Death by Dinosaur: A Sam Stellar Mystery

by Jacqueline Guest

  She pulled hard on one of her wheeled suitcases, sending it smack into Sam’s heel. “You promised me on this gig there would be all kinds of cute, scientific-type guys back from months of working on lonely digs, or hanging out in boring labs and in need of stimulating conversation from a stunning young woman…such as myself. That homey is none of the above.”

  Wincing, Sam bent to rub her bruised foot. “Do you have a driver’s license for your wheeled weapon?” As she watched, the dark-haired man stepped out of the phone booth and started across the terminal. “Duck!” She reached up and pulled Paige’s arm down. The rest of her cousin’s body obediently followed.

  “Sa-man-tha…” Paige warned, carefully pronouncing each syllable. “I mean it. No nutty cloak-and-dagger stuff. We’re almost fifteen now, you know – practising adults. We don’t have time for your superspy scenarios.”

  “Pa-i-ge,” Sam reciprocated with the three-syllable pronunciation, which was hard to do with a one-syllable name. “He’s dangerous.” She knew this was going to be a tough sell. “When he was leaving the bus, I bumped into him and felt a concealed weapon.”

  “You actually saw this alleged concealed weapon?” Paige’s tone had doubtful written large.

  “No, Sherlock,” Sam said impatiently. “It was concealed. But it felt exactly like a gun.”

  “Or a hairbrush, or a lumpy wallet, or keys, or who knows what! Your imagination says it was a gun.” Paige dismissed the idea with a flick of her hand.

  Sam shook her head. “Sceptic! I know that guy couldn’t tell a Robertson screw driver from a Stillson wrench.”

  She sprinted for the pay phone and had nearly made it when she intercepted an elderly woman heading for the same unoccupied booth. “Excuse me.” Sam pushed in front of the flustered senior. “Telephone sanitation officer!” Flashing her library card, she slammed the door shut.

  The irate woman beat on the booth with her cane. Paige glared in Sam’s direction, then stalked off, suitcases trailing behind.

  “Great!” Sam grumbled. “So much for backup.”

  Ignoring the loud banging, Sam inspected the booth. Everything was normal. No secret messages taped to the bottom of the phone or code words etched into the glass. She noticed the ancient directory had been left lying open. Tipping the page slightly, she could make out a faint impression. With her trusty yellow Ticonderoga pencil from her backpack, she carefully shaded over the ghost message. Museo 403-555-4157 appeared.

  Tearing off a small corner of the page, Sam quickly jotted the name and number down, then held up one finger to let the woman know she was nearly through. Fishing in her blue jeans for change, Sam thumbed the coins into the phone and dialled Mrs. O’Reilly to arrange transportation.

  The thumping became a lot more energetic. For an old girl, this lady had quite a swing. Smiling sweetly, Sam surrendered the pay phone before any security personnel showed up.

  Excitement built as she hurried after her cousin and held up the paper. “Well...?”

  Paige frowned at the crumpled scrap. “So…it’s obviously Mr. Museo’s phone number. There’s nothing clandestine about writing down a phone number – besides, you don’t know Mr. X wrote it.”

  Sam scoffed, “Mr. X? You’re not serious? That’s way too cliché for our mystery man.” She thought about the perfect tag for her prime suspect; then the corners of her mouth crooked up. “Me, I think it should be Agent D, for Double-O-Dino. Plus, it’s a darn good thing our country’s security isn’t in your hands, Ms Carlson. This is practically oozing with intrigue. I saw him write something and I’m sure this Museo guy’s phone number is it.”

  The woman in the booth was still shaking her fist in their direction and giving her opinion in a way that made Sam wish she couldn’t lip-read quite so well. A sailor could take lessons from her. Obviously, that particular phone was off limits and Sam made a mental note to call Mr. Museo on the first free land line she found outside the terminal. She simply had to get another cellphone. She felt like she was on her own lonely planet without one.

  While they stood in front of the depot waiting for their ride, Sam saw another passenger from the bus, the blond dude. Cringing at the memory of being busted spying, she tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible by crouching behind Paige’s mountain of suitcases. Her own bag was too small and too ‘look-at-me’ green.

