across the diner in his dark-blue City of Buckhorn police officer’s uniform. He stopped and stood by the table, resting his hands on his thick leather belt with the tools of his trade attached—handcuffs, mace, flashlight, gloves, radio, and a 9mm Glock.
“How do you put that in your coffee?” Lee grimaced.
“It tastes good, and it’s better for you than refined white sugar.” Sula lifted her chin, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. “Care to join me?”
Lee sat and declined a menu from Danni but asked instead for a cup of coffee, black.
“So…what’s up?”
Before Lee could answer, Danni returned with his coffee and, resting her fingertips lightly on Sula’s shoulder, she topped off Sula’s cup.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Danni replied sweetly.
Lee sipped his hot coffee, watching the waitress make eyes at Sula. After she left the table, he stroked his mustache and said quietly, “A bear mauled a camper, a sixteen-year-old Scout, last night.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t find it, or you wouldn’t be talking to me about it right now.”
Lee shook his head. “No bear.”
“Is the kid okay?”
“Yeah. He’s banged up and has about twenty stitches in his leg. He’ll have a good story to tell.”
Danni returned carrying an oval platter heaped with food. She leaned across Sula, allowing her a clear view of her ample cleavage and the lacy edge of her purple bra while she placed the plate in front of her. She touched Sula’s shoulder again.
“You need anything else?”
“No. This is all I need.” Sula smiled and spok
e in a smooth voice. “Thanks.”
Lee shook his head at the one-sided flirtation clearly happening in front of him. Sula knew he didn’t understand the attraction. He once said that he preferred to date women who didn’t look like they could beat him in an arm-wrestling contest. It was his way of telling her she wasn’t his type. Sula was tall and anything but delicate. Most days she wore what she referred to as her conservancy uniform: hiking boots and outdoor clothing monogrammed with the conservancy logo. It was practical, given that her job could take her anywhere in a day, from meeting with wealthy donors to going out in the field with biologists. Once, Sula couldn’t resist teasing him and told him he might reconsider if he saw her dressed for a date. His wide-eyed expression nearly brought her to tears while laughing. When she explained that she was a lesbian and he had nothing to worry about, his look of panic and confusion shifted to one of obvious relief. They’d had a comfortable working relationship ever since.
Lee pointed at the mound of scrambled eggs, potatoes, and a biscuit smothered in peppered white gravy and said, “You lecture me about refined sugar, and you eat that?”
“Breakfast like a king,” Sula said in between bites.
“Huh?”
“It’s an old expression. Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, sup like a peasant. You know, eat a big meal in the morning, fuel your brain, but then don’t overdo it the rest of the day.”
“Must be one of your Norwegian expressions.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. So, what happened last night?” Sula wanted Lee to talk so she could eat.
“A Scouting group of fifteen kids and five adults was at the Wildwood Campground. Around three o’clock in the morning one of the boys woke up and heard movement and snuffling around outside his tent. He thought one of the other kids was trying to scare him, so he tried to be a tough guy and ignored the sounds. The bear grabbed his leg through the tent and dragged him, tent and all, into the woods. His screaming woke everyone up, and they started yelling and making lots of noise. The bear let go and scampered off.”
“Sounds like the bear did the right thing.”
“In biting the kid?” Lee looked skeptical.
“No. In taking off when they reacted to him. He showed fear of humans. The bear probably didn’t know what was in the tent.”
“Hm. That’s a good point.”
“So, what did he have in the tent?” Sula was certain that some bear-safety rules had been broken.
“The kid said he didn’t have anything with him.” The look on Lee’s face indicated otherwise.
“Uh, huh. And what did you find?”
“Toothpaste.”
Sula nodded knowingly. “They just love that fresh minty scent.”
“The kid brushed his teeth before turning in but was too lazy to walk over to the bear locker to stow the toothpaste.” Lee paused to take a sip of his coffee and then leaned back. “So, he took it back to his tent, where he also had a stash of beef jerky and trail mix.”
“Geez. That’s a bear trifecta.” Sula shook her head at the stupidity. “What’s the mayor think about it?”
“The usual. She doesn’t want any bad publicity because that might mean we’ll lose tourist business and then she’ll have the Chamber of Commerce breathing down her neck.”
“What’s Parks and Wildlife doing?”
“Trying to track it. They’re worried about the usual—repeat offenders and rabies.”
Everything seemed under control, though she worried about the bear’s well-being and hoped it had been good and scared by what had happened and didn’t stop running too soon. “So why are you talking to me so early?”
“Denver news is on the way.”
“I think I see where this is going.” Sula put her fork down and reached into her pants pocket to retrieve her phone.
“Yeah. The mayor would like to know if you’d run some interference before they blow it out of proportion.”
“Not a problem,” Sula said and held up her phone. “Excuse me while I text at the table.” She typed a message to her media director, who thrived in these kinds of situations. Sula knew that before the news crew’s van came to a complete stop at City Hall, she’d be waiting for them, interview ready with a big smile on her pretty face and chock full of facts about bear behavior and statistics about the rarity of attacks. She’d be sure to emphasize the importance of bear safety for humans and bears, assure viewers that Buckhorn was a great place for recreation, and represent the conservancy with aplomb. Sula sent the message and then set her phone down on the table. “I bet you I’ll have a response within two minutes.”
