I woke up to the sound of my phone chirping, Timmy wailing, and Lena trying to shush him. Poor baby. Poor Lena. Dr. T had four hours left at the hospital, lucky him. A message from the open water race director appeared on my phone. No one named Burk had participated in the swim, at least not legally. Then another alert from my bank popped up. My new credit card had been used, but not by me. Two charges were made in an East Bay big box store. Someone had purchased three laptops, noise-canceling headphones and a solar charger amounting to over $4,000. I guess all that shopping made the thief hungry, so he/she drove over to a Mexican fast-food restaurant and bought $60 worth of tacos and tortillas. I read the email in disbelief. Not again. I reread it, this time aloud.
“Lena,” I yelled, jogging out to the living room. “My hacker is … what’s wrong with you?”
There was my sister, frantic. “I don’t know what to do. I want to take a shower. I want to go to the bathroom, but I don’t think I should put him down.”
“Let me take him and you go do what you need to do.”
“I don’t know if that’s—”
“Go.” I reached for the crying baby and propped him up next to my shoulder.
“You have to be quiet so I can call the bank. There is someone out there who likes using my money. Well, the bank’s money, but still.”
Lena stood hesitantly in the hallway. “You were hacked?”
“Yes. A second time. Now, go. Take your shower.”
With Timmy balanced on one arm, I contacted the fraud division of my bank and canceled the card, again. Another one would be sent to me, again. They were sorry for the inconvenience, again.
I voiced my frustration to Little T. The more I talked, the quieter he became.
“Let’s go live off the grid, you, me, your mom and dad. Forget banking and credit cards. Forget guys who don’t exist or go into hiding. You remember Tyler? That skinny guy you met at Earl’s house? Well, that’s what he did. He wants everyone to think he’s missing. But he’s not. He’s done something stupid. Something that puts him and his grandpa in a lot of danger. What do you think it is?”
Timmy had stopped crying and was staring at me intently, giving me every indication he was listening. It was more than anyone else was offering.
“Ok, Detective Tim. Help me out. What do Tyler and Earl have in common?” Timmy turned his head and laid it down on my shoulder. “We know that they’re related. Grandfather and grandson. They both like beer, but that’s about it, as far as I can see. Are you hungry?”
I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I noticed the bottle of beer I’d coveted the night before.
“You know Little T, I found Tyler near his beer-making buddy’s house. What if his problem has something to do with Coyote Ridge?”
I shut the refrigerator and walked back toward the living room, only to stop half-way. “That’s it. That’s what Tyler and Earl have in common. Beer! Tyler makes it and his grandfather gives him and his partners money and brewing tips. Earl is supposed to be some sort of craft beer guru, remember?”
Lena called out from behind the closed door of the bathroom. “Who are you talking to?”
“Timmy.” I glanced down at the baby in my arms. His cheek rested against my chest, his eyes closed.
Even he’d stopped listening. I didn’t care. I went on prattling, anyway.
“So Coyote Ridge seems to be the connection. Are they stealing recipes? Couldn’t be. Not Earl. He’s too straitlaced for that. And if they were, you’d think the last batch would’ve tasted better.”
Timmy gave a muffled snort in his sleep. I walked the baby back to his crib and laid him down. His eyes fluttered for a moment, but he remained in dreamland. I covered him with a light blanket, walked out to the living room and stretched out on the couch while I pondered my new discovery.
My phone buzzed with a text from Dad. The police had told Tyler’s parents what Inspector Burrell had told me. Adults have the right to disappear. They didn’t like that, so they packed up the car and headed to Carmel.
“I can go home!” I proclaimed to the empty room. Ten minutes later, a somewhat refreshed and clean Lena came walking down the hallway wrapped in towels.
“Where’s Timmy?”
“Sleeping. You want something done, ask Aunt Trisha.”
Before I could get the words out, Lena darted down the hallway to check on the sleeping baby. A second later, she walked back to the living room, her expression incredulous. “How did you do that?”
“He listened while I talked to the bank. Then we discussed Tyler and his grandfather and beer. We never got around to the beer making swimmer who doesn’t exist, so I’ll have to fill him in later. I’m going back to Earl’s house. Tyler’s parents have left, so I have my room back. I think Earl knows more than he’s saying. About Tyler, about all of it.”
