Scene of the Climb (20 page)

Raising his eyebrows slightly, Greg continued. “Krissy said Leaf's dad was on fire about him participating in the race. Tried to bribe her to get him off the show.”

“Really?” That was new information. Leaf's father intentionally tried to sabotage him. Leaf made it sound like they didn't have any contact. But either he lied or his father was keeping careful tabs on Leaf's activities.

“Did she tell you anything about his trust fund?” I asked. “It sounds like he came into a gob of money.”

Greg shook his head. “No, it gets better. His father's been trying to freeze his assets for years. Threatened to sue Race the States. Krissy said Leaf is frantically trying to spend all the money that's left before his father's legal team can shut him out.”

“Wow. How crazy would that be? I can't imagine.”

“I know. Krissy said Leaf and Dave have been talking about him investing in the show. He wants to turn it into an eco-challenge.”

A flock of geese flew above our heads.

“Did Dave agree?”

“Not sure. She didn't know. She overheard them at dinner one night. Sounds like Dave keeps the finances under a tight lip. Shocker, huh?”

I laughed. “Yeah, tight lips and Dave don't go hand in hand.”

We sat in silence.

A hawk circled overhead. The hawk is Gam's spirit animal. They show up whenever she's around. I wouldn't be surprised if she could tame the wild bird by simply calling out its name and stretching her arm to the sky.

“Speaking of Dave, what's your investment in the show? How does it work to be a sponsor? Are you fronting the prize money?” I asked, breaking the moment and offering a nod for Gam to the hawk above.

“Can't let it rest? Can you?” Greg said as he bent over and touched his hands to his toes. I could barely force my hands to meet my knees in a stretch like that. Greg repeated his skillful stretch again and rose to his feet.

Offering me his hand, he pulled me up in one seamless move. “I'm not fronting that kind of cash. Don't worry about it.” He gave me a hard look. The kind of look I'd expect to receive from a boss. “How's your feature coming along? Do you need any help?”

I shook my head. “No, I'm good. It's really starting to come together. I should have my rough draft for you later today.”

“Good. Come on, I see Dave. They're down.”

My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. A text from Matt.

 

What's up?

 

Working, I typed back.

 

Snooping.

Shut it.

Did you talk to the sheriff?

Yes.

 

Where you at?

Beacon Rock. Heading to Table Mountain.

 

I could see the three dots blinking as he typed back, How long will you be there?

 

Not sure. A couple hours?

Maybe I'll head out. You want company?

Sure, but you don't need to.

I'll try. Beers later?

YES!

 

While Greg coordinated travel to Table Mountain with Dave, Alicia and Leaf, I hung back and took my time to shake out the blanket and carefully fold it.

This latest news from Greg threw another round of questions swirling in my brain. If Leaf had to spend his inheritance quickly, why Race the States? And what would that mean for Dave? If Leaf purchased the show, he'd definitely change its format. He'd made it abundantly clear that he didn't approve of how the show was being produced. For as casual as Dave liked to appear, the show was his baby. I couldn't imagine him giving it up easily. Unless the lure of money was too compelling.

How did this tie in with Lenny? If Lenny really was willing to fund the show, that made Dave a less likely suspect. And why did Greg blow me off about sponsoring the show?

Every time I got closer to the truth, I hit another wall.

Greg waved me over as Dave addressed the group. “All righty, this is the last little jog before tomorrow's big finale. Have fun. Let's be safe. I'm timing this one, but only for you. Don't know if today's climb will make the final cut, but ya never know. Andrew will be shootin' all the way to the top.”

Dave turned to Greg. “What's this next hike like, mate?”

“We're heading out to Table Mountain,” Greg began. “It's about eight miles, some 3,500 feet in elevation. The route we're taking today is through abandoned logging and access roads. Should help to shave a little time off.” He gave me a knowing look. “Don't let Angel's Rest fool you. This is a difficult climb, especially if you're running. Be careful out there. The first part of this trail is one of the steepest climbs in the entire Gorge.”

“I second that,” Dave chimed in. “Krissy's got news people waiting for us there, but I don't want a repeat of what happened to Lenny. Stay safe. Don't do anything stupid.”

Should I fake an injury or claim to be feeling under the weather? If I didn't bow out now, the possibility loomed that once we arrived at Table Mountain they'd try to convince me to make the climb with them.

Thankfully, Greg saved me before I had time to sketch out a new lie.

“Meg's sticking at the finish.” He pulled his right elbow over his head with his left hand, revealing sculpted arms rivaling most Greek statues. Nodding to Alicia he continued, “I could use a little cardio today. If you don't mind I'll tag along with you.”

