Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set

by Deborah Garner

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  It was clear and sunny when Jake stepped out into the crisp air the next morning. Travel mug of coffee in hand, he cranked up the truck and left the ranch, heading west toward the main highway. There were very few clouds in the sky, setting the valley dramatically against a stunning backdrop of blue. Three bison grazed along the north side of the road as Jake headed west to the main highway. A massive bull elk stood regally off to the left near Gros Ventre Junction, about fifty yards from the road. A six pointer, Jake surmised, noting the impressive rack of antlers.

  Jake turned right on the highway and drove north to Moose, a tiny town consisting of a post office, a few stores off a side road and an impressive visitor center for Grand Teton National Park. He’d been to the visitor center many times since arriving in Jackson Hole, asking rangers questions about specific trails and analyzing the massive topographical map displayed in the lobby. This time he passed the visitor center without stopping and pulled up to the park’s entrance gate, showing his annual pass to the ranger on duty. He smiled as he replaced the pass in his wallet. He’d been wise to cough up the fee for the annual pass when he first left Cody. It would be money well spent for the return he expected.

  Continuing northbound through the park, he took in the flat, open fields on his right and the majestic Grand Tetons on his left. To the many people who visited the park each year, these mountains represented the strong, powerful forces of nature. To Jake, they represented much more.

  He turned left at the south junction to Jenny Lake, a glacier-formed body of water estimated to date back 9,000 years. The road curved alongside low brush until it dropped off into the south parking area for the lake. Already into the off-season, it wasn’t hard to find a parking space. He chose one near the front of the lot and pulled in, setting the parking brake and jumping out of the truck. He checked his small knapsack, which held a water bottle, trail mix, a pad of paper and a pen. He’d known better than to have brought the original map sections along, but had made a rough, handmade copy which contained all the major markings on the original papers.

  He’d taken this trail several times before, when he’d first arrived in Jackson. His initial hikes were just out of curiosity and to get familiar with the area. Over time, though, he had come to suspect this section of the Tetons to be the probable location of the gold. The map now seemed to confirm this theory, based on the placement of the jagged lines in the center of the torn pieces. He was now determined to explore the trail and its immediate surroundings more thoroughly, looking for any landmarks that might resemble other markings on the map.

  The boat dock on the edge of the lake was chained up and closed for the season, no longer offering a shortcut by ferry across the lake, as it did during summer months. Just as well, Jake thought. It would be better to explore the trail from the beginning, including the two mile section around the south side of the lake.

  He crossed over Cottonwood Creek and started out on the trail. Engelmann Spruce and Alpine Fir filled much of the area, but there were also open sections of land off to his left where boulders and brush formed patches of natural landscaping. Frequent rocks protruded from the trail, pushing against Jake’s feet as he moved forward. An occasional marmot peered out from under a cluster of rocks off to the side. A skittish deer ducked and ran for shelter when the approach of footsteps took it by surprise. To his right, the view across the still blue water of the lake was breathtaking. It was no wonder this was one of the most popular areas of the park for visitors and locals alike.

  Not seeing anything in particular that resembled the markings on the map, Jake continued around the lake until the trail veered away from the water and started to climb. A series of switchbacks carried him higher in elevation. He stopped periodically to jot down notes about the surroundings – where the trail took a turn, where a large boulder was conspicuously situated and where certain trees stood out among others or were clustered together in groups. He recorded changes in the trail itself: a log set into the ground to form a step, a puddle of water that had formed from recent rain, a fallen tree and sections of the ground containing animal tracks. All current developments, he knew, none that would correspond with any marks on the map. But anything could be a potential clue, a sign that he was on the right track.

  The trail continued at an incline, leveling off at times and then climbing again. As he neared Hidden Falls, he heard the faint sound of water crashing against rocks, but couldn’t see the tumbling cascades until he rounded the last corner. It was clear that Hidden Falls was aptly named.

  Jake continued to follow the trail as it began to climb more steeply, a narrow section of rock to his left. The right edge dropped off sharply and he took his steps carefully. He knew a tumble off the side could be deadly. Slowly moving along the path, he eventually reached the top of the incline, emerging onto a flat area with a dramatic view out over the lake and valley. This was Inspiration Point, a favorite hiking destination. He sat down to catch his breath and to take in the view.

  Looking around, he ruled this out as a hiding place. It was far too visible. Even before the crowds started coming to Jackson Hole, before Yellowstone National Park drew visitors in by the millions, there would have been travel to this spot, both by Native American tribes and early settlers. It wasn’t a likely place to leave anything that someone didn’t want found.

  He thought back to the way his grandfather had explained the legend. How he was certain that the gold had been both discovered and hidden, that it wasn’t the ramblings of an even older man, Jake’s great-grandfather. Grandpa Norris had been a little eccentric, which was one of the reasons others hadn’t taken him seriously. But Jake had believed him from the first time he told the story of the gold that had been discovered by Great-Grandpa Norris and his prospecting partner. His grandfather had explained how his father’s friend had hidden the gold himself, feeling it would be safer than the two of them hiking into the mountains together, which would have attracted more attention. After protesting, Great-Grandpa Norris conceded that it might be less obvious to have it hidden by one person. Whether out of extreme caution, or as an attempt to keep the gold for himself, the partner had stalled in telling Jake’s great-grandfather where it had been hidden. As the story went, before he passed on this crucial information, the flood of 1927 had wiped out the town of Kelly, taking the only one who knew the hiding place out with it.

