Tainted Mountain

Copyright Information

Tainted Mountain: A Nora Abbott Mystery
© 2013 by Shannon Baker.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

First e-book edition © 2013

E-book ISBN: 9780738734514

Book format by Bob Gaul

Cover design by Adrienne Zimiga
Cover illustration
©
Robert Rodriguez/Lindgren & Smith, Inc.

Cover images: Mountain sunset
©
iStockphoto.com/amygdala imagery

River
©
Don Paulson Photography/Purestock/SuperStock

Editing by Nicole Nugent

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To Dave: may the adventures keep coming.

Author's Note

In the interest of accuracy, and to keep people from blowing a gasket, let me lay out a few disclaimers:

Nora's ski resort, Kachina Ski, is a one-lift, one-run, dinky operation on Kachina Peak north of Flagstaff, Arizona. While there is a Flagstaff and a small mountain range north of it, there is no Kachina Peak and, therefore, no Kachina Ski. The beautiful San Francisco range—called
Nuvatukya'ovi
in Hopi and a host of other names by the thirteen tribes that consider them sacred—looks down on Flagstaff.

The Arizona Snowbowl, the ski resort on Humphrey's Peak (tallest of the San Francisco range), is a much bigger, much nicer place than Nora could have hoped for. Founded in 1938, it now boasts 777 skiable acres with 40 runs and 6 lifts. There are 2 lodges on the mountain.

Unlike Kachina Ski, there are no plans to pump water from the aquifer onto Snowbowl's slopes, probably because there is no water source on the Peak. However, approval through the courts was granted and pipes were laid starting in 2011 to pump treated wastewater from Flagstaff for snow making. Several tribes and coalitions have battled this decision and fought the approval for Snowbowl's planned expansion. In multiple cases that teetered on the brink of a Supreme Court appearance, the tribes were defeated again and again.

Just in case you were wondering, the lava tubes are real. How extensive they are and where they lead is a mystery to me; I only went a few feet into one and started imagining Stephen King's
It
and made a hasty retreat before becoming spider fodder.

I took a few liberties in the layout of Flagstaff's downtown and courthouse plaza, though I stopped short of rezoning it. If you haven't visited Flagstaff, I recommend you do. There is a charming downtown surrounding Heritage Square, which is an excellent people-watching venue. Trust me on this, you'll love Flagstaff. I rearranged Flagstaff and moved Heritage Square to the courthouse.

I also made up Benny's village in Hopiland. While I was welcomed at a public dance in Shipolovi on Second Mesa, the Hopi generally don't appreciate strangers wandering around their private villages. Can you blame them? How would you like people peeping in your windows because you live in an historic building? I've endeavored to respect Hopi culture and their privacy and, to that end, deleted certain references and specifics as requested by my Hopi friend. Although I was happy to do this out of respect, I also don't need an angry kachina giving me grief.

One

Frigid air ripped down
her throat, searing both lungs as her heart threatened to burst through her rib cage. Heavy panting announced the pursuer, one step from overtaking her. A final leap put her safely on the ledge.

He blew past her, not seeing the sheer drop-off beyond the ledge.

“Abbey!”

Skidding on his butt, two legs dangled over a 300-foot drop to rocky ground. Nails scrabbled on the cold stone.

Fear and adrenaline shot through Nora Abbott's body. She dove toward the edge, her fingers frantic to find purchase. Using all the weight in her lithe frame, Nora flung herself backward to jerk him to safety. Then she closed her eyes.

“Stupid dog,” she whispered, as she released his collar and hugged the aging golden retriever. Why couldn't he stay home, snuggled into his warm bed, as Scott had?

Holding Abbey's panting body close in the muted light, Nora turned to the east. She'd nearly missed it. Fearing that failure to be here on time would jinx the day, she'd half ran the entire three-mile uphill hike, something she wasn't really in shape to do. With just minutes to spare, she knelt on the rough volcanic stone, recovering her pulse and breathing.

Wait for it. Wait for it.

Bam
!

Sunrays burst over the silhouetted ridge of Kachina Mountain, warm and welcoming, like a mother greeting her child.

Joy filled Nora's mind and heart. This was the mountain's gift to her. “Thank you.” Her whispered words drifted over the treetops and the ski lodge below. The sun and the mountain took care of her spirit, and she'd do her best to take care of them.

Maybe the run up the trail hadn't brought her as close to death as she felt at the moment, but her heart and lungs still complained, so she decided to sit a bit longer. Abbey, however, stood and shook, moving away from Nora to sniff and pee.

Nora rolled her eyes. “Sacred moment terminated.” But the gratitude lingered, throwing a soft blanket over her anxiety.

She drew in a deep breath and tilted up her face, letting the sun soak in as fortification for today's battle. How could she not triumph? She was right, and right always won.

Didn't it?

