Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set

by Deborah Garner

  Not more than another hundred yards beyond the stream, the road became increasingly narrow and began to climb. At first following only a slight incline, it quickly turned into a steeper grade, dipping periodically in roller coaster fashion. Finally, the road leveled out into a flat plateau, at which point Paige noticed a rustic barn in the distance, brown and weathered, surrounded by a handful of smaller buildings which were barely visible above the surrounding brush.

  An impressive log gate stood alongside the road at the entrance of a narrow dirt driveway. Silhouettes of cowboys, wildlife and trees decorated the top of the arch, stretching overhead in a sculpted metal design. Small clusters of scrub brush dotted the surrounding landscape, alternating with taller bursts of dry grass.

  Paige pulled her car up past the front gate, turned the wheel to the right and guided the vehicle over to the side of the road. She stepped out of the car quietly, feeling a slight breeze graze the side of her face. Leaving the car door only partially latched, she looked around, seeing only open stretches of land. This was what Dan meant about finding peace and quiet outside of town, Paige thought. As if in rebuttal, a crow above her let out a piercing screech before continuing its journey across the sky.

  To the left of the driveway, a white metal sign with the words “No Trespassing” was nailed onto a fencepost. Faded and weathered as the sign was, the lettering made a clear enough statement. The property was off limits.

  Paige walked to the barbed wire fence that ran alongside the entrance. There was no sign of anyone present on the land, at least not anyone she could see from where she stood. It was tempting to duck between the spiked wires and get a closer look at the property. She’d never been one to stay within the rules, a trait that had landed her in trouble more than once in her life. Still, her instincts told her not to push this time. She retreated to her car, paused to take in the overall view once more and then drove away, continuing east.

  Paige followed the road a few more miles, winding into a canyon, where the landscape of trees thickened. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a sudden movement within one particular cluster of trees. Pulling over quietly and peering through the foliage, she could make out the dark outline of a moose. Paige stepped cautiously out of the car and positioned herself at the side of the road, not close enough to be in danger, but close enough to clearly see the animal.

  A few other cars passed by, passenger necks swiveling as the vehicles slowed down, something Paige would soon come to expect, the braking of cars to see why other cars on the road were stopping, all hoping to catch a glimpse of area wildlife. A young man stuck his head out of one car window and snapped a quick picture of the moose with a small point and shoot camera. A large motor home with blue horizontal pinstripes along the side yielded several tourists with cameras, who hopped out to take photographs from the side of the road.

  Paige moved slowly around a small tree, resting against the bark and watching silently. Within a short time, the other onlookers returned to their vehicles and headed down the road. Paige remained behind, watching as the young moose meandered between trees and nibbled on branches and leaves, his fuzzy, newly-grown antlers not yet fully formed. Eventually the moose and Paige made eye contact, neither one moving, but letting their notice of each other linger silently in the autumn air. Determining that he was not threatened, the moose lowered his head and continued to munch on the local vegetation. Paige remained quiet and still.

  Somewhere within these moments of silence, Paige realized she had stumbled into an adventure far beyond the scope of her assignment. Many miles from home, in a land of exquisite beauty, she had found a place to soak in a renewal of sorts. She’d discovered an environment that was conducive to examining her own life. A new purpose for her trip began to form in her mind and heart, one that had the potential to carry her far beyond her writing assignment. She had a sudden feeling that her visit to Jackson Hole was going to be a journey of self-discovery.

  In time, the moose moved away, slowly making its way up an embankment thick with foliage, until finally it disappeared over a ridge. Paige returned to her car and drove on another half mile, where she was able to turn around in a small pullout that served as a parking lot for a canyon trailhead. She started back towards Jackson, passing first the old Manning ranch and then the log cabin that would soon be her temporary home. Seeing the sharp angle of the shadow falling from Dan’s barn, she glanced across the valley at the Tetons and realized the sun was rapidly growing lower on the horizon. It was time to return to town before it settled behind the mountains for the night.

  Small candles lit up the front windows of the Sweet Mountain Inn as she pulled into the driveway and parked her car. It had been comforting, having the inn as a landing zone for her visit. The innkeepers had been warm and accommodating. Their hospitality had allowed her to feel welcome and their directions around Jackson had allowed her to easily familiarize herself with the town. She would make a point of thanking them when she checked out the next day.

  At the small writing desk in her room, Paige pulled out her journal and prepared to jot down some notes. It had been a full day and one filled with intrigue. The land and the people of Jackson Hole were so different from those she was used to back home. The quiet in the air alone was almost a shock. The landscape, the scenery, the culture and the history; all these things were new. Instinctively, Paige knew there was much more waiting to be discovered.

  Her thoughts kept returning to the old Manning ranch. An historic ranch could make for interesting reading, especially on the east coast where ranching would be less familiar to readers. But a ranch would have to be unique to the Jackson Hole area in order to be the right subject matter. Some aspect of its history or a tie to a local human interest angle would be needed.