That was easy. Greg could fill me in on anything that happened on the mountain and I wouldn't have to trudge up 3,000-plus feet. A mixture of relief and self-loathing churned through me. Obviously Greg didn't think I could make it to the summit, and certainly he knew I couldn't hang with Alicia or Leaf. Did this mean he was on to my secret? A lack of confidence in your field reporter would not lead to new assignments. Just when I thought I was ready to strike out on my own and leave Jill's couch, I'd be fired. I knew it. Greg was trying to save face in front of Dave and the contestants. He'd made a mistake in hiring me. Once this competition was over, so was I.

Alicia cozied up to Greg. She placed a lean arm on his shoulder to steady herself as she reached for her ankle and pulled it behind her knee. As one of the most limber women I'd ever seen, she didn't need Greg's support to steady herself.

“We'd love to have you along, Greg. It'll be nice to have someone who can keep up with me.” She glowered at Leaf, who paid no notice.

“It's good for me too,” Greg replied as Alicia twisted her body around and stretched the opposite leg, still resting her arm on his shoulder. “I strongly encourage my employees to exercise. If we can't walk the walk, we can't talk the talk, you know?”

“I can see you set a fine example for the rest of your”—Alicia paused and eyed me skeptically—“staff.”

“Well, mates, that settles it. Greg-o, come along with us,” Dave said.

Alicia glared as she pulled Greg along with her. What did she have against me? I certainly wasn't competition.

A bank of clouds closed in the view of the Oregon peaks across the river. The sky looked as if it might unleash.

That settled my fate. I'd hang out at the base of Table Mountain and try to get used to the fact my days with
Northwest Extreme
were numbered. Maybe if I wrote a kick-ass feature, Greg wouldn't fire me.

Yes, that's what I'd have to do. Focus on the writing. I'd spend the next three hours while they were sweating it out on the exposed slope to formulate the most amazing story
Northwest Extreme
had ever seen.

I imagined Greg calling me into his office. Stacks and stacks of reader mail would pile on his desk, all raving about my incredible talent. He'd tell me it was a new record. The most reader feedback the magazine had ever received for a single story. That'd show them.

If I couldn't join them, I'd have to find a way to beat them.

From Beacon Rock, I followed Highway 14 farther east along the river. Mist hung above the Oregon peaks on the other side. Shocks of lime green trees intermixed with black evergreens.

After ten miles, I turned off the highway and wound under railroad tracks onto a country road. Passing a rock quarry, a crow flew overhead. Its call unnerved me. Gam said a single crow is a bad omen. Crows in pairs are a blessing. Hopefully this crow had a friend nearby.

The road stopped and turned into a gravelly, narrow trail with deep ruts and tire tracks. This must be the forest access road, I thought as my car bumped along.

The morning's rain had filled deep ruts in the road with mud. Water streamed down the middle, swarming in potholes. I stopped the car. There was no way I could pass. The water was too deep, at least ten inches. I'd likely get my tires stuck in the mud-filled ruts. I wished I had Matt's truck. I'd have to hike on foot from here.

I steered my car to the side, checking the rearview mirror so as not to block either of the access roads or drive it into a ditch. Locking the doors, I pulled on my backpack and slogged through the mud. Unlike Beacon Rock, which attracted tourists and day adventurers, Table Mountain is off the beaten path. Way off the beaten path. I had to dig deep into the message boards to find firsthand hiker accounts of the trek.

To access Table Mountain, hikers begin their climb from the Aldrich Butte Trail, which doubles as a maintenance route for the power company. To call it a trail is misleading. It consists of a gravel road with a grassy strip down the middle, worn from the tire tracks of forest service vehicles and power company workers.

Patches of wild grasses paralleled both sides of the gravelly access road. I trudged along for the length of two football fields until I caught sight of a swarm of media vans with shiny primary colored logos and satellite beams high-centered on a swatch of weedy grass to the left.

Power lines buzzed overhead. There wasn't a marker or trailhead of any sort. Thankfully I'd done my research. This was the correct spot. I'd learned from the stack of guidebooks that the Aldrich Butte Trail was originally built in the 1940s for the military. They used the butte as a lookout and gunnery. Today hikers trek from the left fork up the road, which quickly leads them deep into the forest.

The hiking guides that I read to prepare for the climb at Table Mountain reinforced that I would NOT be climbing it.

One in particular warned that one wrong step on the 1,500 foot ledge would lead to a guaranteed death.

Uh, no. No way, was I climbing a 1,500 foot high drop-off where one misstep could mean sure death. The spectacular landmark wasn't worth death, especially after this week.

Scientists believed about a thousand years ago the south side of Table Mountain sheared off, damming the Columbia River and creating a land bridge that the Native Americans named the Bridge of the Gods. Over time water washed the bridge away, but the legend continued to be passed down through the tribes. Tomorrow's zip-line would take place at the man-made cantilevered Bridge of the Gods built in the 1920s.

