Heard you had an even rougher day than the rest of us.” Chief Scientist Radford Bullis stood on the threshold of Wyatt’s park housing wearing full dress uniform. The expression on his broad face conveyed his own grief for David Mowry.
“You might say that.” Aware of his worn jeans and Wolf Advocates T-shirt, Wyatt invited Radford in. Behind his unexpected visitor, a crimson rim of sky shone above Sepulcher Mountain above Mammoth Hot Springs.
“I figured you’d forget Janet Bolido’s reception this evening,” Radford said mildly.
Though their new boss was not the first woman Superintendent in Yellowstone, she came from the Department of the Interior in Washington amid flying rumors she was everything from a nurturing coach to a harridan. “Isn’t the reception cancelled after David …?”
“I’d have thought so, but I spoke with Ms. Bolido myself. She suggested a memorial service in the park chapel tomorrow afternoon, but as for tonight, she believed it would give her a chance to personally convey her sympathy to the staff.”
“Easy for her to throw a party,” Wyatt groused. “She never met David.”
Radford nodded but went on, “If you like, I can wait while you dress. Drive us both up.”
Wyatt knew the pecking order well enough to get his dress uniform on in record time. Without further griping, he got into his boss’s truck.
Radford negotiated the hairpin turn up the hill toward park headquarters. “Tell me what happened today.”
Keeping his eyes on the campground across the highway, Wyatt noted several RVs with TV satellite antennas. An elderly couple in matching jogging suits was the only people outside.
“Hello,” Radford prompted.
“Helen and I rushed in to the Mowrys’ camp and administered first aid. Even if we’d had a saline IV, morphine …” The sense of helplessness Wyatt had felt came rushing back.
Radford slowed to avoid a bull elk defying a ONE WAY sign where the road entered Mammoth proper.
“We were too late.”
After a little silence, Radford said, “The news reported something about this spring being mysterious?”
“Mysterious enough. It wasn’t there yesterday afternoon.”
Radford raised a brow. “Is that what Gretchen says?” His tone conveyed that she might have been too distraught to tell a straight story.
“Yes, and I think she’s probably right. I was up along Bear Creek two months ago. Cooled my feet in the same spot.”
Radford seemed to consider as he drove into the eclectic small village that was the nerve center of Yellowstone. Past the older buildings of frame and stone that had once been an Army installation was the abandoned parade ground. The vintage, 1920s-constructed Mammoth Hotel, covered in pale siding, sat near modern dormitories built for concession employees. On the side of Terrace Mountain, the stair-step levels of the hot springs dominated the landscape.
Radford pulled into the hotel parking lot. “Keep your eyes and ears open tonight. You’ll see why it would be wise to keep your story to yourself.”
Wyatt got out and slammed the car door.
Inside the hotel lobby, a sign on an easel proclaimed, “Park Service Staff welcomes Superintendent Janet Bolido.” The party was well under way in the Map Room, named for a large wooden wall mosaic of the United States. In the high-ceilinged space with a wall of glass overlooking the lawn, at least fifty uniformed rangers mingled with support staff in cocktail attire and business suits.
Wyatt walked away from Radford.
“Tough about David, buddy,” said a fellow scientist.
A clap on the shoulder. “Hell of a thing.”
An outstretched hand.
The park historian and coauthor of several of David’s books stopped him. “Sorry you and Helen … but if somebody had to be there, I’m glad it was folks he knew.”
Though Wyatt had been keeping it together since this morning, he suddenly lost it. Things were changing too fast, big irrevocable things that were taking people he cared for out of his life. How he longed to turn back the clock to last week.
“Helen’s left town,” he told the historian. “I’m looking for a drink.”
Taking a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray, he took a huge swallow and tried to compose himself. It was difficult with all the people around who had known David, so he walked over toward the food alone.
“This looks wonderful,” said a feminine voice beside Wyatt.
The petite woman’s close-cropped black hair held a sprinkling of gray. She had a good tan, or it could be that she had naturally golden skin, set off by a black velvet dress. Only the faint lines around her eyes suggested she was in her fifties.
Trying to appear a casual partygoer to this stranger, he tapped the crystal of his wineglass and noted its ring. Something special on the buffet also, an ice sculpture of the Gateway Arch constructed at the park’s north entrance in 1903. The elegant touch, coupled with the sumptuous spread, told him this was clearly catered by Firehole Inn in the small town of Gardiner, five miles north down the Gardner River Canyon.