  “What are you doing?” her cousin asked curiously.

  Sam motioned Paige to be quiet – annoyingly her cousin didn’t decode her frantic signals and continued loudly.

  “Sam! Did you drop something? Get up. I’ll help you look. Got a cramp in your leg? Those are killers. Rub your calf –”

  “Paige – be quiet!” Sam hissed. “I haven’t dropped anything. I don’t want to be seen!”

  “By whom?” Paige stood on tiptoe, rubbernecking left, then right. “Oh, my, Miss Scarlet! Is it your many fans hounding you for your autograph again? Perhaps the paparazzi found out you were coming and they’re trying to get a money shot.”

  “Will you puh-lease keep your voice down!” Sam peered over the pile of suitcases. The hot guy was nowhere to be seen. “Okay, it’s safe.”

  Her cousin’s lips formed a perfect O. “O-o-o-o! That’s really comforting to know. I thought we were both done for!”

  Sam stood and dusted off her jeans. “Civilians. Humph!”

  Chapter 3

  Number Revealed

  Mrs. O’Reilly, a silver-haired woman of enormous girth, called Sam and Paige to breakfast early the next morning. Entering the dining room, she clapped to get the attention of the other boarders seated at the large, round wooden table. “Ladies and gentlemen, these two young ladies are Samantha Stellar and Paige Carlson. They’ll be staying with us for the summer while they’re working at the museum.” She seated herself and motioned for the girls to do the same.

  Smiling, Sam nodded at the other guests. Unexpectedly, her gaze locked with a pair of ice-blue eyes.

  “We meet again, as they say in the movies.” The blond guy from the bus winked at her mischievously. “My name’s Jackson Lunde.”

  Sam tried and failed to be cool. “Uh, hi,” she replied weakly, wishing she had a cloak of invisibility. Making a fool of herself to a stranger on a bus was one thing, bumping into him at the breakfast table was something else.

  Her cousin was not as shy. “Hey, I’m Paige.” She scooted around the table to sit beside him. “You seem familiar. Have we met?”

  Sam sank into the chair in front of her, avoiding any more conversation.

  “Actually, you might have seen me on the bus from Calgary yesterday. I was coming back from the university.”

  Sam didn’t say a word. She was wearing teal-coloured skinny jeans and a striped top to match and now concentrated very hard on picking an imaginary piece of lint off the jeans.

  “University, huh? How fascinating!” Paige gushed as she settled in for a long chat. “What are you studying?”

  Sam wished she were sitting closer so she could kick her nosy cousin under the table.

  “With a little luck and a lot of hard work I hope to be a geol-ogist.” Jackson passed Paige a plate of maple sausages. “Then I want to specialize in palaeontology. I guess I’ll be seeing a lot more of you two since, for a while anyway, I’m also working at the museum.”

  Sam busied herself with her breakfast.

  “What a coincidence, Jack – you don’t mind if I call you Jack, do you?” Paige asked coquettishly. “I’m planning on a career in palaeontology myself! Perhaps you could give me some pointers on how to get started.” She reached for the eggs. “Sam’s not planning on any sort of normal job. She’s had her heart set on being a secret agent since she was seven.”

  As every head at the table turned toward her, Sam wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole, or at least take a big bite out of her talkative cousin. She cleared her throat noisily. “Actually, despite my family’s non-support,” she stared pointedly at Paige, “I do think it wo
uld be interesting to work for the Canadian Security Intelligence Service, commonly known as CSIS.” Sam didn’t mention all her friends thought she was cracked too. She had to admit it was an odd choice of occupation, but ever since elementary school she’d wanted to be in the spy game. She’d stuck to her dream and now she was ready to solve her first real mystery.

  “Sounds intriguing,” said the white-haired gentleman sitting next to Sam. “My name’s Danny Flannigan, and I hope your stay will be a pleasant one. And as for your choice of a career, it is a mite unusual. But remember what a fella named Thoreau said: ‘If a man does not keep pace with his companion, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away.’”

