Scene of the Climb (11 page)

Taking a sip of water from the glass in front of him he continued. “At this point it's up to the sheriff when and how we move ahead.”

I caught Dave looking desperately at Krissy before he interrupted. “Now listen, mate. As we discussed at the bar-bie, we have to keep filming. We have to keep a good face in public. It's like what they say in Hollywood, ‘The show must go on.'”

Krissy cracked open a can of zero-calorie iced tea. “Maybe they said that twenty years ago, Dave.”

Greg held up his palm. “Let's all take it easy. I'm not suggesting we cancel the race, but Krissy's made it clear a number of events are going to have to be reworked. Plus, until we get the go-ahead from the sheriff's office, none of us are doing anything.”

“Crikey! These laws. What are we gonna do about getting around this? I can't have all these blokes waitin' around for your sheriff to make a move.” He gestured around the table. “I've got a lot of money riding on this.”

“I don't see we have much choice.” Greg pursed his lips. “The good news is Krissy's been able to move most of our scheduled events back a day or two. This might impact the kind of press coverage we can generate, but frankly I'm not worried about it. With Lenny's accident on the front page of every media outlet in town, I don't think we're going to have a problem getting people out.”

Dave tried to keep his tone light. “Is your sheriff gonna cover all my costs of extra hotels and food?”

“I wouldn't get your hopes up. I think what we need to do now is refocus.” Greg gave Dave an exasperated look and turned his attention to the far end of the table. “Krissy, can you hand out the new schedules?”

Why was Greg so involved in rescheduling the race events? Shouldn't Dave be working with Krissy?

Krissy opened her black woven-leather laptop bag and pulled out a bundle of packets, which were passed around the table.

After everyone had a packet in their hands, Greg said, “I think you'll see in reviewing these, Krissy has done a fabulous job of restructuring the race finale. At this point we're slotted to continue with the next event on Sunday, but that's subject to change based on what we hear from the sheriff.”

There were murmurs as we leafed through the packets.

“We're supposed to hang around for the next three days?” Alicia asked. “What kind of race is this going to be with two of us anyway?”

Greg shifted in his chair. “Afraid so. I've been in contact with our vendor partners to see if any of them are willing to host you. I'm pretty sure we can get you a tour of the Nike campus and potentially get you out on the river one afternoon. I'm waiting to hear. I'll let you know once I do,” Greg said. “As far as finishing the race goes, that's up to Dave.”

“Dave,” Alicia demanded, “what do you say? How far is this delay going to push the finale? I'm due to start training in Utah next week. I can't miss the first week.”

“No worries. We're not canceling. I'll have a little chat with that bugger of a sheriff and see if we can't get this thing movin'.”

Krissy raised her index finger. “Uh, that's not going to work, Dave. Regardless of whether or not the sheriff gives us the green light to continue shooting, this new schedule isn't flexible. I've been up since the crack of dawn rearranging. Do you realize the level of work that goes into coordinating an event like this? For God's sake, we're shutting down part of a highway and closing portions of two state parks.”

“That's all righty—I know ya can work your magic again if ya need to, Krissy.”

Krissy slammed her packet on the table in front of her and stood in a huff. “No! No, I can't, Dave. And I'm not going to! I'm tired of being the only person on this team who cares about this production. We have to send the network our rough cut in three weeks. The schedule is complete. No changes.” She threw her laptop bag over her shoulder and stormed out the door.

“Don't give her a thought,” Dave said with a half laugh. “She's worked herself into a tizzy. She'll come round.” He left his copy of the schedule sitting on the table, pushed his chair back and said to Leaf, “Ya got a minute to take a little walk on the river, mate?”

Leaf looked behind him at the sun-filled sky then skeptically at Dave. “I guess, man.”

Greg held a finger in the air. “Before everyone leaves, I'd like you each to schedule a chunk of time with Meg. As you know, she's the lead on this feature, and since we have downtime I'm sure Meg would appreciate any background information she can garner on each of you.”

With a mouthful of Hershey's Special Dark chocolate, I couldn't say anything to Greg, but I gave him a curious look. He winked.

Wasn't that exactly what he told me
not
to do? I thought I was supposed to stay away from the contestants, not cozy up to them. As soon as this meeting was done, I hoped to have a one-on-one with Greg and figure out what in the world he was thinking.

“I'm getting in a run,” Alicia declared, leaving the conference room and her uneaten salad on the table.

Andrew didn't move. He mumbled under his breath to Greg. I picked up Dave's schedule, tossed my lunch and the remains of Alicia's in the trash and chased Greg to his office.

“Got a minute, Greg?”

“Sure. Shut the door behind you.”

I followed him in and closed the door. “I don't get it. I thought you wanted me to stay away. Now you're telling them to come spend time with me?”

Greg peered over my head to the common workspace. He leaned over his desk and spoke in barely a whisper. “I heard from the sheriff, Meg. He thinks it's a simple accident. Doesn't sound like they're going to investigate much more, but I also heard a rumor this morning that might make them reconsider. I need you to do more research into Race the States. Get as much info as you can.”