I shuffled to the Race the States van and busied myself taking photos of Alicia and Leaf who were being interviewed by the news crews. Was this a case of the media covering the media? I didn't care; at least it made me look like I had something to do.

Greg knew most of the reporters, who heartily shook his hand and nudged their elbows into his side, telling him to make
Northwest Extreme
look good by beating everyone to the top. I hung back, feeling like a kid on the playground who doesn't get picked for the team.

Krissy looked the part of a Hollywood executive in a berry sherbet-colored tailored shirt and a slim black skirt. She flirted with a cameraman. How had she managed to keep her heels mud-free?

Andrew's face dripped with sweat. His cargo shorts were stained with dirt or coffee. I couldn't be sure which. He moved at the speed of a snail, securing a camera on Leaf's backpack and testing the sound boom. He moved on to Alicia, carefully checking and repositioning her cameras.

Before the media were allowed to ask questions, Krissy ran through introductions, handed out glossy press packets and Race the States T-shirts.

“Our contestants will be answering your questions before they embark on this final hike, with one exception.” She narrowed her eyes at the team of reporters and turned to all of us with the same look of intent. “No one, and I repeat NO ONE, will be answering questions about the tragedy that occurred earlier in the week.”

A reporter's hand flew into the air. “What about the confirmation the sheriff's office is treating this as a homicide?”

Krissy's voice dropped an octave. She took her glasses off as she said, “Listen, you're all getting an exclusive today. How often do you have a nationally televised show coming to film in Oregon, and not just film, but film one of the most elaborate stunts in TV history? The zip-line I'm working on for tomorrow is going to put Oregon on the map. If you want to be part of this story, please stay. If you have questions about the death of Lenny Ray, I suggest you contact the sheriff's office.”

Wow. She shut down the media in a few sentences.

Once they finished answering all the reporters' questions, Dave, Greg, Alicia, Leaf and Andrew (lagging behind) took off on the left fork and disappeared into the thick tree cover. I grabbed my notebook and sketched notes about the scenery. Like the high-voltage transmission lines that ran along the right fork. The bases stood like giant metallic paper dolls, connected by a string of wire. Pops believed you shouldn't stand under or near these for long. He was convinced electromotive fields caused cancer among other things.

Krissy meanwhile chatted with the media. I overheard her claiming tomorrow's zip-line finale would be the largest ever constructed in Oregon. I wasn't a fan of driving over the Bridge of the Gods where the zip-line would be secured. The thought of anyone intentionally zip-lining from it was impossible to grasp.

The press packed their gear and bounced along the road they'd driven in on, kicking dirt and mud onto the sides of their white vans. Krissy gathered extra press packets together and stepped carefully on her heels to me.

“You're not joining the others?” she asked. Her glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. She must have transition lenses. They were tinted a clear shade of lavender, dark enough not to be able to make out the color of her eyes.

“Nah, I'm good.” I shifted my weight. “Let's face it. I couldn't keep up with them anyway.”

Krissy laughed. She leaned on the van's bumper. “Me neither. You're half their size.” Looking me up and down she continued. “What, do you come to Alicia's waist?”

“Pretty much. She's lucky to have legs like that.” I looked at my own legs. No hint of a bulging muscle or definition showed through my hiking capris. Mainly what I noticed is the skin showing between my knee and ankle was so white it reflected the sun like a mirror.

“I wouldn't call her lucky,” Krissy said in a conspiratorial tone. “She's had some trouble lately.”

“Why? What kind of trouble?”

She looked around the parking lot to make sure we were alone. “Well, money trouble for one. She's desperate to win the million.” Krissy fiddled with the ivory buttons on her shirt, and stopped. “Never mind, I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Come on,” I pleaded. “Tell me.”

“Can't.” She stood and brushed the dust off her skirt. “You'll have to ask her yourself. I'm heading into town. Need to finalize last-minute details for tomorrow. You have no idea how insane it is to pull off a stunt like the one we're setting up. This is going to solidify my career. You want to come along?” She looked off in the direction everyone else left in. “They're going to be a while.”

She was right; they'd probably be gone at least an hour. I did the math in my head—eight miles, four of which were uphill. I could probably walk a four-mile-an-hour pace on flat ground. Everyone else was an über-athlete. They'd probably be able to cover at least a couple more miles than me, uphill.

I was tempted to join Krissy. First, I wanted to learn what she knew about Alicia and secondly I really didn't want to be stuck here by myself. But what if Greg came back? I couldn't run the risk of leaving. If he discovered I'd left, he'd fire me on the spot. It was bad enough my short legs wouldn't let me keep up with the group, but I'd told him I would finish this rough draft.

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I'd love to tag along, but I promised Greg I'd wait here and cover whoever wins.”

