Scene of the Climb (19 page)

What was his connection to Lenny? They fought at the summit. Maybe Leaf learned Lenny wanted to invest in the show and killed him before he could?

I rolled the newspaper and tucked it into my backpack.

Back to my search for the mysterious appointment on Pops' calendar. I moved to his office. I found four discarded coffee mugs all with an inch of molding coffee remains. Reference books collected dust on shelves cluttered with news clippings, half-finished crossword puzzles and flowers pressed into the covers of hardbound books.

I dug through his desk drawers. They were filled with Silly Putty, plastic teeth, postcards from all over the globe, dental floss, short poems written on restaurant receipts and junk mail.

It was evident that it had been years since Mother spent time in Pops' office. His filing system (or lack thereof) was a total mess. Half of his files weren't labeled. Most were crammed together and stained with coffee mug rings. My need for order made me wish I'd brought along a box of those lovely color-coded files from my office. This would take forever. I'd have to go through them one at a time.

The antique grandfather clock on the wall chimed nine. I was due at Beacon Rock in an hour. Krissy's updated schedule had the contestants posing for a photo shoot at Beacon Rock before continuing the next leg of the race at nearby Table Mountain. Alicia and Leaf would race an eight-mile loop to the summit of Table Mountain. The hike would lead them over 3,400 feet in elevation change and to one of the most stunning views of the Columbia River Gorge.

Tomorrow the final leg of the race would culminate with a zip-line off the Bridge of the Gods into the Columbia River below. The schedule noted Krissy wouldn't be at the Beacon Rock photo shoot as she was working with state and wildlife officials on setting up the zip-line and closing the bridge for a chunk of the morning. She would, however, meet us at Table Mountain, where she'd arranged a press conference before Alicia and Leaf headed out on their last climb.

I decided the files should come with me. I could go through them with Jill. Finding a wide rubber band in the top desk drawer, I secured it around the messy files. At the last minute I grabbed the Silly Putty and shoved it in my pocket. Pops' hands had molded it while he worked; maybe mine would too. I wasn't sure whether Gam had tapped into me needing to find Pops' cryptic appointment or Leaf's surprising family background, but either way, I'd accomplished something. That was a pleasant and totally unexpected surprise.

I stuck the story about Leaf in the backseat and drove to Beacon Rock to meet everyone for the photo shoot.

Beacon Rock sits on the Washington side of the Columbia River. Originally named by Lewis and Clark who called it “a remarkably tall detached rock,” the monolith stands at 800 feet. There's been constant chatter in the Northwest over whether the freestanding rock ranks second in the world (behind the Rock of Gibraltar). The three-quarter mile hike to the top is paved, with handrails and bridges, but there was no way I had any intention of climbing it with the crew—photo shoot or not.

Once, in high school, I tried to make my way up the rock. A bunch of friends and I drove out to the Gorge for a day hike. Our plan was to hike to the top and then continue to the quaint town of Stevenson for a picnic on the river. The only problem was I could only make it a quarter of the way up.

The 360-degree views stretch out in all directions on the dizzying path. I couldn't find my bearings on the skyline as I raced to keep up with my agile friends along the interlocking walkways and continuous switchbacks. The world spun. I collapsed. Then I lied, hollering for them to go on, that I had the stomach flu. They raced ahead while I clawed my way to the parking lot. No one commented later when I scarfed down watermelon and burgers next to the river.

I couldn't think of any reason Greg would need me at the summit for the photo shoot, but just in case, I'd worked out an excuse so I wouldn't have to climb it. In order to write from a new lens (total journalism school speak and the current lingo in today's media), I wanted to observe Alicia and Leaf from the vantage point of the base. That way I could track their individual styles as they ascended and descended.

I really hoped Greg wouldn't ask, because as I practiced the speech in my head, even I called bullshit.

Rain momentarily subsided as I snagged a parking space in the small lot next to a log cabin housing park service brochures and bathrooms.

No sign of Greg's car. Whew.

I paid the $10 day-use fee, grabbed my gear and staked a claim on a lone picnic table hugging the side of the craggy rock.

