twelve

We loaded the bus at seven o’clock the next morning to begin the six-hour drive north to Denali National Park and Preserve, which boasts the tallest mountain in the United States. The peak, once known as Mt. McKinley, had its original name restored by our forty-fourth president, so it’s now simply called Denali, which, loosely translated, is Athabascan for “really tall mountain.”

Athabascans don’t waste time with flowery language.

They cut right to the chase.

Given Ennis Iversen’s concern with Lorraine, Etienne and I had checked the transportation options out of Denali and had discovered that if Ennis needed to fly back to Iowa in a hurry, we could book a flight for him on a private plane flying out of one of the area’s nine smaller airfields. He’d been relieved to know he’d have a quick escape route, but that hadn’t prevented him from dragging his feet and looking really strung out when he boarded the bus. I suspected he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

Florence was no longer schlepping Thor’s photographic equipment, but she didn’t seem to be taking much pleasure in her victory. With her bloodshot eyes and barely combed hair, she was looking as ragged as Ennis. He’d told her about Lorraine’s disappearance before dinner last night, informing her first before he made the announcement to the rest of the group, and true to his prediction, the news had upset her so much that she’d been unable to eat a thing at supper. Chances were she hadn’t slept last night either, so maybe our six-hour ride would give both her and Ennis an opportunity to nap.

While Etienne and Steele posted themselves at the front and rear doors of the bus to help guests aboard, I hung out by the front door of the hotel with my clipboard, checking off names. Orphie hurried toward me weighed down with shopping bags that hung from her arms like shirts on a clothes rack.

I checked off her name. “Successful shopping trip in town yesterday, I see.”

“You bet it was. I bought something for everyone. I even bought a souvenir for Lorraine. I just hope she gets to see it.” She shook her head. “It rattles you to the bone when big city crime starts rearing its head right down the street from you.”

“Did you and Al ever get your phone calls coordinated?”

“He called me last night—from North Carolina, of all places.”

“No kidding? You never mentioned he was traveling south.”

“I didn’t know! It was a spur of the moment trip, actually. A developer contacted him about the possibility of having a hotel with an indoor water park built on the outskirts of town, so he offered to fly Al to North Carolina in his private jet so Al could tour the facility the developer built outside Asheville. It’s all so out of the blue. But we could only talk for about three minutes because his phone ran out of juice, so I only got the bare bones.”

“But we already have a water park.”

“That’s an outside facility. This one will be inside, so families will be able to use it all year-round. Think of the tourist dollars this could generate, Emily. Al is really going to make a name for himself if he can push this deal through.”

A frisson of unease rippled through me. “Where on the outskirts of town is he talking about building it?”

“As far away from the outdoor water park as possible. On the opposite side of town.”

“But that’s all farmland.”

“I know. Al mentioned something about eminent domain, but his phone died before he could finish. Isn’t it exciting?”

I watched her head toward the bus in all her anticipatory bliss.

No, it wasn’t exciting. That farmland belonged to my dad!

Goldie Kristiansen, her throat and wrists dripping in bangles that jingled like sleigh bells, was the last name I checked off. “Did you check off Grover’s name already?” she asked as we walked to the bus.

“You bet. You’re the last one to arrive.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve seen Grover because I had absolutely no idea where he was. I was rather getting my hopes up that we could leave him behind.” She sighed. “Next time maybe.”

As Etienne assisted her onto the bus, I spied Steele chatting with Alison and realized with chagrin how remiss I’d been about keeping him personally informed about all that had been happening.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I apologized when I joined them.

“About what?” asked Steele.

“I haven’t been keeping you in the loop. Things have been so crazy, I…” I stirred the air with my hand. “I’m really sorry. I promise to do better.”

He laughed. “No worries. I’m up to speed.” He tucked an errant wisp of hair behind Alison’s ear—an innocent gesture that throbbed with intimacy. “Alison’s been Johnny-on-the-spot.”

“Thanks, Alison.” I gave her forearm a grateful squeeze. “Uh…could I speak with you for a sec?”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Steele teased, “so I’ll see you ladies on the coach.” He winked good-naturedly and sprinted up the stepwell. I drew Alison aside, far enough away from the bus so that none of the guests would be able to hear our conversation, even if their windows happened to be down.