  For many years, Jake had nothing much else to go on, only his grandfather’s story and a vague description of what he believed to be the location – in the mountains, at some significant height above the valley floor. Jake had known the first time he looked at the immense expanse of the Grand Tetons that finding the gold wasn’t going to be an easy task.

  When Frank had contacted him the year before, he had been dubious, to say the least. To have a man drop out of nowhere, saying that he had been a friend of Jake’s grandfather and had grown up with the same legend, just seemed too farfetched. That Frank’s father had been the prospecting friend of Jake’s great grandfather only made the whole story even harder to believe. But as Frank talked about the story as he had heard it growing up it began to closely resemble the one he had grown up with, as well. The more Jake thought about what a small world a sparsely populated area could be and the fact that some descendants of original pioneers still lived in the area, it became clear that it was indeed possible that two men from the same area could have fathers or grandfathers who were friends. Jake started to think Frank might be telling the truth.

  Frank had said that he had tried for many years to locate the gold himself, following clues that had been passed on to him, just as similar clues had been passed on to Jake. But after decades of searching and finding nothing, the explorations became more difficult for him to carry out by himself. After one of several bad falls left him with a broken hip, Frank acquiesced to the fact that he was no longer the youthful explorer he had once been. The likelihood of his finding the gold now was growing slim and the physica
l ability to continue the search had become impossible. Still, Frank was determined to push on with efforts to find the gold. It might be too late for him to set up a full life of luxury now, but he certainly wouldn’t mind living out his remaining years in style.

  This is where Jake had come in. He was young enough to be able to continue the search. With luck, he’d be able to find it while Frank was still alive. With this in mind, he had tracked Jake down in Cody and struck a deal with him. Frank would pass on the information he had, including a map that had been discovered in a water tight box beneath the flooded, demolished house of his grandfather. Jake would provide the younger physical ability to do the searching himself. When the treasure was found, they would split the proceeds. It seemed a fair deal to them both, so Jake picked up and moved down to Jackson Hole.

  Oddly, Frank had been less than forthcoming with information once Jake had arrived. He had suddenly been unable to find the map that he’d promised Jake. What’s more, he seemed confused with details, which often contradicted each other in their daily conversations. Jake began pushing Frank for more information, threatening to give up the search altogether if Frank couldn’t provide something more to go on.

  It was Frank who had proposed meeting him in the town square, saying he would pass on the map, which had suddenly turned up during a thorough cleaning of his attic. It seemed he had conveniently remembered one or two other pieces of information, as well. Jake suspected this was still only a partial concession on Frank’s part, which had caused the heated, and not too discreet, argument in the very public location. It was possible the old man’s memory was just slipping, but it seemed more likely that he had held back the information.

  It had taken some time, but his threat to give up the search, coupled with Frank’s inability to continue searching himself, seemed to have finally worked. Jake now had the map in his possession. It was only a matter of figuring out the written clues and following them to the gold. This would be not only the culmination of a lifelong challenge for Jake, but the accomplishment of a dream that had lived for several generations. He had promised his grandfather that he would follow through and was not about to give up now. With this in mind, he stood up and began to climb higher.

  Continuing on from Inspiration Point, the trail climbed slowly, running parallel to Cascade Creek. Jake paused now and then to take notes of formations of rocks or clusters of trees, as long as they appeared to have been part of the landscape for at least a century or more. He hiked deeper into the canyon, crossing Cascade Creek just before arriving at the Forks of Cascade Canyon, at which point he was faced with a choice. Turning left, he could follow the trail a little more than five miles to Hurricane Pass. To the right, just under three miles, was Lake Solitude. He weighed his options and chose the northern route, taking him to Lake Solitude. He could return another day to explore the other direction.

  The climb was steeper than the section had been between Inspiration Point and the Forks of Cascade Canyon. The last mile consisted of steep switchbacks and Jake was winded by the time he reached the lake. Flanked by rocky cliffs, it was breathtakingly beautiful and worth the hike. But the likelihood the gold could be hidden behind this particular lake seemed unlikely, now that he stood facing it. Sheer rock surfaces around the lake’s edge made it difficult to pass. Crossing the water would have required a boat, not easily brought to this height above the valley floor. On the front trail side of the lake, there weren’t any rock formations or other clear possibilities for hiding places.

  Jake ruled the location out and returned to the Forks. There wasn’t enough time in the day to make it to Hurricane Pass and still get back down the mountain in daylight. He hadn’t learned as much as he’d hoped, but he’d gained a few additional options to consider. In addition, he had been able to rule some areas out. With this as slight encouragement, he retraced his route down the trail to Jenny Lake, returned to his truck and headed back toward the ranch.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A brisk wind rustled through the trees and then died down as Paige shook her head and glanced around. Looking first in each of her open hands and then down at the ground, there was no sign of the skeleton key. Checking her pockets, she also came up empty. Dazed, she found her way to a bench and sat down to catch her breath and collect her thoughts.