  Sam’s embarrassment eased a little. It was nice to think she was right, even if she wasn’t being the same as everyone else. “Thanks, Mr. Flannigan. Do you work at the museum also?”

  “Heavens, no!” he chuckled. “You might say I’m between bookings. I’m an entertainer, a comedian, in fact. However, since my agent hasn’t called in some years now, I mostly help Marie around the boarding house.” Mrs. O’Reilly blushed, lowering her lashes demurely. “And the name’s Danny, not Mr. Flannigan.”

  “I’m Rose Hocking,” a pretty woman with curly brown hair and a peculiar accent said as she introduced herself. “I work at an importing company that deals a lot with the museum. By the way,” she added, “the accent is Welsh, not English.”

  “And she’ll never let you forget it!” The man sitting next to her laughed. “I’m John Cooper. I hope you ladies will visit me at the bank.”

  Sam saw his fingers were long and fine-boned, more suited to a concert pianist than a guy who counts loonies and toonies all day.

  “Are you the prez in charge of the loot?” Paige joked, then quickly corrected herself when Sam sent her the evil eye. “I mean, what do you do at the bank, John?”

  “Not the president quite yet,” he laughed. “Actually, I’m the only male teller in all of Drumheller.”

  “Gottcha. Starting at the bottom, huh?” Paige said sagely.

  John was taken aback at this. “There’s nothing wrong with being a teller. I enjoy my job.”

  Paige realized she’d insulted John and she began to eat vigorously, ending any more conversation.

  Sam felt much better. Seeing Paige with her size nines in her mouth was cosmic justice. Until now, Sam had been the only one holding a crazy-teenager card.

  Danny went on with the introductions. “And I’ve kept the best for last, the LaSalle sisters, Clarisse and Abigail. They’re movie stars, at least Clarisse is. She was a child star back in the late fifties, before movies were ninety per cent special effects. Abigail is her agent. Isn’t that right, ladies?”

  The two fragile ladies agreed demurely. They reminded Sam of a pair of delicate porcelain dolls you’d see in an antique store window.

  While everyone was busy eating, Sam thought it was a good opportunity to slip away and call her parents to let them know they had arrived safely and were set for their first day at the Tyrrell. Then she’d try calling the mystery phone number she’d so cleverly procured. She excused herself and left for the telephone she’d spotted in the foyer.

  After saying good-bye to her dad, Sam hastily pulled the scrap of paper out of her jeans pocket. As she began to dial, fingers gripped her shoulder making her spin around in surprise. Fumbling, she dropped the paper.

  “Jackson!” Sam gulped. “You scared the bejesus out of me!” She reached down for the lost note, but Jackson was faster.

  “Sorry, Sam.” Then he glanced down at the number. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Sam blurted. “Just the phone number of a friend.” She snatched the note back and hastily stuffed it into her jeans.

  “Well, you can try phoning your friend, but he won’t answer,” Jackson said with authority.

  Sam was confused. “How do you know that?”

  “Because it’s closed until ten o’clock this morning.” His cryptic answer added to her confusion.

  “Do you know who this is?” Sam asked.

  “I know what it is and so will you. It’s where you’re going to work.” He continued his explanation. “Museo is Spanish for museum, and that number is for someone there.”

  “Spanish! You speak Spanish?” The articles on the museum thefts flashed through Sam’s mind. What were the chances of bumping into two Spanish-speaking people here in Drumheller practically within hours of each other?

  “Si, muy bien, jovencita. Where did you get the number anyway?” Jackson asked and Sam thought she heard a sharp edge to his question.

  Not wanting to tell, she babbled on quickly. “Oh, I found it stuck in the pages of a book and wondered who it was. Is there something you wanted to ask me?” She batted her eyelashes innocently.

  He hesitated, then changed mental gears. “There is. Since my car is in the shop due to a catastrophic mechanical failure, which is going to cost me mucho dinero to get fixed, I have the loan of one of the museum’s field vehicles and I figured since we’re going to be colleagues, I’d offer you two a ride. I know the first day on a new job can be a little intimidating and I’d be glad to supply encouragement and assistance.” He bowed gallantly.