Lena shook her head. “Here we go. Trisha’s gone off the deep end, again! You need a better hobby.”
When I left Lena’s and drove up the hill to Earl’s, I scoped out the houses I passed along the way. Nothing about them struck me as unusual. Maybe Tyler had been mistaken. The road was deserted except for two cyclists who rode by almost daily.
The Babe walked around in his customary circles as I came into the deserted house. I knew my father was with Earl, volunteering at China Camp State Park, part of a new daily schedule that kept him busy and happy.
The solitude of the house made me think about my own obligations. I better take care of this now. I pulled out my phone and called Jon. It went to voicemail. “I can’t do the family dinner right. I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”
If I were brave, I would have said it to his face, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t want to. What I wanted was to find a bottle of Coyote Ridge. Four sat on the kitchen counter and two remained in the fridge, one of which had already been opened, its cap fitted back over the top. I picked it up, flipped off the cap and almost took a sip, but thought better of it. Instead, I sniffed the liquid in the bottle. It smelled like wet dog. Well, that’s enough to keep someone sober.
Could this possibly be the beer that Earl had said needed ‘slight tweaking’? If it were me, I’d throw it out and start from scratch. I pushed the cap back on and placed it back in the refrigerator.
Maybe Earl needed to be more hands-on and walk them through the beer making basics, step by step. How hard could it be? It’s a recipe. Even I can follow a recipe. The Babe had trailed me into the kitchen and was stretched out by the table, body glued to the floor.
“What could make something smell so bad?” I mused out loud to the dog.
“They didn’t clean the containers properly,” said Earl, walking into the kitchen.
Surprised, I turned around. “You’re back early. I didn’t hear you drive up.”
Covered in dirt and sawdust, Earl’s body radiated heat.
“You’re saying they didn’t keep their bottles and mixing containers in the dishwasher long enough?”
“It’s more complicated than that. This is a typical beginner’s error,” said Earl.
“Why don’t you dump it out?” I asked.
“They need to taste it themselves, so they can see how bad it is,” he said, moving me away from the fridge.
“Wouldn’t they normally do that?”
“You’d think,” said Earl. “But it doesn’t look or taste like it.”
“Did you try another bottle? Maybe it was just that one.”
“Don’t need to. According to Jason, all the beer came from one batch, and it was all stored together. They should all taste the same.”
I took a closer look at my father’s friend and noticed the dark circles that had settled under his eyes. “How are you doing?” I asked him. “You look exhausted. Have you heard anything from Tyler?”
“I’ll be okay once I take a shower.” I noticed he hadn’t answered my question.
“Your son left?”
“Yep.”
“Weren’t they here to find Ty? Maybe visit his apartment?
“They did. They even convinced the police to go with them, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. The police told them to go on with their lives, that they’d be in touch if anything changed.”
“If it were my sister, I’d never leave until I found her. Maybe he’s closer than anyone thinks.”
Earl tried to smile, but the corners of his mouth didn’t cooperate.
“You have a good heart, Trisha, like your dad. But this is different. Ty is different. His mom and dad are different.”
“Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Does it have to be now? I’m tired. Been a tough day or two. I was planning on stretching out and taking a little nap after I cleaned up.”
“Ok, just one then. Do you have any friends in the neighborhood?”
“Acquaintances mostly. No real ‘friends.’ To tell the truth, I never went out of my way to meet the neighbors. Why are you asking?”
“Just curious about the locals.”
Earl shrugged and then turned to walk up the staircase.
“Do you and Ty work on other projects together besides beer?”
Earl stopped, shook his head. “No.”
“Nothing at all?”
Earl turned and squinted at me like he was standing in bright sunlight.
“No, Trisha. Nothing at all. Why?”
“Just curious, I guess. Why don’t you talk to his beer making buddies? They might know where he went,” I said.
“Gonna clean up, lie down. Need to sleep.”
He continued up the stairs, The Babe following. From the little I knew about my landlord, he had always been a person for detail … not the type to be blasé about a project, even if only mildly involved. He would never lend his name to an enterprise that didn’t aim for perfection. Maybe Coyote Ridge didn’t have to taste good. Maybe Coyote Ridge was a shell for something else. Something that only Earl and Tyler and their beer making buddies were aware of.