  Intuition had often led her to a good story in the past, but she didn’t have anything solid to go on this time, at least not yet. Admittedly, a touch of her curiosity was caused by Jake himself. That was something she would have to watch. It wouldn’t be the first time a good-looking guy had thrown her off track. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder. He seemed amicable enough with people in town, yet he kept to himself. He’d moved into the area recently, buying up a large property that had been on the market for awhile. What was his purpose in moving to Jackson and purchasing that particular property?

  Paige sat back in her chair and mulled this over. She needed a reasonable basis for thinking he might be tied into a local story or else she had to focus on the basic article she had originally come to write. So far she had nothing. It would be wiser to start again in the morning and search out other topics of interest in the area.

  She lifted her overnight bag from the room’s metal luggage rack and placed it on the bed. Grabbing the few articles of clothing that were hanging in the closet, she folded them into a small stack and slid them inside the bag. She left out one pair of faded jeans, a rose-colored T-shirt and a cable-knit burgundy pullover sweater. These would work for quick dressing in the morning. She could already feel a buzz of excitement when she thought about moving to the cabin the next day. But the first thing on the agenda was getting a good night’s sleep.

  * * * *

  Morning arrived with the sound of raindrops pattering on the walkway and tapping against the windows, bringing with it a whistling of wind. Paige peeked out of the curtains of her room at the dark, gray sky and debated the idea of adding one more night at the inn. The idea of staying inside all day, hunkered down in a warm room, was appealing. However, the urge for a hot mug of something caffeinated gave her enough incentive to dress and venture out. She tossed on the clothes she had laid out the night before and twisted her hair up into a loose, haphazard bun. She pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head and broke into a cautious run, watching puddles on the ground and slick sections of wooden boarding that might cause her to slip and fall.

  Maddie was behind the counter of the café when Paige walked in, serving a double espresso and blueberry scone to an I
talian tourist in line. Old Man Thompson was bent over his coffee at the end of the small counter, just as he had been the last time. Several high school girls were sharing a hot cinnamon roll and sipping chai teas at a round table by the window, repeated episodes of giggles exploding between whispers.

  Paige took her place in line, picking up the morning paper while waiting. The front page was dotted with a mix of national and regional news, along with an impressive picture of fighting elk centered just below the Jackson Hole Daily title. The second page held news of the last city council meeting, several small articles about local citizens, an ad for a boot sale and dates and times for upcoming entertainment at local venues. Continuing through the next few pages, Paige found coupons for off-season restaurant specials, classified ads for everything from firewood to hay and a multitude of real estate listings, most of them astonishingly pricey. She was still flipping through the paper when she realized someone was talking to her.

  “What can I get for you today,” Maddie was saying, likely for the second time, by the look on her face, both patient and slightly annoyed. Paige knew she still had a tourist look about her, something almost beyond definition but clear nonetheless to local residents.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Paige offered, realizing she’d been lost in the morning paper and not paying attention. “I’ll take a vanilla latte and one of those raspberry-orange muffins.” She pointed to a basket of fresh bakery items that had just been placed inside a glass display to the right of the counter.

  “I noticed you in here the other morning,” Maddie said while starting the whirl of the coffee machine. “You must be new to Jackson?” Her voice had an inquisitive, yet friendly tone to it.

  “Yes, very new,” Paige responded, pulling a few dollar bills out of her purse. “I’m working on an article for a paper back east and came out here to do a little research - historical information, local perspective, that type of thing.”

  Maddie pushed back the lever on the coffee machine and poured a stream of steaming milk into a thick paper cup, already filled with a shot of espresso.

  “Whipped cream?” she asked, with a playful look in her eyes.

  “Sounds good, but no thanks,” Paige smiled, taking the cup from her and sliding the money across the counter. She leaned to her left and grabbed a plastic lid from a stack of many, pressing it securely against the top of the cup. Reaching back into her purse, she tossed a dollar into a jar marked “Tipping is not just for cows.”

  “Enjoy your stay,” Maddie said casually, her eyes moving to the next customer in line.

  Paige thanked her and moved away from the counter, finding a place at a small table in the corner, just behind the front door. She leaned back in her chair, took a sip from the opening in her cup’s lid and looked around the room.

  The high school girls were just grabbing knapsacks from below their table and tumbling out the front door, accompanied by a flurry of youthful energy and more than a few bursts of laughter. Old Man Thompson was still drinking his coffee, sitting in the same place, bent over his cup in seemingly deep concentration. Either that or he was asleep, Paige thought. It was hard to tell since he never lifted his head, aside from a very occasional sip of coffee. And for that his head was more inclined to move towards the coffee than the other way around. A few tables held local residents browsing the morning paper, while others customers came and went, arriving empty-handed and departing with various steaming drinks and fresh bakery goods in their hands. Outside, the rain continued to fall, tapping against the front windows of the café in a bleak contrast to the buzz of activity inside.

  About halfway through her latte, it occurred to Paige that she was glancing at the door each time it opened, observing arriving customers with interest. The sudden realization that she was watching for Jake took her by surprise, as did her disappointment when he did not show. She lingered, reading the paper, finished her latte and muffin and decided to head back to the inn.