Nora blew out a last breath, then stepped back from the ledge and along the precarious footing that would lead her back to the main path. If she slipped, she'd crash six feet onto the trail. Probably not enough to kill her, but with her luck, she'd strike her head. They'd find her broken and in a coma, and her mother and Scott would fight over her brain-dead body for the next twenty years. Or until Scott gave up.

Sheesh, Nora. Over-dramatize much?
She steadied herself against a chilly rock.

Woft, woft, woft.
Above her head, wings beat the air. Nora looked up and spied an enormous raven sailing over her. Despite the natural glory of her mountain, ravens always seemed sinister. Circling in a wide arc, the black bird came at her like an alpine kamikaze.

Nora started to scramble down to the trail, heart racing once again. Halfway there, her foot slipped and she smashed her tailbone against a rock, sending a shower of knives up her spine, then she slid the rest of the way to the dirt trail, back scraping on a stone.

Nora groaned in pain. Abbey meanwhile barked like a terrier on meth. His outburst added to Nora's jitters, and she started to quiet him. But he wasn't looking at the vanishing raven. Abbey focused on a point farther into the pine trees and closer to ground level. Abbey's hackles rose as he bared teeth.

Nora turned her head from where she lay, her hackle-less neck raising hairs of its own. A man stood in distant flittering light. Even from far away the bright blue that accented the stranger's clothes flared in the forest.

Nora jumped to her feet, ready to bolt down the trail for the safety of home. She blinked. The figure was gone.

Nora squinted and drew in her brows. “How in the … ?” Abbey stopped barking and serenely picked his way down the steep ledge to the trail. He trotted past her, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

Nora shook her head. That wasn't a person. Couldn't be. She glanced around again. Her heart still galloped, even though she told herself her imagination and the spotty light had turned a really big blue jay into a threatening image.

A cloud covered the newly risen sun, blotting out the warmth, just as the stupid raven and huge jay had blotted out the peace in her spirit. Didn't the Navajo believe ravens were a bad omen? Maybe that's why she didn't like the things.

She let out a disgusted breath. Prophecy, bad luck from a broken mirror, and omens existed only in people's imaginations. She really needed to be more practical than that, especially today.

But if she didn't believe in omens, why did she race to within an inch of her life this morning just to greet the sunrise?

Two

The judge, in his
polyester robe, slammed the gavel onto the podium. “Court dismissed.” Wordless prattle erupted in the back half of the room.

Nora's attorney, Raymond, jumped from his chair and slapped her back hard enough to knock her into next week. “Congratulations!” His arm reared back for another celebratory smack, but Nora sidestepped out of his reach.

Not sure she trusted the verdict, she asked, “No more appeals?”

Raymond's guffaw drowned out the excited chatter of the people exiting the room. “Next stop is the Supreme Court, and that's as likely as snow in July.” A cheesy grin spread across his face as he looked sideways at her. “No pun intended.” He burst into exhilarated laughter.

Snow in July. The future opened before her, ripe with possibilities, rotten with pitfalls.
Focus on the possibilities, Nora.
Snow. Wet, life-giving. Not only to her ski business but to the drought-stricken mountain as well.

“That's a good one,” Raymond said. “Now that we won, you
can
have snow in July, if that's what you want.” He stepped close again, and his heavy paw landed so hard on her back that her children—if she ever had any—would be born dizzy. “It's okay to whoop a bit. You just won a landmark case, missy.”

Raymond had worked tirelessly for almost four years, through appeals and setbacks and the same threats and harassments she'd borne from activists and hell-bent enviros on a mission. This landmark win would skyrocket his career. That made her smile. She raised onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You're brilliant. Thank you.”

Raymond beamed at her. “Coming from a sweet young thing like you, that makes it all worthwhile.”

All worthwhile. So why didn't she feel the victory with as much enthusiasm?

Because Scott wasn't here to share it with her. Being too tired to catch the sunrise with her hadn't stopped him from leaving the apartment before she and Abbey returned from the mountaintop.

He said he'd be here. She glanced at her watch. He was late, surely that was all.

Raymond directed her toward the courtroom doors. “The press is gonna set up outside. We gotta get you out there for a sound bite. This will make it all the way to Katie Couric, I guarantee it.” He whisked her through a jumble of bodies clustered in the hallway, muttering, “Excuse me, excuse me.”

More thumps on the back—thankfully less heartfelt than Raymond's—and congratulatory exclamations followed her. Not watching where he walked, Raymond pulled her directly into the path of a man striding down the hallway.

Her shoulder accordianed into him.

Raymond released her arm and continued toward the media frenzy, not noticing the lost contact.

A tall, athletic man with sandy blond hair and a serious face reached out to steady her. Her eyes rolled down his plaid shirt, fitted jeans, and worn hiking boots. Not normal dress for the courthouse.
Great
, she thought,
an enviro, here to berate me for unnatural acts against the world
. She tensed, ready for a fight. People like him didn't understand that conservation and business didn't have to be mutually exclusive. She'd prove it to them.