“I’ll make this quick: Is Grover Kristiansen bothering you?”

“Grover. The small-boned guy who wears the wide-brimmed hat with the chin cord? The one who seems genetically incapable of allowing anyone else to talk? That Grover?”

“That’s him. Has he become too much of a pest for you to handle politely?”

“Other than chattering like a magpie, he seems like a pretty good Joe. He’s not obnoxious or bad-tempered; he just likes to talk. And to be honest, it’s kind of a relief. I don’t have to think of anything to say when he starts in on his lectures, so it’s like a coffee break for my brain. I can figure out what I’m supposed to be doing next without listening to a single word he says. All I have to do is pretend I’m watching his lips move. But if he decides to test me on the information, I’m toast.”

“You don’t think you’re the victim of overkill?”

She shook her head. “I’m cool with Grover. It’s the grouchy guests I don’t understand. They’re on this great vacation with incredible scenery and really nice people and all they can do is complain. Who does that?”

She must have had a run-in with Bernice. “Okay, then. I’ll take you at your word. But if he becomes too overbearing, let me know and I’ll see what I can do about redirecting his attention.”

“You got it.”

“By the way, I like your tattoo.” I wiggled my finger at the blue-winged butterfly beneath her ear. “I’m not sure I’d ever be brave enough to get inked.”

She touched her neck as if reminding herself what was there. “You mean this old thing?” She laughed. “My cosmetology class decided we should celebrate our graduation by doing something a little wild but tasteful, so we all marched into the nearest tattoo parlor and got inked. Stupid, huh? When I’m eighty years old and my skin’s all crepey, people will wonder why I have a shriveled Smurf on my neck.” She smiled. “Try saying that eight times after knocking back a couple of margaritas.”

I fished my phone out of my shoulder bag. “Will you stand in front of the bus so I can take a picture? It should be good advertising for the both of us. I’ll send you the JPEG.”

As Alison stood by the rear wheels, striking a pose with her hand sweeping toward the aurora borealis on the side of the bus, I carefully framed the shot to exclude the window above her head where Grover Kristiansen sat with his nose pressed to the window, staring down at her like a cat desperate to pounce.

“Before we get too far,” Etienne announced as Steele revved the engine, “you might appreciate an update on the progress the police are making on Delpha’s case.” For the next several minutes he reiterated the same information he’d given me last night with relation to the police’s inability to make a ruling on the cause and manner of death, their decision to withhold the results of the autopsy report, and their continued efforts to contact Delpha’s sister.

“How long is Delpha’s sister supposed to be in Mongolia?” asked Lucille Rasmussen.

“I think it was for a month,” said Orphie. “If you’re traveling halfway around the world, you can’t be bothered with this long weekend stuff. And speaking of air travel, for those of you who haven’t heard, my Al is in North Carolina right now on the verge of closing a huge land development deal with a fella who has his own private jet. He’s being wined and dined at an exclusive—”

“Are you sure that’s legal?” asked Dick Stolee. “Sounds like pay-to-play to me.”

“Quid pro quo,” said Tilly. “An exchange of favors. You give me something and I’ll give you something in return. Never a good idea in the political arena.”

“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,” Dick Teig piped up.

“Exactly,” Tilly agreed. “In many instances a prosecutable offense.”

“No,” Dick corrected as he angled his arms behind his head. “My back is really itchy. Can someone scratch it for me?”

“I’m sure Mr. Arnesen is conducting Windsor City’s business in an ethical manner,” Etienne offered in an attempt to calm the waters. “But if you have questions, I suggest you plan to attend the public meetings the council should be scheduling about the issue. I’ll now turn the mic over to Alison, who’ll be entertaining you for the next several hours. Alison.”

He handed her the mic as we pulled onto the road. “Morning, everyone. We have a long ride ahead of us today, but I aim to make it as enjoyable as possible for you. A little trivia, a little music, snacks, comfort stops, and, of course, spectacular scenery. We’ll be traveling on a highway that parallels the route of the Alaska railroad, so I’d like to begin our journey by filling you in on a little history of that railroad project. Construction first got underway in 1904 and was financed by a private company whose ambition was to lay 470 miles of track between the interior of Alaska and the sea—Fairbanks to Seward. By 1912 a grand total of 71 miles of track had been laid, which was a good start, but unfortunately the company ran into financial difficulties and had to shut down, which is when the government stepped in. So in 1914 President Woodrow Wilson received authorization from Congress to—”

“This land development deal of Al Arnesen’s,” I whispered to Etienne as he sat down beside me. “Do you know what land is in his sights? Dad’s farm! There’s even talk of eminent domain.”