  Evening was quickly falling on Jackson and the temperature had grown chilly. The town square was brimming with activity. Tiny lights twinkled along the rooftops of small boutiques and art galleries. Bright lights flooded restaurant entrances, welcoming evening diners. Cars passed by on the streets and a row of Harleys lined a portion of the curb. Small clusters of people filled corners, waiting for green lights to announce open crosswalks. It was a busy scene, an active scene and a very different scene from that of 1909.

  Paige glanced around, stopping to rest her eyes on the neon cowboy sign above the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. Though not one for the bar scene in general, a good, stiff drink sounded pretty good at the moment. She stood, straightened herself up, patted back her hair and marched across the square. Grateful to be back in her jeans and sweater and not stuffed into a showy, breath-stealing dress, she crossed Cache St. and entered the bar.

  It was crowded inside and the famous saddles were all occupied. A flurry of activity surrounded the pool tables and Paige ducked around more than one cue stick while trying to cross the floor. In the far corner, a live band twanged out a rendition of a Garth Brooks tune. Several couples danced in front of the stage and cocktail waitresses maneuvered trays around the room, taking orders and delivering drinks. Glasses clinked toasts against each other and empty beer bottles were whisked from tables, switched out quickly for icy replacements. Bursts of laughter broke out as a good joke made its way around the bar.

  Seeing a saddle open up at the counter, Paige seized the opportunity and grabbed the seat. As crowded as it was in the busy establishment, she had to wave several times at the bartender before she could catch his attention and order a drink. Finally the welcome sight of a dry martini landed in front of her, a twist of lemon adding a festive edge to the chilled glass.

  As she took the first few sips of blended vodka and vermouth, she became aware of a man in the next seat. He faced away from her and seemed oblivious not only of Paige, but of most everyone around him, other than a stocky woman wearing a dark brown leather jacket and a hat that hid her face. Both appeared to have had quite a bit to drink, enough to carelessly raise their voices and allow portions of their conversation to float back to Paige.

  “This had better not backfire,” the woman hissed, a tone of impatience in her voice.

  The man lifted his beer to his mouth, tilting his head back while he took several gulps. He waved his hand sloppily in front of him, as if swatting at a fly.

  “Quit your nagging,” he responded, as annoyed as he could sound while under the influence of many a beer already consumed. “I told you he’ll fall for it. He already fell for the first one. You’re worrying for nothing. Besides, you’re the one who asked for my help, so just shut up and leave me alone.”

  “You’re taking a big risk, giving him so much information,” she continued with an angry huff. “We could end up with nothing.”

  The man slapped his hand down on the bar, briefly attracting the attention of nearby customers. He waited for them to return to their own conversations before lowering his voice to counter the woman’s latest statement.

  “You’re wrong. This Jake kid isn’t that smart,” the man said, slurring his words. “He’ll lead us to it, but that’s it. It’s not like he’s an expert on prospecting or anything. He doesn’t know enough to screw up your stupid plan. Now stop your worrying and leave the rest up to me.”

  The woman leaned in closer to the man, lowering her voice to a cross between a whisper and a threat.

  “OK,” she sneered. “We’ll do it your way. But you’d better be right about this.”

  The man set his glass down on the bar a little too hard, enough to cau
se the bartender to glance over. Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, he stood up and turned around, threw some money on the counter and walked out the door.

  The woman waited until he had left the bar, turning her head once to check the door to make sure he was gone. She then stood and took her own exit, Paige’s surprised gaze following her across the floor. It didn’t make sense, but Paige knew what she had seen. The woman had been Maddie, from the Blue Sky Café. And the man had been Old Man Thompson.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jake reached the junction of Hwy 89 and started to turn south to head back to the ranch. Impulsively, though, he twisted the steering wheel to the left and drove north. Looking west, the outline of the mountains changed slightly as he continued to drive. But the impressive stance of the Tetons never diminished. These mountains were breathtaking from any direction.

  Jake thought about the markings on the map, about the smoother flow of the winding line to the right of the sharper, jagged zigzag. The placement of the line had to indicate something east of the mountain range, though how far east was difficult to tell. There was nothing on the map that indicated a roadway, though certainly there had already been one through the central valley at that time. Yellowstone had already become a popular destination in the 1800’s and trade to the north would have had to move in that direction, as well.

  Pulling over at Snake River Overlook, he parked his truck and walked out to the observation area. The view was magnificent with the mountains towering directly before him. Pine trees lined the edge of the valley, which stretched flat until it reached the mountains. There was no gradual change here, no foothills separating the valley floor from the tall peaks. The shifting of the earth’s layers over the years had forced sharp, abrupt changes in the displaced sections of ground. Where the flat valley ended, the mountains soared instantly into the sky.