A combination of fear and excitement built in my stomach. “Okay, I can do that.”

“Wait before you go diving in. Be strategic. I read through your portfolio before I hired you. And I know you learned from one of the best. You can dig, but don't do it publicly. Got it?”

“Sure, of course.”

“No, I don't think you do. I'm serious, Meg—not a word about this to anyone. When you're talking to that group it's only under the premise of your story. Understood?”

“Yep.”

His cell phone buzzed on his desk. I watched him pick it up and look at the number. “Hold on a second. I need to take this.”

I pretended to be very interested in the posters on his office wall. Greg pushed to his feet and walked over to the far side of his office.

“What do you need?” he asked the caller. “How much?” His voice jumped. “No way. Listen, I can't talk now. I'll call you later.”

He strode over to me with a wide smile. “Sorry about that, Meg. Time to get back to work. I need your rough draft as soon as possible. We're tight on this one.”

I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it.”

“One more thing before you go. Anything you find—anything—you tell me first.”

“It's a deal.”

“Hey, Meg?”

“Yeah?” I turned around.

“You have chocolate on your chin.”

Oh my God. I'm an idiot.

I knew immediately upon returning to my desk that something was wrong. My neatly stacked files were strewn across my desk. My red pen was lying on the floor. My monitor was glowing. I'd turned it off. Hadn't I?

I scrutinized the files on my desk. Nothing noticeable was missing.

Next, I pulled up the notes I'd typed from yesterday's hike. The entire file was missing. Had I forgotten to click Save?

I checked my deleted items. It wasn't there. Maybe I'd saved it in the wrong folder. I did an auto-search for “Race the States.” The search window text read, “0 results for Race the States.”

Was I going crazy? Had someone gone through my stuff? Why would they delete my notes?

That's when I noticed the memory card with the photos I'd taken yesterday was sitting next to my laptop. I knew I hadn't taken it out. I searched my computer for the files with the photos. They were gone too.

I stuck the memory card back in. Nothing. It had been wiped clean.

I scanned the office. Most people were out at lunch; only a handful of my coworkers sat hunched over their desks. No one looked when I stood and surveyed the space. There wasn't any sign of someone trying to sneak out of the office. Maybe I was being paranoid? Someone could have accidentally knocked the file folders off my desk on their way to lunch—I guess. But if someone had gone through my computer—that was creepy.

I spent the next hour retyping my notes, and this time not only did I click save, but I also e-mailed a copy to my personal account and to Matt. There wasn't compelling information or evidence in my notes. At least none that I could think of. There was a play-by-play of the hike, lots of extraneous details about the landscape and the brief interviews I conducted with the contestants near the summit. All stuff I'd use to craft my rough draft for Greg.

Was I overlooking a major detail in the notes? I didn't think so. What about the photos? There wasn't anything on the memory card other than a bunch of shots of the trail. Probably I was overthinking the entire situation.

I glanced at my watch—the time read 2:25. The rest of my afternoon was cleared thanks to the change in schedule. I wanted to get a walk in and go see Gam.

This time I wasn't taking any chances. I resaved the document, logged off and shut my laptop down. I bundled my file folders together with a large rubber band and shoved them in my tan-flowered Queen Bee laptop bag. There was no way I was leaving them here. Giving a wave to my coworkers I headed for the front door.

Freedom washed over me as I pushed the heavy doors open and stepped out into the muggy spring air. A walk and Gam were exactly what I needed.

The drive north to Gam's condo didn't take long. She lives in a two-story riverfront condo on the Washington banks of the Columbia River. Her eclectic new-age book shop is right around the corner, connected by a three-mile walking path along the river.

Whenever I visit Gam, I always get a walk in. I keep a gym bag in my car with my kicks and iPod. Usually I park in the far lot near the start of the Waterfront Renaissance Trail. From there it's two and half miles to Gam's condo and another half mile to the shops and restaurants.

Today I considered driving all the way to Gam's. My body was sore and my blisters were raw. But the glorious April sun beckoned me. What the hell, I'd take it slow. Gam would say my body would rebound faster with a hit of natural Vitamin D.

I grabbed my gym bag from the trunk and carefully applied extra moleskin to my blisters and laced my tennis shoes. Thanks to Pops my Subaru is equipped with a first-aid kit, jumper cables, a spare tire, as well as an emergency blanket and bottled water. As he always said, “You never know when you might hit trouble. Better safe than sorry.”

I felt sorry for my feet. They sparked with pain as I tugged my laces tight. Good thing I hadn't told Gam I was coming. This might take a while. Still, the sun on my neck felt like magic and a walk would help clear my head. I plugged my headphones into my ears and started on my way.

The multipurpose path is a popular spot on sunny days. It parallels the Columbia River on one side and train tracks on the other. Sailboats pack the waterway between banks and planes ease and tilt their way in for landings. The sound of rumbling trains and departing jetliners is strangely relaxing. On a busy afternoon, like this one, with bikers, runners and elderly couples out for a stroll, it's a place I can completely check out.