“Sorry, ma'am.” He hurried past her and down the hall.

Nora grimaced and glanced over her shoulder at his receding back. She didn't believe the contact was an accident.

Still, she'd endured worse than an ignorant shove. Others of his ilk no doubt waited to hurl insults, but hopefully not sharp objects, at her. Tire-slashers, window-smashers, activists who protested each court appearance and sent her death threats lay in wait somewhere outside the courthouse. She scanned the faces in the lobby as she moved to rejoin Raymond. Mostly white, well-dressed. Flagstaff's mayor and business leaders clustered together.

The court decision to allow manmade snow on Kachina Mountain outside of town ensured the success of Nora's skiing business, but it would bolster all of Flagstaff's winter income too. To some, Nora was a hero.

Knots of supporters dotted the courthouse lobby. Raymond waved and shouted comments to several. He leaned close to Nora. “Why don't you slip into the powder room there? The cameras wash you out and you'll want to put on lipstick and spruce up a bit.”

Cameras? Sound bites? Slick sweat appeared on her upper lip. She was a business person, not one of FOX's foxes. “Can't you do the talking?”

“I could, but you're much prettier.” He nodded and grinned at a rotund man crossing the tiled floor. “Get going. You don't want Big Elk to get all the attention.”

She lost her breath as an anvil dropped from the sky and pounded her into a nervous mush. Of course Big Elk, the Al Sharpton of Native Americans, would be around for the decision. He'd be rousing the rabble outside, wooing the media, and working someone into a froth so fiery they might not stop at threats this time.

Raymond gave her a shove. “Off you go.”

Nora pushed open the bathroom door and let it bump shut behind her. She peered under the cream painted doors, making sure the space was her own. For added privacy, she stepped into a stall and slid the lock closed.

If I spontaneously combust, I won't have to do any of this.
No speaking to news crews. No facing Big Elk. No fighting to come up with money to fund an expensive snow-making operation. And no finding out why Scott didn't show up today.

She braced her arm against the door and dropped her chin to her chest, letting coppery hair curtain her face. The court's decision was a victory. She deserved to relish the achievement, damn it.
Go ahead, Nora. Relish.

A hand shot under the stall door, driving at her ankle. A glint of metal flashed. Nora leapt back instinctively, slammed her calf into the stool, lost her footing, and fell against the toilet seat.
Good God, was that a knife?

Rage fueled her scream. “Hey! Stop!” She heard the door thump closed. She fumbled with the stupid metal lock on the stall. This weapon-wielding psychopath was getting away and her fingers felt as useful as water balloons. Finally released, she lunged toward the bathroom door and burst into the lobby panting.

People in the lobby closest to her stared at her abrupt entrance. Raymond boomed midway across the space. “And here she is.”

Her eyes darted to dark corners and the busy hallway. The guy couldn't disappear, not in this crowd. Blank expressions met her glance.

A hand rested on her arm. “Miss.”

Nora jumped to the ceiling.

“Missus.”

Ready to waylay an attacker, she turned to find a withered slip of a Native American gazing up at her with the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. Come to think of it, his soft voice sounded more tentative than deadly. Deep wrinkles lined his face like wadded parchment and skin sagged around his eyes.
He must be a hundred years old
.

This had to be an elder, still embracing the traditional ways. He probably lived in a pueblo with no modern conveniences and spurred younger people to protest snow making. He looked too frail to be the bathroom knife sniper, but he could have encouraged someone else to attack. The threats and insults of the past months had taken their toll, and trust wasn't something in Nora's backpack anymore.

She pulled her arm away.

“Missus. I brought you my kachinas.” Though it barely reached her ears, his voice held a strange combination of sadness and strength. He pulled a dusty canvas bag off his shoulder and reached inside.

A kachina salesman? He wore a long, threadbare tunic and what appeared to be ancient leggings and moccasins that reached to his knees. He could easily fade into the desert with his beiges, browns, and deeply tanned skin, except he wore a bright blue sash around his tunic. The old guy must be poor and desperate. Her heart thawed a bit. Nora understood desperate. Her checking account contained fourteen dollars, and Kachina Ski was so far in the hole she'd need carabineers and ropes to get to the surface.

She slid her hand into her side pocket for her last twenty. The one her mother had tucked into personally embossed stationery with the admonition to take herself for a nice cup of coffee after the hearing. Nora had hoped to use it for lunch with Scott, to celebrate their court victory and new beginnings.

She sighed. Bravo for the court victory. Too bad Scott wasn't really on board with the new beginnings part. “I don't want a kachina, but take this.”

The little man avoided her money and shoved a small wooden doll into her hand. In an accented voice shaky with age, he said, “Not for sale. For you. For the moun-ain.”