Sula continued eating, and Lee sipped his coffee as they both stared at the phone. The phone buzzed and lit up in less than a minute, it seemed. Sula read the message.
“My media director says she’s on it.”
“Thanks, Sula.” Lee finished his coffee and stood up. “I owe you one.”
“If I had a dollar for every time you said that, we’d have a new wing at the conservancy.”
“Just make sure you name it after me.” Lee laughed as he walked away. “See you later, Smokey.”
Sula finished her breakfast, and while taking a sip of her coffee, she wondered if she ought to go check on that bear.
Chapter Four
“Hey, where are you?” The voice of Melissa’s mother boomed through the speakers of her car. She had heard this question several times a day over the past three days, and her responses had been a litany of cities. “Near Nashville…just past St. Louis…coming up on Kansas City…about thirty miles from Lincoln…” Currently, Melissa was just about to exit Nebraska and enter Colorado.
“I passed Ogallala a while ago, and I’ll be on I-76 soon,” Melissa said loudly. She really hated using speakerphone while driving. She felt like she was yelling, but it was a safety measure.
“Great! I’m going to start dinner then. You want to talk to your father?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll be there soon, and we’ll have plenty of time to talk when—”
“Your mom says you’re almost here!” Her father’s deep voice replaced her mother’s. Melissa imagined her mother handing the phone off to him and rushing into the kitchen.
“I’ve got about three hours left, if I don’t hit any more construction. I swear, most of I-80 has been down to one lane.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” her father said and then lowered his voice. “I’ll try to keep your mom from calling you every ten minutes until you arrive.”
Melissa laughed. “Thanks, Dad! Hey, how’s the weather your way? The sky is dark up ahead.”
“A thunderstorm blew through here, and they’re forecasting hail east of us, but nothing worse than that.”
“Okay. I’ll keep an eye on it. See you in bit.”
“See you soon, honey. Drive safe.”
“Will do, Dad.” Melissa smiled at her parents’ enthusiasm as she cruised down the interstate, buffeted by the constant wind blowing across the plains and the displaced air coming off the big eighteen-wheeler trucks and trailers. She hoped to stay outside the edge of the storm cell. She didn’t have a scratch or dent on her Forester yet and wanted to keep it that way. The sky in front of her continued to darken, but she didn’t see the long white streaks she associated with hail.
By the time she turned on to I-76, the storm was moving northeast, so she’d avoid it. It was spectacular to watch, though. The clouds were massive, the color of a dark bruise. When lightning flashed, it illuminated the entire cloud, and for a split second, it glowed electric purple. If she were outside, instead of in the car with the windows up and the air-conditioning on, she could probably smell the ozone in the air.
One of things she missed about living in the West was the vast, wide perspective that allowed her to see weather form and dance, and sometimes stampede, across the landscape. Thunderstorms in the South were equally energetic, but in Georgia, where she lived, the landscape was densely covered in trees. She heard and fe
lt the storms as thunder rolled over the hills and valleys, the sound shaped by the topography, but she didn’t see them in their entirety as she could in a place such as this.
As she turned away from the storm, she was in the home stretch. She smiled when she passed a rustic wooden sign: Welcome to Colorful Colorado. The first of those signs had been erected in the 50s, when tourism in newly affluent postwar America started to become big business and Colorado was attracting more and more visitors year-round for camping, skiing, and mountain sightseeing.
A few years ago, her parents had complained about the governor, who thought the signs were looking shabby. He’d hatched an ill-fated plan to tear down the old ones and replace them with a new design constructed of metal. The state had almost come apart over the proposal. Needless to say, the governor didn’t get reelected and the signs stayed put. The old ones that were showing their age and were riddled with bullet holes were relocated into local history museums and replaced with ones of the same design—a stone and log structure holding a wooden signboard. The letters, carved into wide brown planks and painted a bright white, always reminded Melissa of the signs in national parks and forests. They provoked in Melissa the same tingly feeling of happy anticipation.
A bit farther down the interstate stood another sign, large blocky letters propped up in a landscape dotted with silvery sage, blooming white prairie roses, and tufts of green grass. “Eat beef.” The message was simple. Cattle country began somewhere in the middle of Nebraska, and Melissa had no doubt that when she arrived at her parents’ house, the aroma of a pot roast would fill the air.
When she turned down the gravel drive that led to their house, the sun was setting, hovering above the mountains to the west. They lived west of the town of Welch, on a twelve-acre parcel with an unobstructed view of the foothills and both Longs Peak and Meeker Peak. It wasn’t the house in which she had grown up. Her parents had sold that house in town and had purchased this property about five years ago with their eyes on retirement. The simple wood-frame farmhouse sat in the middle of the property away from the road. Melissa drove slowly past the big old barn, painted white with green trim to match the house, and the apple trees growing between the barn and the house. Tall, craggy-barked cottonwood trees ringed the structure, providing shade and a windbreak. Melissa pulled under them and parked.