Grasping my hand, he leaned close to my ear, his voice an undertone. “Nothing has been decided, bella. Try not to overreact.”

“But what about Mom and Dad?”

“Do they know their farm is being targeted?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then don’t tell them.”

“But what if Orphie tells them where the new attraction is supposed to be located?”

“Considering the blowback she received about Al’s rather shady dealings, I doubt she’ll ever raise the topic again.”

That’s right. She was probably kicking herself for trumpeting Al’s trip in the first place. Temporarily relieved, I exhaled a breath and settled back in my seat. “Thanks,” I whispered to Etienne, who pressed my hand to his mouth to grace it with a lingering kiss.

“Despite battling constant problems with permafrost and landslides,” I heard Alison say as I refocused on her narration, “the railroad was officially completed on July 15, 1923, and President Warren Harding drove the golden spike at Nenana, whose location on the Nenana River gives it access to the Yukon River, which empties into the Bering Sea. Nenana is north of Denali, so you won’t get to see the golden spike, but if you’re interested in a replica, any souvenir shop—”

“I have a question,” Dick Stolee shouted out. “How can the Yukon River be in Alaska if the Yukon’s in Canada?”

My phone chimed with a familiar ring. I plucked it out of my shoulder bag before Alison could even finish her sentence. “What’s up?” I asked in a hushed tone.

“Will you let me explain?” Jackie urged. “I neglected to take into account the Silo Slider.”

“The what?”

“The Silo Slider. It’s this waterslide thing that corkscrews inside a fake silo and extends outside the building over a long patio of concrete where the slide ends. It opened for the first time last night after I texted you—on a midnight run, something I might have known was scheduled to happen if I hadn’t spent all day at the hospital.”

“And?”

“And Pearl Peacock and Arvella Bly were first in line because the guys insinuated that the two girls would be too chicken to sluice down a slide on their backsides at umpteen miles an hour with a flood of cold water soaking them to the skin. So the girls thumbed their noses at the guys and climbed like a thousand stairs to the top of the slide.” Jackie snorted into the phone. “The guys were so clueless, Em. Pearl and Arvella might be grammas, but they’re no shrinking violets. They grew up on Iowa swine farms where they cut their teeth learning to castrate hogs. So I mean, once you’ve been that chummy with a three-hundred-pound pig, what’s left to be afraid of, right?”

“I don’t think the pigs weigh three hundred pounds at the time they’re neutered.”

“Whatever. So Pearl goes first. Spiraling down the corkscrew in twenty seconds of unobstructed gravity. Zooming out of the building under the lights…where she flies over the rim of the slide and smacks onto pavement and continues skidding over the concrete for at least ten more feet.”

“Omigod, no.”

“And Arvella’s already in route behind her and ends up zooming out of the building, over the side, and onto the concrete too.”

The muscles in my stomach twisted into a Gordian knot. “How badly are they hurt?”

“Well, if they hadn’t been wearing hiking pants made of quick-drying, tear-resistant microfiber—I am so sold on the toughness of microfiber now, Em. I’m thinking of having my sofa reupholstered in the stuff because, did I tell you? I’m thinking of getting a cat, and I haven’t decided if I should have her declawed. There are two schools of thought on—”

“Jack!”

“Sorry. All these tour incidents keep interfering with my personal crises. Anyway, their injuries would have been a lot worse if they’d been wearing light-weight cotton or shorter pants or, God forbid, bathing suits, so they don’t need plastic surgery for their scrapes, but the docs are keeping them in the hospital for observation because their CT scans showed some evidence of head trauma. Only minor concussions, but when you’re in your late seventies, even a minor concussion can be problematic. Mildred, of course, is delighted. She’s trying to organize a bridge game in her room this afternoon.”

“So are you at the hotel or the hospital?”