She looked down. With its slit eyes and plug nose, the masked face of the doll looked creepy. The doll wore a tunic of the same blue fabric as the old man's sash. He held a hatchet in one hand, feathers in another.

Raymond startled her with a whack on her back. “It's showtime.”

Nora looked up to return the kachina doll, but the little man was gone. She searched the crowd for sign of his thick, black hair like a bowl he tied to his head with a weathered red strip of fabric. He'd disappeared. First the apparition in the woods, then the phantom bathroom stabber, and now a harmless kachina salesman? No doubt she was headed for the loony bin.

“Big Elk's got the crowd all fired up. You gotta get out there and have your say or the media will take his side.”

Ben-Hur
's chariot race couldn't thunder louder than the thoughts in her head. Where the hell was Scott? Kachina Ski was his business, too.

Her slick dress shoes offered no traction to fight Raymond as he propelled her toward certain doom.

Raymond inspected her. “You didn't put on lipstick. And what happened to your ankle?”

Nora followed his gaze and was surprised by the thin line of blood oozing from the slash just above her ankle bone. She felt the sting for the first time.

“Ms. Abbott,” a voice spoke with unquestioning authority, drawing her attention. With the confident air of success and an impeccable Western suit and ostrich-skin cowboy boots, Barrett McCreary looked every bit the part he played as an international icon in the energy business.

Raymond clucked like a hen, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and bent to dab at the sliver of blood on her ankle.

Already breathless, Nora was now tongue-tied. In business school she'd written a paper on McCreary Energy and its owner. Barrett McCreary was her ideal role model: a tycoon with environmental conscience.

He held out his hand. Raymond elbowed Nora. She transferred the kachina and crumpled twenty to her left hand, wiped her sweaty palm on her dress, and grasped Barrett's hand.

“I'm Barrett McCreary. Congratulations on your victory.”

Through the rush of blood in her head, she managed not to stammer or choke. “Thank you.”

The sandy-haired man she'd bumped into earlier advanced on Barrett as he moved away from her. She'd read in the paper that Barrett intended to resurrect uranium mining in the area, and she was somewhat grateful for the diversion. Now the enviros would have their pick of causes to attack.

Raymond tugged Nora toward the door as she tried to invoke Barrett's spirit of confidence. She stepped through the courthouse door …

And the confidence evaporated. Nora fought the urge to dive back into the courtroom and slide under a table. The blast of high altitude sunshine didn't blind her to the crowd gathered in the courthouse plaza. Sure, this was Flagstaff, so it didn't take a lot of people to fill the small plaza, but a hundred angry protesters increased the churning in Nora's gut by two hundred percent. She felt sure the tire-slasher, the rock thrower, and probably the ankle-slitter were looming somewhere in the crowd.

A voice issued from a bullhorn with nauseating familiarity. Big Elk. He stood on the steps, his back to her, screeching to the angry mob. “Kachina Ski will pump 1.5 million gallons of water per day during the ski season. That's the blood of our Mother splattered on the ground.”

The crowd was mostly young Natives, eager for Big Elk's speech. A few gray heads dotted the bunch. Nora called them the Guilty White People. They followed Big Elk around the country, living off their trust funds and trying to make up for their ancestors' exploitation of the indigenous peoples of the world.

She needed her husband now; she shouldn't have to do this alone.
Where is Scott?
A trickle of sweat rounded the small of her back.

Big Elk's beak-like nose rubbed on the horn as he spewed vitriol. “It's regrettable that the courts place the profitability of a playground over the deeply held religious and cultural convictions of hundreds of thousands of indigenous peoples.”

Where was that spontaneous combustion when you needed it?

Since she couldn't achieve incendiary suicide, Nora took a deep breath. It didn't calm her. She squeezed sweaty palms around the crude doll and twenty dollars.

Raymond gave her a gentle shove. “You've done tougher stints than this. Go get 'em, Tiger.”

Nora's blood pressure spiked another ten points as she readied to thwart Big Elk.

With his skin looking more sunburned than Native red, Big Elk squawked like an injured chicken. “Why is there global warming? Why 9/11 and the hurricanes, tsunamis, floods, earthquakes? Because we are allowing our sacred mountain to be desecrated. The mountain is home to the kachinas. We must protect their sacred place!” His limp gray ponytail whipped side to side when he raised a fist and started a chant.

Many of the people shouted their agreement.

I can't listen to another plea to keep Mother Earth cloaked in her burqa and hidden from the modern world.
Nora loved her mountain as much as any Native, and she would never do anything to harm it. Spraying water meant an end to its suffering from drought and a return to biodiversity. The runoff would eventually filter back into the underground aquifer, so there would be very little net loss to the water table.
She'd vowed to fight for her mountain when Kachina Ski became hers. She couldn't back down now.