Wyatt had not had any food since breakfast, and though he wondered if he would be able to eat, he followed the woman’s lead down the long laden table. He placed a crostini topped with goat cheese and basil onto his plate, along with an asparagus spear wrapped in prosciutto. As he reached to sample a small sandwich made with medallion of elk, Chief Ranger Joseph Kuni tapped the microphone that was set up in the center of the floor-to-ceiling bay window. A hush spread at the sight of the tall and elegant Native American.
“Good evening, everybody.” Though the sound system took a moment to kick in, Kuni’s voice needed no amplification. Wyatt had never been on the receiving end of one of his famous come-to-Jesus lectures, but he’d heard plenty about them. “I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I extend a hearty welcome to tonight’s guest of honor, Ms. Janet Bolido.”
An obligatory wave of applause swelled.
The woman in black turned to Wyatt and shoved her plate at him. Reflexively, he took it. Without so much as a thank you, she walked through the crowd that parted before her.
When she got to the microphone, Janet thanked Joseph for the ‘warm welcome.’ Wyatt shook his head. If he’d not been so preoccupied over David, he would have picked up who she was sooner. Her publicity photo didn’t do her any favors.
“Tonight is about getting acquainted,” Janet said, “and I want to tell you how pleased I am with the opportunity to serve as Superintendent of our nation’s first National Park.”
More applause.
Her face sobered. “There may be some of you here, especially those in the Resource Center, who find it difficult to enjoy the evening after learning of a colleague’s tragic death.”
A morsel of elk went dry in Wyatt’s mouth, and he set his plate on a tray.
“I want to take the opportunity to express my deepest sympathy to all the friends of David Mowry. Though I did not have a chance to know him before coming to the park, I read several of his books and was looking forward to meeting him. His loss is a great blow to our community and the world.”
After a moment of silence, Janet made what looked like a practiced sweep with her eyes. “This evening, I’d like to give you an idea of what I’m about.”
Radford Bullis came to stand beside Wyatt. “Check this,” he murmured.
“The National Park Service stands for preservation,” Janet said, “and I’m in favor of that as much as any person in this room.”
Wyatt took a long swallow of wine.
“However,” her voice firmed, “the Department of the Interior cannot be a money sink. Yellowstone is a wilderness of over two million acres, a hundred miles in any direction. With the exception of Grant Village in the late 1980s, and the newer Snow Lodge and planned Visitor Center at Old Faithful, most facilities in the park are ancient.”
She waved toward the historic frame buildings of Fort Yellowstone beyond the window. Over a hundred years old, they were still in service with rusting metal roofs and leaking steam radiators. “I’ve been sent here to encourage the building of newer and better tourist facilities. To do this with the budget constraints in today’s difficult economy will require that we promote increased traffic and boost revenue through soliciting financial contributions.” She smiled. “We’re about to embark on an international public relations campaign, reviving a promotion the Northern Pacific Railroad once used for Yellowstone.”
Pausing, she raised both arms and invited, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Wonderland!”
People started to laugh, but the wave of mirth was swiftly stifled as the Superintendent’s audience realized she was serious. Chief Ranger Kuni led a round of applause, his iron gaze holding control.
As the reception began to break up, Wyatt and Radford headed out beneath the porte-cochere in front of the hotel. It was full dark and the half moon shone on the white stone of the hot springs.
Wyatt shook his head. “Wonderland.”
“It worked for the railroads.” Radford buttoned his coat against the evening chill. “Had tourists coming in droves for stagecoach tours. For a while it looked like the Northern Pacific might get their wish to build a spur line into the heart of Yellowstone.”
“Maybe it was okay then,” Wyatt argued, “but in the twenty-first century it’s hokey.”
“I don’t know. There’s Disneyland, Sea World …”
“Pure fantasy. Built from scratch. You can’t do that to Yellowstone.”
Radford pointed at a busload of Asian tourists headed for the restaurant. “People already come from all over the world. We’ve got boat rides on the lake, theaters in our visitor centers.”
“So why not make ‘em IMAX?” Wyatt let his sarcasm fly.
“There’s been an IMAX at the Grizzly Center in West Yellowstone for years,” Radford countered. “Why not one inside the park where the American taxpayer gets the revenue?”
“Sounds like your boss has sold you.”
“As your boss, let me make one thing clear,” Radford said. “It doesn’t matter if I’m for it or not and that goes double for you. Our new Superintendent says ‘Wonderland,’ we jump-start printing posters and T-shirts.”
Wyatt bit the inside of his cheek.
Radford stopped beside his Park Service car. “And to be sure we understand one another, the Wonderland campaign is not compatible with scaring the tourists about earthquakes.”