  His offer was so warm and genuine, Sam felt herself relax. “That would be great. I’m not even sure where the Tyrrell is. It was getting dark when we arrived last night.”

  With perfect timing, Paige waltzed out of the dining room. “Jack, I couldn’t help overhearing your offer. It’s very nice of you. We certainly don’t want to be late on our first day of a new job, do we Samantha?” she asked with all the brightness of a supernova.

  “No, we sure don’t,” Sam said, matching the cheerful tone. “Thanks, Jackson. I’ll get my backpack.”

  Sam thought about Jackson’s ability to speak Spanish. One of the many useful things she’d learned from the Superior School for Spies was that there was no such thing as a coincidence, especially one related to a case. She patted the paper in her pocket. This could turn out to be a very interesting day.

  Chapter 4

  Big Job

  The ride to the museum took them through a town that was obviously proud of its reputation as the dinosaur capital of Canada. As they drove, they were greeted by a colourful array of the extinct beasts placed alongside streets or posed proudly in front of businesses.

  “Wow, Sam, that one’s ginormous!” Paige gushed as a gigantic oversized replica of a Tyrannosaurus rex loomed into view.

  “Hey, there’s a viewing platform in its mouth!” Sam pointed up to the gaping jaws of the huge beast. “I bet visitors get a great view from between his teeth.”

  “The statues aren’t what I’d call anatomically correct or to scale. What they are is fun and they really add to the feel of the town,” Jackson informed them. “And since we’re only now starting to get an idea of what colour dinosaurs were, the painting of each replica was left up to the owners. That’s why you’ll see a purple Triceratops or an orange Stegosaurus. Who’s to say they weren’t purple or orange?”

  This started a lively discussion on what colours dinosaurs might have actually been. Sam argued that, since birds are descended from dinosaurs and birds are all colours, dinosaurs could have been as rainbow-hued as toucans or parrots.

  “Your connecting birds to dinosaurs is right on target, Sam. In fact, it’s now believed there were proto-feathers on most of the dinosaurs.”

  “Even T. rex?” Sam asked.

  “Absolutely! He was king of the whole place and feared nothing, so why not be as in-your-face as possible. Coloured feathers would also help him to attract a mate. Did you know they think some Tyrannosaurs hunted in packs? Can you ima-gine being chased by a herd of hungry beasts, each weighing more than eight thousand kilos and with teeth twenty-three centimetres long?”

  Sam shuddered. Evolving millions of years after the dinosaurs became extinct had been a good thing for puny ho
mo-sapiens. She found herself relaxing with Jackson and decided they’d simply gotten off to a rough start.

  •••

  The Royal Tyrrell Museum of Palaeontology was located on the outskirts of Drumheller, and when they arrived, both Sam and Paige were blown away by the sprawling glass and concrete building.

  “Wow,” Sam whispered. “This is impressive!”

  “And the design suits it with the earth tones and rockwork. It’s so dino friendly,” Paige added.

  They drove around behind the large building to a door marked Employee Entrance.

  Jackson held his security key card in front of the scanning device, and, as Sam and Paige watched intently, the door buzzed and obligingly unlocked. “You two will be assigned limited access key cards. Guard them with your lives. If you lose one, security will have your head on a pike. They’re right over the top about these things.”

  As the three of them headed for the personnel office, they met an older gentleman in the hallway. “Good morning, Jackson. Who have we here?”

  “Morning, Dr. Beech. These are two summer students, Samantha Stellar and Paige Carlson. Ladies, this is Doctor Beech, curator of the museum.”

  “Hello, Doctor Beech,” they both said in singsong unison. Sam was reminded of little kids meeting their teacher on the first day of Grade One. She straightened, trying to look polished and desperately hoping she hadn’t spilled anything on her shirt at breakfast.

  Paige, ever the drama queen, struck a pose with one hand on the hip of her designer jeans, the red ones with the sparkly studded flowers on the back pockets, and offered her other to the curator. “Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Doctor Beech politely shook it. “Two budding palaeontologists, I dare say. Enjoy your stay with us, ladies, and if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” And with a chuckle, he continued on his way.