The table sat on a small patch of grass on the east side of the rock. Cars and semi-trucks rumbled along Highway 14 behind me. Setting my camera and notebook on the damp table, I craned my neck. My eyes followed the slimy rock all the way to its summit. I swiveled my head frantically for something to grab. I had to sit.

Moss and grass spotted the rock face like freckles. A sign pointing to the northwest face of the trail lay ahead. Everyone would have to walk a quarter of a mile into the tree-covered base before the trail curved and began its circular ascent.

Though I had a view of the entire monolith, the south face trail was closed. It would be unlikely I'd be able to see anyone on the northwest trail from my side of the rock. They'd be climbing next to the river. I was stuck next to the highway. How could I explain to Greg that I'd have a better angle from here?

A horn beeped. The Race the States van pulled into the lot.

Dave hopped out of the driver's seat and intentionally looked away from me. His Australian bush hat rested on his head. How had he managed to get it back from Sheriff Daniels so quickly?

Watching the contestants and gear pour out of the van reminded me of clown cars in the circus. I couldn't believe how much camera equipment they managed to pack in.

No Greg. Maybe that would be my excuse to skip the climb. I needed to wait for him.

After four trips in and out of the van, Andrew piled sound booms, cables and cameras on the ground next to the picnic table.

“Ready for the view up there? It's breathtaking.” I didn't exactly lie. My friends, who'd actually made the climb, agreed it was a stunning view of the carved-out waterway.

Andrew grunted as he fumbled with cameras.

Dave glared at me from under the brim of his hat. “That's what they say, Meggie. Ya
joinin'
us?” The way he said “joining” made me shudder.

“Uh, no,” I stretched my words out and tried to ignore Alicia as she rolled her eyes at me. “I'm hoping to get a fresh lens—as we like to say in the business—today. Kind of catch you at all angles. I'm going to camp out over there.” I pointed behind me as Alicia faked a cough, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

“Good plan,” she said through raised eyebrows and a smirk.

I needed to get her alone to ask her about my stolen files and why she was always irritated with me.

“Andrew, ya ready?” Dave asked, his tone light again, as Andrew finished fastening the camera on Leaf. “Head on and we'll be right behind ya. Okay, mate?”

Andrew muttered something indistinguishable and loped to the start of the trailhead without looking back.

Alicia's camera twisted to the side when she hunched her pack over her shoulders. She wore her usual race attire, black athletic shorts, a neon pink sports bra and a baseball hat in the same color scheme. It reminded me that eighties fashions were making a comeback. I wasn't even born in the eighties so it didn't make much difference to me, but Mother loathed the bright colors, shoulder pads and parachute pants that made the decade famous.

Dave busied himself fixing Alicia's camera. I took the opportunity to pull Leaf aside.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure,” he replied in his lackadaisical tone. “What's up?”

I sidestepped away from Dave and Alicia. “I read an article about your family today. Learned you come from serious oil money. Why didn't you say anything?”

Leaf stared at one of the trees. After a long moment in a daze, I wondered if he'd smoked too much pot last night and wasn't tracking my questions.

I mimicked his craned neck and stretched my head to the sky.

He turned his attention to me. “She's beautiful, isn't she? Truly spiritual.”

Gam would find him a fast friend (aside from his pot smoking habit). “Uh-huh,” I agreed, averting my eyes to the ground.

A hint of anger flashed across his face, tightening his jawline and narrowing his eyes. “It's my job to protect her and the rest of this,” he said, waving his hand upward toward the rock and sweeping it in a half circle. Recovering, he continued in his monotone. “What about my family?”

“Why haven't you mentioned them? It sounds like it was a pretty big story for months.”

Leaf laughed. I'd never heard him laugh. It wasn't pleasant. It was laced with bitterness. “What? You're going to use that in your story. Go for it. You think I'm hiding something? Give it up. You're not a reporter. You're part of the corporate machine.” He turned on his shoeless feet, narrowed his bloodshot eyes and said, “Yeah, and that story was front-page news all over Oregon months ago.”

Dave motioned for Leaf to follow Alicia into the woods. How was I going to get her alone?