Before I headed up to see what Ty’s parents had done to my room, I walked through the comfortable living room with its lived-in deep brown leather couches and chairs and out to the deck. Earl’s drone rested on the patio’s wicker sofa. He’d shown me how to use it once, when I first moved in. I often saw him flying it over the reservoir at the other end of La Cruz Canyon. Sometimes he followed the swimmers in the water. I had planned to ask him if he would like to be the air video expert for the next open water swim. If he videoed the whole swim and then hovered over the finish line as the swimmers came in, we could play it before the awards ceremony. It would be a first for Northern California.
I picked up the pint-sized flying robot and turned it around in my hand. Such a silly compact thing, with its tiny propellers, small black body and bug-eyed camera. I powered it on and saw the light blink.
“Let’s go for a ride, shall we?” I sat the drone on the patio couch and pushed the control stick slowly forward. The little propellers whirled.
“And we are ready for takeoff.” I pushed the throttle forward again, this time faster. Too fast. The drone went straight up.
“Shit!”
I pulled the throttle back to the starting position, trying to go slow, but it wasn’t slow enough and the mini copter almost crash-landed right next to me. I turned everything off. I did a quick inspection of the propellers and the camera. Nothing damaged. Lucky its takeoff and landing platform were the soft cushions of the couch.
“That’s enough for one day.” I placed the controls where I found them, right next to the drone, and saw a folded piece of paper stuck in the corner of the cushion. On it were a few different sketches of these mini flyers. One was about the size of a large dragonfly. So tiny. In fact, he’d named it Dragon Fly200. Earl’s neat linear handwriting had some notes on the minuscule bug. It would weigh no more than eighteen grams with its camera. By my calculations, that was around a third of a pound.
Under the Dragon Fly’s weight were the words “Regular/thermal camera range of two+ miles, fly up to thirty minutes.” At the bottom, he’d added, “Fits in the palm of your hand. Folds up to cell phone size.”
Another sketch, this one called the “Batbot,” had all its electronics under the main part of the body, making it look like, you guessed it, a bat. Next to the sketch were the words in precise penmanship: “Flight time under five minutes. Need different power source—high altitude lasers?”
Earl must be coming out of retirement if he’d started designing drones. But designing quadcopters that needed airborne laser beams to keep them energized? Sounded like science fiction or a military-grade invention. I pulled out my phone and took pictures of them, then refolded the piece of paper and stuck it back where I’d found it.
I wondered if my dad knew about Earl’s designs. Best way to find out was just to ask him. I gave him a call.
“Hey, daughter of mine. What’s going on? You at Lena’s?”
“No, I’m back home. Lena’s a little down in the dumps. Six months into parenthood, and I think she’s realizing it’s forever.”
There was silence on the other end. Dad cleared his throat.
“Sorry, Dad. Didn’t mean to offend.”
“You didn’t. I was the one who walked out. I have to live with that for the rest of my life. Is there something honestly wrong with Lena or is it just the new-mother blues?”
“She’s fine. It’s Earl that has me worried.”
“The poor man. I’ve never seen him like this. He somehow thinks Ty’s disappearance is his fault. Not sure why. And his kids… what a piece of work they are.”
“Dad, could I change the subject?”
“Shoot.”
“What do you know about Earl’s drone?”
“You mean Black Beauty? That thing he flies over the canyon?”
“Yeah. Black Beauty.”
“Are you interested in getting one? I’m sure Earl can give you some suggestions, maybe a few lessons. You were never much of a driver, Trisha. You sure you want to start flying quadcopters?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m—”
“I tried it once, you know.”
“Dad, listen—”
“Funny little things, hopping over the treetops.”
“Dad,” I said louder. “Listen. Did Earl design drones?”
“Well, let me think. He was some computer engineer genius, made all his money that way.”
“Dad, I know this. But did he design drones? Is he designing drones now?”
“I don’t know. We did have a discussion the other night about what the ideal drone would be like. The specs and all that.”
“Why do you think he brought that up?”
“Oh, that’s Earl, always looking to improve upon what is.”