“Hospital. And I’ve been up all night, so I actually have dark circles under my eyes that are proving to be resistant to concealer. I’m an eligible divorcee, Emily, in a hospital full of high income–earning doctors, none of whom are going to take a second look at me if I’m sporting circles as black as grease paint under my eyes. I look like an escapee from the morgue.”

“I’m very proud of the way you’re handling this, Jack. Talk about a baptism by fire, but you’re doing everything right. And I’m sure your constant presence at the hospital is a great comfort to Mildred…and the Toms…and Pearl…and Arvella.” I hesitated. “Is that everyone?”

“For now. And just so you know, Pearl’s and Arvella’s families are headed this way and they wanted me to tell you how grateful they are for your more than generous offer of free lodging while they’re here. They think that’s really upstanding.”

“We wouldn’t have it any other way,” I wheezed as I thumped my fist against my breastbone to clear my windpipe.

“I am so wiped out. Would it be okay with you if I asked Johnny to fill in for me at the hospital while I catch forty winks back at the hotel?”

I nodded.

“What?”

“Fine,” I said when I could breathe again. “Maybe he plays bridge.”

“Wouldn’t that be the bomb? He could be the fourth in Mildred’s game. I’ll call him right now. And one more thing. About my clothing allow—”

“No.”

“But—”

“Hang in there, Jack, and call me with any updates.” I slumped in my seat, my head still spinning. “Three healthy guests left,” I said to Etienne, “and a new contingent of concerned relatives whose lodging we’ll need to comp for an indefinite amount of time.”

“Jackie’s made all the right decisions so far, bella. There’s nothing that generates goodwill like an offer of free lodging.”

“Can we afford it?”

“We can’t afford not to. But the upside is that the remaining guests only have two more days at the park. It’s probably statistically impossible for anything else to go wrong.”

Sure, sure. Where had I heard that before?

We spent the next six hours traveling on a highway that was amazingly devoid of traffic. We motored through endless miles of trees, crossed raging rivers and babbling brooks that were milky blue with glacial runoff, gaped at the endless parade of mountain ranges hunched on the horizon, watched birds with enormous wingspans soar above us, and passed pizzerias, liquor stores, RV centers, campgrounds, truck dealerships, storage sheds, one Walmart Supercenter near Wasilla, and not much else. It smacked of what the Scottish Highlands might look like with more trees and fewer sheep.

“Are we almost at the town yet?” Goldie Kristiansen called out after the group had finished singing the Iowa version of “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall,” where the booze was replaced by “ears of corn on the plate.”

“Denali isn’t actually a town,” admitted Alison. “By comparison, the largest city in Alaska is Anchorage, which is home to 41 percent of the state’s population, or about three hundred thousand people. Denali Borough, on the other hand, has a permanent population of about nineteen hundred people, so we’re not talking about a major metropolitan area. More like a flag stop on the rail line.”

“We got more members in my church than that,” said Nana.

“My grandson’s got more players on his softball team than that,” joked Dick Stolee.

“Are you saying there’s no place I’ll be able to have my hair professionally styled?” pressed Goldie.

“Not unless the Majestic resorts have in-house salons. I can check on that for you. Majestic Cruise Line is the big kahuna in the area. They offer the best hotel accommodations, the best restaurants, the best—”

“So why aren’t we staying there?” demanded Bernice.

Alison didn’t skip a beat. “Because the place Destinations Travel has booked you into offers a much more authentic Alaskan ambiance than Majestic Cruise Line’s luxurious but unremarkable resorts. Unlike the Majestic properties, you’ll have a woodland setting, an adorable cabin all your own, peace and quiet from the congestion of the park, easy access to—”

“Sounds like you’re trying to put lipstick on a pig,” crabbed Bernice.

“We’re not staying in a place like the Bates Hotel, are we?” questioned Helen Teig.

“Heck no,” defended Alison. “The Bates Hotel didn’t have a hot tub or an onsite diner or free Wi-Fi or a gift shop.”

“How many stars in the tourbook guide?” challenged Bernice.

Alison cleared her throat. “Uhh…multiple, I’m sure.”

“Back in my day a place earned four stars if it had an indoor john,” Osmond reminisced. “Five if toilet paper was included.”

“What about mosquitoes?” asked George. “I’ve heard tell they’re as big as dragonflies in interior parts of the state that are really remote.”