Krissy shrugged and tiptoed to the driver's side door. “Suit yourself.” She slid the van open and pulled out a roll of rope and bright red caution tape (without the word
caution
printed on the sides). “If you're sticking around, would you put up a finish line?”

Taking the tape and rope from her, I asked, “Sure. How do I do it?”

She shrugged. “However you want. Dave's idea. Not mine. It's only for show.” She climbed into the driver's seat and waved. “See ya.”

The van splattered dirt and debris as Krissy accelerated in a half circle and peeled off down the gravel road. Talk about a California driver.

Now what?

The empty gravel lot and buzzing wires overhead sounded ominous. While the trails on the Oregon side of the river would be packed on a Sunday like this, the Washington side was much more sparsely populated. Plus, this climb was rated the highest difficulty level. Definitely not an option for families with children. Only serious hikers made this trek.

I contemplated hoofing it to my car, but I had to catch whoever finished first.

Stop stalling, Meg, and get writing.
I found a spot of drier grass near the edge of the road, pulled out my picnic blanket and dropped on it.

After twenty minutes of working on my introduction, I was thirsty. My throat was dry. Hopefully, I'd brought a water bottle along.

As I searched my pack for a drink, I heard a muffled scream. At least I thought it was a scream.

I froze. Was it a scream? Maybe I'd heard a bird.

Keeping my body rigid, I intently listened for any sound. The humming of the power lines reverberated through my ears. Nothing. Must have been a bird.

I moved. Again, a scream. This time I was sure it was a scream. The sound pierced through the air.

It came from above and behind me—on the trail. Without thinking, I sprinted in the direction of the scream, through long wild grasses and over uneven rocky terrain. The route from the access road quickly wound to the east and disappeared into a dense forest. Sunlight disappeared.

The road was surprisingly steep. Within five minutes I was gasping for breath.

I jogged along it for about a quarter of a mile, stopping every hundred yards to catch my breath and listen for the sound of the screaming. No more came.

The scream had sounded like a woman's voice. Alicia? Or, maybe there were other hikers out on the trail. But there weren't any other cars at the lot. It couldn't be another hiker.

I came to a fork. The gravelly road thinned to the right and turned into a dirt-packed trail. To the left, it narrowed and went straight up. It was eerily quiet. Which way should I go?

Another toe-curling scream came from the right. Yes, definitely a woman's scream. I hurried along the trail, glancing over my shoulder.

Isn't this what characters in horror films do? Go racing after a strange noise, only to find themselves in danger? Maybe I should have waited for Krissy to return. Or called the police.

Duh! What was I thinking? I should call the police.

I checked my pockets. Whew, I had my cell phone. I pulled it out and slid it on. Punching in 9-1-1, I waited for it to ring. Nothing happened. I looked at the connection bars on the top. No connection. Now if anything happened to me, I was screwed.

Standing in the middle of the trail, I weighed my options. I could turn around now. I wasn't far from the parking lot. I could race to the open grassy area. Maybe I'd be able to get a connection there. Or I could trek on and see if I could find the mysterious screaming woman. With option one, I ran the risk of leaving whoever was screaming in danger if I didn't get to her in time. With option two, I ran the risk of putting myself in danger.

One more mile, I told myself. Go one more mile and see if you can find anything. That would still leave me close enough to the parking lot to find help if I needed it and maybe keep me far from the sheer ledge higher up the trail. A white moth flew in front of my vision. I shrieked and waved it away.

Geez, Meg. Get it together.

Table Mountain and its neighboring peaks, Greenleaf to the northeast and Hamilton Mountain to the southwest, have been called the mesas of the Northwest Cascades. In April, snow can coat the summit, making the already unnerving ascent all the more dangerous. To reach the summit the racers would have to climb the near-vertical east wall, over rock steps and a snaky exposed face. Had Alicia fallen? Was she immobile nearby? Where were Greg, Dave, Andrew and Leaf?

I paused again. The sound of the buzzing wires muted inside the trees. A collection of birds squawked to each other, like mothers scolding young children. The screaming stopped. I wondered if it was a bad sign.

While the steeper trail to the left must be the direction they took, I followed the sound on the flatter trail to the right. I'd go that way for a half mile. If I didn't see anything, I'd turn back and try the left trail.

Rain battered the heavy tree cover. It felt refreshing on my blazing skin. The right fork appeared flatter. It was equally steep, snaking upward into a wet jungle. The drips changed to a sudden cloudburst. Water unleashed from the sky. It sounded as if a jet plane were roaring overhead.

My feet sank into mud as water cascaded down the trail. I slipped over rocks, trying to get my bearings. No longer able to run, I clawed my way upward. Water seeped into my boots and drizzled down my back. I hadn't bothered to grab my pack or my poncho. Soaked with rain and sweat, I continued to climb, praying for a switchback. None came.