“Is there a reason, you think?”
“Nah. He likes to talk and think and invent things. That’s who he is. Why all these questions?”
“Just curious, I guess. I found some sketches of what might be next-generation drones. Looked like Earl’s handwriting,” I explained, staring across La Cruz Canyon. Off in the distance on the fire road, the two cyclists who had ridden past me when I first arrived had stopped to chat. Or at least I thought it was them. Hard to tell so far away.
“Trish, are you thinking of buying a drone? I wouldn’t if I were you. You’d fly it into the Canyon and never see it again. I remember when you learned to drive… that corner on Fifth and K… didn’t you take out the stop sign?”
“Got something to do, Dad. Gotta go. Bye.” I hung up. Sometimes talking to my father was like taking The Babe for a walk, Can’t always keep him on track.
“What?” That’s all I could say when I stepped into my bedroom. Ty’s parents must have thought the hotel staff would be in to clean up after them. They had pulled the sheets off the bed and dropped them on the floor. Towels from my bathroom formed a damp trail to the sliding glass doors that opened onto the deck. The water dripped in the shower. Someone had managed to squeeze the toothpaste all over the sink and part of the mirror. Did they think I was the maid? If so, where was my tip? Must have forgotten.
My phone buzzed, signaling a text from Jon. Not now, I thought. Can’t deal with you and this mess. Even I didn’t know whether I meant the room or my relationship.
I’m not known for being neat, but I would never leave someone else’s room in such disarray. I set the room back in order, vibrating with annoyance and getting angrier by the second. Jon’s unread text wasn’t helping my attitude, either.
I need to get out of here.
I changed into a pair of knee-length exercise pants Lena’d given me for my birthday and a gray crop top. Then I scrambled through the bottom of my closet to find the closest things I had to running shoes. I tied up the laces and picked up my phone. There were three texts from Jon and an alert from my bank.
“What now?” I said to the empty room. I opened my bank’s website. Because of my inconvenience for the second time, they promised to next-day mail my new credit card. They reassured me again that I wouldn’t be responsible for the charges. That was something, at least.
I stuck the phone in the waistband of my tights and trotted down the steps. The Babe wiggled around by the front door, watching me anxiously.
“Oh, all right. Come on.” We jogged down the steps and took a side trail off the fire road, a path that led into the canyon and the reservoir at the far end. Tall redwoods crowded the path, framing the sky above me. The cool air and solitude helped minimize the concern over my violated room and breached credit card. The issue of Jon was not pacified so easily.
The wide dirt road was a perfect spot for a run … well, not exactly a run. Not even a jog, more like a fast walk. The redwoods dwarfed the small bushy Bay Laurel trees that grew alongside the trail. As the groves drifted into the deeper part of the canyon, mature madrones shedding deep red bark and exposing smooth yellow trunks replaced them. Their long twisting branches stretched out and shaded the trail, the temperature dropping at least fifteen degrees as we descended. The Babe obediently trotted next to me until something caught his nose and he scooted over to the edge of the trail and sniffed away. I kept going. In less than thirty seconds, he reappeared by my side, his tags clinking as he jogged along.
The trail straightened out as we reached the bottom of the canyon. After twenty minutes, I slowed down to a comfortable walk and then stopped. Sweat dripped down my forehead and I struggled to catch my breath.
“This is hard.” The dog stopped and stood next to me, waiting for our next move. My anger had slipped away and with it, the urge to bolt. I looked down at The Babe. “We’re almost there, bud. We can make it.”
‘There’ referred to the reservoir. Even though it was now a considerable effort to move my legs, I started jogging again. Around the next bend, the water glistened through the trees and the shrubs. When the full reservoir came into view, I stopped and pulled out my cell phone to take a few pictures.
We started off along the shore for another ten minutes when The Babe suddenly made a hard right and ran into the tall grass by the water’s edge.
“Stay with me. Come,” and he did, sort of. But then he veered directly toward the water and jumped in, chasing a black and white waterbird with a needle-thin bill and hot pink legs.
“Babe, come. Now. Leave that … ah … thing alone.”