I peered out the window. So basically everywhere.

Alison smiled. “They’re not quite that big, but I have repellent that I’ll be happy to share.”

“Are Alaskan mosquitoes the dangerous kind?” asked Alice.

“I’m unfamiliar with the toxicity of Alaskan mosquitoes,” Tilly said in her professor’s voice, “but there are a substantial number of diseases that can be transmitted by the insect. Dengue fever, malaria, West Nile virus, filariasis, Western equine encephalitis, Eastern equine encephalitis, Venezuelan equine encephalitis, chikungunya.”

“What if we all discover we’re sick with this stuff when we get back home?” asked Dick Teig, who was already scratching his neck at the thought of future bites. “Will the clinic have the right antidotes? Will they be able to treat us or are we gonna be dead meat?”

“No need to panic,” soothed Margi. “I’m pretty sure the illnesses Tilly just rattled off aren’t on the Windsor City Clinic’s list of most deadly diseases. The disorders that kill our patients usually have shorter names.”

As we rolled into the parking lot of a sprawling complex of small log cabins, appropriately named Wilderness Cabins, I felt an undercurrent of anticipation ripple through the bus. “Welcome to Denali,” trilled Alison as Steele cut the engine.

The cabins looked to be constructed of cedar and were perched on raised platforms that were connected by a network of plank sidewalks. As big as two-car garages, with petunias dripping from hanging baskets and lawn chairs arranged on outdoor decks, they were nestled amid towering fir trees and brought to mind a vision of what summer camp might have looked like if I’d ever attended summer camp.

“I thought you said we were going to be in the boonies,” Thor Thorsen spoke up.

Alison laughed. “This isn’t boonie enough for you? It’s a long walk to civilization from here.”

“So what’s with the gridlock in the parking lot?” he challenged.

He was right. There was an unusual number of cars, SUVs, and vans in the lot, which made me wonder if scores of hungry tourists were eating in the cabins’ onsite diner…until I realized that the side panels of each vehicle were emblazoned with eye-catching logos.

Uh-oh.

“They look like news vans to me,” said George.

“Sure do,” agreed Dick Stolee. “A bunch of them are even equipped with their own satellite dishes.”

“What can possibly be newsworthy in the boonies?” scoffed Orphie.

“Do you suppose there’s been another Bigfoot sighting?” asked Helen.

Gasps. Nervous tittering. Collective rubbernecking.

“Could it be the same one Bob saw?” asked Margi.

“I never actually saw it,” Dad spoke up.

“Couldn’t be the same one,” asserted Dick Teig. “How’d he get here before we did? Helicopter?”

“There’s no way a Cyclopean hominid would be allowed on a helicopter,” argued Tilly. “Too many FAA regulations.”

“There’s gotta be more of them apes than the one what Bob seen,” Nana chimed in.

“I didn’t see it,” repeated Dad.

“Maybe he’s got relatives what live in the area.”

“That ape is not going to book a helicopter ride,” scoffed Bernice. “Do you know why? Two words.”

“No money?” suggested George.

“No pants,” said Bernice. “Who’s gonna want to occupy a seat just vacated by a musty-smelling, tick-infested, flea-carrying ape? It’s all about the upholstery.”

“That’s stupid,” chided Margi.

“Is not.”

“Is so.”

“What kind of legal tender would an ape use?” mused Dick Teig.

“My money’s on a credit card,” said Helen. “American Express applications get mailed to everyone.”

“My Mr. Fluffy received one last month,” Lucille admitted. “He was even preapproved.”

I listened to their discussion with some concern. They were actually arguing about whether a mythical creature qualified for an American Express card. Either they were being more eccentric than usual or they’d all managed to weasel out of the dementia screening portion of their annual wellness exams last year.

I popped out of my seat to address the group while Etienne and Steele scooted out the front exit door. “While Steele offloads your luggage, Etienne is going to run to the office to pick up your room keys and site maps. So once you have your suitcase in hand, head toward the office so Etienne can give you your key.”

“Our suitcases aren’t being delivered to our rooms?” questioned Helen Teig in a sour tone.

“Not this time. We’re heading out again in a couple of hours to tour the park, so if you need access to anything in your suitcase, it’ll be quicker if you roll it to your cabin yourself.”