  Raindrops were still falling as Paige walked the short half block from the café to the main street of town, though by now the downpour had faded into a light drizzle. The gray clouds overhead had lightened a bit, but still hovered above the town. As Paige turned the corner, she noticed the four distinctive arches around the town square that she had seen upon her arrival in Jackson. Sculpted from gathered elk antlers, one stood at each corner of the block that formed the central park area for the town. For a brief second she thought the closest arch reflected a faint light, as if a small ray of sun had slipped through the clouds. Glancing up, however, she saw nothing but the same cloudy gray. Another look back at the arch told Paige she was mistaken about the light. There was nothing but rainy day landscape in front of her. She pulled her jacket tighter and returned to the inn just in time to avoid a crash of thunder and a new downpour.

  With the rain continuing to fall outside the window of her room, Paige set about documenting her initial impressions of Jackson. She pulled a small notepad from her suitcase, a spiral bound book with a tan cover. Turning to the first page, she jotted down the general location of the town that had originally been named “Jackson’s Hole,” after Davey Jackson, an early fur trapper. She described the two main streets, which ran perpendicular to each other in town before veering off in opposite directions. The first, Broadway, headed south, passing through Hoback Junction about ten miles later. It then meandered through the Snake River Canyon and the town of Alpine, finally crossing into the state of Idaho. The other, Cache Street, headed north, passing a multitude of local businesses and many of the town’s motels before finally reaching the outskirts of Jackson. Beyond that, it headed through Grand Teton National Park, up through Yellowstone National Park, and eventually into Montana.

  It was an amazing place, Jackson Hole. Nothing Paige had heard or read about it did it justice, now that she was seeing it with her own eyes. Set in a bucolic valley and bordered by soaring mountain peaks, it would be impossible not to be impressed by the dramatic vistas the area offered. The most majestic stretch of mountains was the range known as the Grand Tetons, created by shifting layers of volcanic ground and then sculpted by frozen, knife-like glaciers. Surrounding ranges each offered a variety of terrain, trails and landscape. A gaze in any direction would reveal a masterpiece of natural scenery.

  Mountain peaks were not the only lure for visitors. Crystal blue lakes were scattered throughout the area, some easily accessible by car and others hidden away, only to be reached by way of challenging trails. The abundant wildlife - elk, moose, bears, wolves and bison, among others – had clearly picked a suitable area for their native habitat. Foliage and berries were abundant during spring and summer months and the backcountry allowed isolation from humans.

  Winters were a different story. Harsh weather, sub-zero temperatures and heavy snowfall kept most of the national park areas closed while roads remained unplowed. Though snowmobiles carried adventure-seekers into some of the more distant terrain, ski slopes closer to town were the main draw during these tougher months.

  Paige paused for a minute, looked out the window as the rain continued to fall. She thought about the Blue Sky Café and the Sweet Mountain Inn, both appealing as individual, non-chain businesses. There were other unique establishments in town, as well, like the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, a popular hangout for locals and tourists alike, known for its bar stools made of saddles. Eateries included pizza parlors, steak and game houses and upscale sushi bars, as well as many offering Chinese, Italian or Thai cuisine. Though a town of the old west, it had clearly learned how to artfully feed its residents and to cater to the palates of modern day tourists.

  Paige closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the town must have been like years ago, in the late 19th century, when settlers arrived and homesteaded, began trades and started the development of what would become such a popular destination many years later. She could almost hear the rustling of skirts as women walked along the wooden sidewalks. She could imagine the clattering of hooves from horses
trotting through town, some carrying newcomers looking to settle, others bringing mail or supplies. She tried to imagine the buzz of conversation that must have taken place on the very streets she had been walking herself the last few days. It would have been an entirely different scene than the one she was witnessing now.

  Returning to the paper and pen before her, she sketched out these new impressions. Putting away her notes, she reached into a black, leather case which was leaning against the writing table, pulled out a small, compact laptop, gathered her thoughts and began to compose an email to her editor.

  To: Susan Shaw

  From: Paige Mackenzie

  Re: Article on Jackson Hole

  Hi Susan,

  I’ve arrived in Jackson, which is turning out to be the most fascinating place. I can’t get over how different it is here. The people are wonderful and the entire town is quaint and peaceful. Aside from the massive tourism, that is. Thanks for sending me after the summer rush was over!

  I’ve been staying at an inn not far from the center of town, a place called the Sweet Mountain Inn. I’ve had a small room, nothing fancy, but everything I’ve needed for these first few days. Being able to walk to most everything in town has come in handy.

  As it turns out, I stumbled into a small cabin not too far north of town, on the land of a local resident who makes log furniture. He offered it to me for a very reasonable rate, based on a weekly rental. I think it’ll be a good place to absorb the area and begin to set it down on paper. I’ll move over there tomorrow, at least for this week.

  I haven’t started drafting the article yet, but am taking notes and recording initial impressions. I’ll be able to start putting these thoughts and details together a few days from now, which will give me plenty of time to get it finished before the deadline.