“It’s a stilt. A black-necked stilt, to be exact,” said a voice behind me. I turned to find the shorter of the two cyclists I’d seen when I was on the phone with Dad. Next to him stood the other rider, a tall, ripped man with curly hair. His wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes, but he smiled broadly.
“I know you,” I said to Mr. Smiley. “You swam with me at the open water swim. Burk, right?”
“That’s right. Nice to see you again.”
I faltered, searching for something to say. “You’re not in the race results.”
“You were looking?” he asked.
“Uh, just wanted to thank you,” I stammered.
“You did.”
I knew I should say something witty, something that would make him think I was funny or clever or both, but I couldn’t let it go. “Why aren’t you in the results?”
“A paperwork issue, that’s all. I’ve been too busy to clear it up,” he explained.
The Babe splashed through the water, headed for the trail and stood in the middle of the three of us, staring at me with expectant eyes. Then he shook, getting us all wet. Everyone stepped back.
“Sorry about that,” I apologized.
“She’s just being a dog,” he said.
“She’s a he,” I said.
“Didn’t you call him Babe?”
“Yeah, as in The Babe.”
“Oh, that Babe. Babe Ruth. Gotcha,” said Burk.
“I saw you taking pictures. Good place for a distance swim, don’t you think?” his friend commented. “You know, if you swim and run, just add cycling and you could join us at some of the sprint triathlons.”
“I’m a better swimmer than I’m a runner, and that’s not saying much. And I haven’t been on a bike since I was twelve.”
“As they say, ‘It all comes back to you,’” he pressed. “I should have known you’d name your dog after a baseball player,” said Burk.
I took a step back. “The Babe isn’t my dog and why do you think I’d name him after a baseball player?”
Burk took off his sunglasses. Startling blue eyes, bluer than robin’s eggs, stared at me. I must have been completely freaked out to have missed them at the swim.
“Only a guess. You gotta be a baseball fan. I’m a season ticket holder and I’ve seen you at the Giants games half a dozen times. You usually scan tickets at the gates near Willie Mays Plaza, don’t you?”
“You’re right. I do.” I was taken by surprise.
He stood there, that big grin still on his face.
A wave of uneasiness swept over me and a rosy flush crept up my neck to my face. I bent over to put The Babe on his leash.
“Sorry about the soggy dog,” I managed to say, nodding to one man and then the other.
“See you at the next game,” said Burk. He held my gaze for a minute. “What’s your name again?”
“Trisha.”
“That’s right. Trisha, the anxious swimmer.”
He held out his hand. “Burk Dennison. See you soon, Trisha. We ride by Earl’s house all the time. We’re neighbors. I’m around the corner, other side of the hill.”
“Later,” said the no-name cyclist. “Think about the triathlon. You’d have a lot of fun. We could train here in the reservoir for the swim.”
With that, they rode off down the trail. I watched as they disappeared around a curve. My brain slipped into slow motion. He knew my landlord, but Earl hadn’t mentioned a Burk when I asked him about his neighbors. Was his house on the “other side of the hill” the same one Tyler had mentioned? I had more questions about this guy than I’d had before this chance meeting. And why did I want answers so badly?
My pocket rang. It was Jon. I turned my phone off. I couldn’t talk to him. Not now.
Later that evening, I sat on the deck off my bedroom, thinking about the probability of running into a total stranger two times in as many days. Burk didn’t look like a stalker … not that I knew what stalkers looked like. And he was nice to look at. I wasn’t completely opposed to running into him again.
“Trisha, is there something wrong with your phone?” Dad called up the stairs.
“No, it’s just turned off.”
“Well, your sister has been calling. The Giants are trying to reach you. Since you weren’t answering, they tried Lee’s home phone. They want you to work a special event tomorrow. You need to let them know as soon as possible.”
“Okay, thanks. I will,” I called down the steps.
The doorbell rang. The front door opened, and The Babe began to bark. It took less than thirty seconds before the tantalizing scent of warm pizza sauce, melted cheese and pepperoni floated into my room. My mouth watered.
“Come on down and have some pizza with Earl and me. We’re tired of staring at each other… need a little female company.”
“Let me call work first, Dad.” I switched on the phone and called the Special Events office at the ballpark to let them know I would be there as requested. Jon had stopped texting me. I wasn’t sure if that made me happy or sad.