“I bet the guests at the Majestic resorts don’t have to schlep their own luggage,” taunted Bernice.

I threw a long look down the aisle at her. “If you’d like to ditch my tours for the Majestic brand, Bernice, I promise not to be offended.”

“Show of hands,” Osmond whooped as he waved his hand for attention. “How many people think Bernice should sign up for another company’s—”

“No voting!” I cut him off.

“Say, the food in the diner must be pretty good,” observed George. “Look at all the folks hustling outta that place.”

They poured out of the eatery and crowded around the office that was located next door—a teeming mass of humanity with cameras and microphones and determined looks in their eyes. No newsworthy incidents had better be unfolding in the rest of Alaska today because it looked as if every news outlet in the state was camped out right here.

As my guys struggled to their feet with tired groans and an audible creak of limbs, I offered last-minute instructions. “Just to remind you again, the tour bus from Denali Park is scheduled to pick us up here in the parking lot at three o’clock, so please don’t dillydally in your rooms. Find your cabin, freshen up, wander over to the office gift shop to look over the snack selection if you’re hungry for a mid-afternoon nibble, then hightail it over to this building we’re parked in front of so we can count heads.” I gestured toward the cabin directly opposite us with the hot tub outside and rocking chairs on the porch. “I’m guessing that’s the guest lodge. And don’t forget to bring binoculars or other special photographic equipment you plan to use.”

“What is it we’re supposed to be seeing on this tour?” Goldie called out.

“I’ll answer that,” Alison spoke up. “The biggies are moose, caribou, and grizzly bear. This is the ultimate Alaskan wildlife experience, where you’ll see animals up close and personal in their natural environment. So much better than a zoo. Trust me. This adventure is going to knock your socks off.”

“Couldn’t we get the same effect by simply watching one of those Disney nature movies?” questioned Helen.

“Looks like Steele has all the luggage compartments open,” I said as everyone piled into the aisle in relative slow motion. “Be careful exiting. Watch your step.”

I sprinted down the front stairs to assist with offloading, surprised when the gaggle of news people outside the office swiveled their bodies around to study our bus. As if controlled by one brain, they all looked down to check their phones at the same time, and when they’d finished reading and swiping, they looked up, paused for a heartbeat, then began to move all at once, like runners at the start of a marathon fighting to break out of the pack.

“Are you the Destinations Travel bus?” one of them shouted as they raced in our direction. “The group out of Iowa?”

They swarmed around the luggage bays, holding their cameras at the ready and firing up their microphones.

“That’s him,” someone else yelled as Dad descended the stairs.

Cameras whirred, elbows flew, and bodies bumped as they jockeyed for better angles.

“Mr. Andrew! Do you stand by your theory that the Bigfoot monster you saw in Girdwood was responsible for the death of the as-yet-unidentified woman who was a member of your tour group?”

Dad paused on the stepwell, looking gobsmacked. “I never said that.”

“I said it!” cried Bernice, posing like the Statue of Liberty with her arm raised above her head. “Me! Bernice Zwerg. Former magazine model. It’s my theory, not Bob’s, and I expect you to give me full credit for it.”

Brushing off Bernice as if she were a pesky gnat, the reporters refocused on Dad.

“Mr. Andrew, I’m sure you’re aware that your traveling companion was killed on the very mountain where you took your now infamous picture, so if you were to devise a theory, what would it be?”

Dad blinked. “What?”

“The police haven’t released any information about the circumstances surrounding your companion’s death,” another reporter called out. “Do you think that’s because they found evidence that she was killed by Bigfoot and they don’t want to scare tourists away?”

“Dunno.”

“Would you agree that if a deranged ape is on a killing spree in the mountains around Girdwood, the police should inform the public immediately?”

Dad nodded. “Yup.”

“How do you feel about the police department’s refusal to share any details about this tragic accident, Mr. Andrew?”

“I figure that’s their busi—”

“So you think it was an accident?”

“No!”

“So if you don’t think it was an accident, do you agree she was deliberately targeted and killed by Bigfoot?”

Whirr. Whirr. Clickclickclick.

Dad raised his forearm like a shield in front of his face, squinting at the explosion of camera flashes.