Monuments retelling the tale of the Northwest Passage and Lewis and Clark's journey of discovery along the Columbia are strategically placed with stunning views of the mighty river to allow travelers to pause and consider history.

I usually ignored these. Having grown up in the region, the stories of early adventures are part of my makeup. But today I opted to take a short rest and read one of the markers. It pointed out the fishing talents of the Native Americans who lived on “the river of trade.” A far cry from today's motorized boats that speed over waves and currents in search of salmon.

Onward I urged my body. What would Gam have to say about Lenny? She was intuitive and could read me by simply closing her eyes. She'd be able to tell me what I should do.

I turned with the path as it curved its way closer to the water. Here, cottage-style condos rose on my left. The condos were painted slate with bright white shingles and trim. They seemed like they should be in New England, not the Pacific Northwest. Gam's was the last one on the far end.

Most of the decks held outdoor furniture, barbeques, windsocks, colorful plastic Adirondack chairs and potted palms. Gam's deck housed an assortment of hanging chimes, gongs, sundials, a statue of the Buddha and hand-thrown ceramic pots with healing plants. You couldn't miss it.

The muted whitewashed decks of her fellow condo owners blended with the background. Gam's deck was a kaleidoscope of color. I loved it. Her neighbors hated it.

She's constantly attending condo association meetings in defense of her deck. When she first purchased the condo after my grandfather died ten years ago, she tried to paint it purple and teal (her two favorite colors). She lost that battle, but carved her color mark on her deck. Passersby often stopped to admire her unique spin on outdoor living.

A twelve-foot statue of Sacagawea carved out of stone looms behind Gam's condo. Sacagawea's hands are enclosed, her long earrings dangling and her gaze resting on the mighty river. Gam chose her corner location not only due to its proximity to the beach but also because she says she sleeps easy at night knowing Sacagawea's ancient spirit is watching over her.

A heron flew overhead, its wingspan stretched longer than a small car, casting a shadow on the side walk. It landed on the peak of Gam's condo and perched like a regal statue. Of course.

I knew Gam would still be at her shop, so I didn't bother to stop at her condo and continued on. Two restaurants with beachfront property were buzzing with happy-hour crowds. As I passed by, the smell of the grill and beer hops made my stomach growl. Maybe Gam would want to join me for a burger once she closed the shop.

Gam's store, the Light and Love Bookstore, is tucked between a coffeehouse and gelato shop. The door jingled as I entered. I breathed in the scent of herbal tea and noticed the lights were turned low. Gam must be doing a session in the back room. New age music chanted on the overhead speakers. There weren't any other customers in the store.

“Margaret, is that you?” Gam's voice called from the back room.

“Sure is. How'd ya know?” I chuckled.

“Finishing with a session. Be with you in a few. Keep an eye out. I think someone's coming in to buy a new animal card deck by the register.”

I poured myself a cup of green tea. Gam had tea on all day. Customers were welcome to help themselves to a cup while they perused the shop. She kept a kettle and a collection of her own pottery on an antique desk near the front door.

The Light and Love Bookstore is the only new age shop in town. Gam's developed a loyal client base over the past ten years. She offers specialty classes on theta healing, meditation, Reiki, finding your animal spirit guide and more. Additionally, she hosts private individual sessions. She doesn't like to be called a psychic, preferring the term
healer
or
shaman.
Psychic meant directing someone's future, the opposite of her approach.

She says, “The future is mutable, Margaret. We're always at choice. Which holds great promise and hope for change.”

Her shop is as eclectic as her condo. She sells gems, crystals, Native American drums, essential oils, teas and a vast collection of new age books and card decks. I made my way behind the counter with my tea. Gam keeps new shipments and special orders for customers by the cash register. An animal deck with a photo of a lion sat next to an unopened UPS box.

A woman breezed in.

“Can I help you with anything?” I asked.

She shook her head. “This is my first time in. I think I'll look around.”

“Feel free. Help yourself to tea.” I motioned to the tea set by the door.

I busied myself opening Gam's latest delivery—Celtic jewelry. The woman declined my offer of tea and spent the next ten minutes browsing through the card decks on a spinning rack. She looked disappointed as she turned to leave.

“You're sure there's nothing I can help you with?” I called.

“Well,” she said, coming close to the counter with a sheepish look on her face. “I've actually been trying to find these animal spirit cards. I saw them online but they've been sold out forever.”

I laughed. The woman looked surprised and slightly offended.

“No, sorry,” I said as I held up the animal deck. “You wouldn't be looking for this by chance?”

“Yes! That's it.”

“Great. It's $12.95.” I handed her the deck and rang up the sale.

“I can't believe it. I should have come here earlier. I tend to do more of my shopping online, but this is cheaper. I'll be back,” she said with a happy wave as she trotted out the door.

Gam may not like the term
psychic
, but she has an uncanny knack for predicting the future, even when it comes to what new customers might want to buy.

The door to the back room swung open. I could hear Gam instructing her client to drink plenty of water and take it easy for the evening. They emerged from the back room and made their way to the counter.

My jaw dropped as I saw who Gam was escorting. “Sheriff Daniels. What are you doing here?”