“Can you be more specific about what Bigfoot actually looks like, Mr. Andrew? Height? Weight? Dermal composition?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“But what about your photo? How could you post a picture of the creature if you didn’t see it?”

“I was showcasing the scenery.”

“So you thought you were uploading photos of…what? Trees?”

Dad nodded. “They’ve got some pretty nice ones over on that mountain.”

Whispers. Buzzing. Curious looks.

“Did you know the original tweet that claimed Bigfoot attacked a hiker went viral on Twitter, Mr. Andrew? Thirty thousand retweets? Over a hundred thousand likes?”

“That was my tweet,” protested Bernice. “Those are my likes. I made that happen. Would you like to get a picture of me?” She slithered her way through the crowd to stand in front of Dad. Standing at an angle and sucking in her stomach, she preened for the camera. “Should I say cheese?”

The pool of reporters lowered their cameras and sidled uncomfortable glances at each other, which is when I stepped in, addressing them in an easygoing tone. “I hate to break this up, folks, but we’re on a tight schedule, so if you don’t move out of the way and allow my guests to pick up their luggage, our itinerary is really going to be messed up.”

“What about my photo shoot?” complained Bernice as the throng of reporters took what I said to heart and shuffled toward the sidelines.

“Thanks anyway, ma’am,” one of them shouted to Bernice. “Maybe another time.”

“Oh, sure.” She threw them a disgusted look. “You bozos will never make it as paparazzi.”

“Grab your suitcases, everyone, and start heading over to the office,” I instructed as I shooed them along. “Anyone not finding the right bag?”

With an assist from Alison and Steele, we aimed them in the right direction and watched them trudge to the office, where Etienne was waiting with their keys and site maps. With keys in hand they started to peel off in search of their cabins, but the reporters remained close by, loitering in the parking lot, looking as if they were waiting to pounce again, which they did when Mom and Dad struck out along the raised walkway.

“Mr. Andrew, would you take a minute to clarify?” a woman called out as she and her colleagues chased behind them. “Is it your opinion that Bigfoot killed the woman in your party who was hiking on the mountain trail in Girdwood?”

I wondered if one of the qualifications of being a good reporter was the ability to rearrange words in a sentence in such a way that they could ask the same question ten times in a row and not have it sound like the same question.

Mom and Dad picked up their pace.

So did the reporters.

“Mr. Andrew, from what you saw of the monster, would you classify it as a member of the bear or the ape family?”

Mom stopped abruptly, spun around, and, with hands fisted on her hips, confronted Dad’s tormentors. “Stop it! I’m traveling with my elderly mother and you’re scaring her half to death with this talk of yours, so I’m warning you to go away before you cause her to suffer a major heart event from which she’ll never recover. God help you if you have to carry a burden like that around with you for the rest of your lives. How will you sleep at night?”

Penitent silence ensued for all of three seconds before someone threw out, “Are you Mrs. Andrew? Mrs. Andrew, did you see the creature too? Or was your husband the only person who got a good look at it?”

Etienne joined me near the office patio where I was watching the scene play out. “What do the newshounds want?”

“They want to conflate Dad’s photo with Bernice’s tweet so they can get Dad to hypothesize that Bigfoot killed Delpha.”

“Are they having any luck?”

“Not with Dad. Bernice, on the other hand, is miffed that no one is asking her to pose for a photo shoot.”

Mom and Dad scurried to a nearby cabin.

The media followed in hot pursuit.

Etienne shook his head. “Persistence is one thing, but what they’re doing looks as if it’s bordering on harassment. Shall I warn them to back off?”

I held up my hand to stall him. “Not quite yet.”

Mom and Dad disappeared inside the cabin, leaving their pursuers to putz aimlessly around the grounds, swatting mosquitoes.

“Oh my god, this is the perfect solution. Mom is going to be so busy fending off reporters, she won’t have time to stalk Nana.” I pumped my fists in the air. “Yes.”

Etienne’s phone chimed. “Miceli.”

He listened to the caller, his face unreadable as he uttered a string of throwaway phrases that included several “uh-huhs” and at least one “I understand.” When he hung up, his handsome face had turned dour. “That was Lieutenant Kitchen.”

I winced. “Bad news?”

“Based on the evidence they’ve collected, they’re no longer treating Delpha’s death as suspicious. They’ve ruled it a homicide.”