With a parting snarl, he said, “You're in over your head, kid. I'd suggest you get back to writing about the big money machine cutting your paycheck each month.”

What was that all about? That was the most riled I'd seen the pot-smoking, tree hugger, aka Lazy Leaf (as I'd deemed him).

Checking the ground next to the picnic table for spiders or other small critters, I spread out my blanket. The patchy grass was damp and bumpy. This really was a terrible spot to see much. Mainly I zoned out as packs of tourists and families with babies in backpacks and small children in khaki hiking shorts and Keens wound up and around the volcanic face.

Day hikers skipping past me with light packs and neoprene water bottles distracted me from tracking where Leaf or Alicia were on the rock. Every ten minutes, I'd glimpse toward the exposed sections of the path. I caught a flash of Alicia's neon pink sports bra and matching hat a couple times, but otherwise I had no idea where they were. The climb to the top wasn't more than a mile. They shouldn't be gone long. Thirty minutes, unless Dave had big plans for the photo shoot.

Calmed by the bustle around me, I slipped into a dreamlike state, allowing my mind to wander. What had I learned so far about Lenny's murder and who might have the motivation to kill him?

Dave and his funding issues were high on my list. Finding his hat on the deer trail only made me more suspicious of him, but if it was true that Lenny planned to fund Race the States, that didn't add up.

Andrew had been avoiding me since our altercation. I was sure he followed me out to Multnomah Falls and tried to run me off the road, but why? Other than a strong dislike of Lenny's personality he didn't have a motive for murder. Or at least not one I'd found.

Then there was Leaf. The news of his family's history and money definitely made him a suspect. Maybe he wanted the show and really did plan to make it green. If he learned Lenny was about to beat him to it, could he have murdered him?

I still hadn't had a chance to confront Alicia about my missing files and the deleted photos. What had I done to make her dislike me? How had she really gotten the scratches on her arms? And what were she and Andrew always whispering about?

Plus there was Krissy. She seemed determined to make the production a success. But why did that matter so much? It wasn't her show.

If anything, I was more confused than ever. Each clue led to another unanswered question. I was running out of time. Tomorrow was the finale. After filming wrapped, everyone would scatter around the country.

Greg's voice disturbed my train of thought. “What are you doing here, Meg?” He stood towering over me, blending in with the sturdy ancient trees behind him. My stomach flip-flopped. I put my hand over it.

“Working on a new vantage point,” I said, pointing to my unopened backpack and camera resting on the blanket. “And waiting for you.”

Greg's eyes lingered on them too. He grinned and plopped down next to me. Craning his eyes in the direction of Beacon Rock, he leaned his neck to the left and right. “New vantage point?”

I could feel my throat tighten.

Patting my knee, Greg said, “It's okay, Meg. I didn't want to climb with that motley crew either.”

The spot where his hand touched my knee burned in rhythm with my cheeks. I couldn't get a read on him. Was he patronizing me? I wished I had Gam's skills.

“Sorry,” I said, fiddling with my hands. “It's been kind of crazy the past four days, and I thought I'd take this chance to sit and let my thoughts settle. I swear I'm working on the piece. I've got it all mapped out in my head.”

Stretching his taut legs and leaning his head on his elbows, Greg focused his piercing russet eyes on the sky above. His Mountain Hardware running shirt revealed his tight pectoral muscles.

I could feel warmth emitting from his body, or maybe it was mine? He smelled of musky cologne and the slightest hint of sweat. I didn't peg him as a cologne-wearing kind of guy. Maybe deodorant? I leaned on my elbows, worried if I positioned myself next to him my rapidly beating heart would betray me. Avoiding Beacon Rock, I followed his gaze to the sky directly above, where a formation of clouds rolled overhead, pushed along by the light east wind funneling down the river. The bank of clouds momentarily blocked the sun.

I flashed to a memory of Pops. On Sunday afternoons in the summer we'd eat lunch outside on a blanket and play “name that cloud.” A silly game Pops made up, where one of us would try to shout out what shape we saw in a cloud first.

Without thinking, I said to Greg, “Did you ever look for shapes in clouds when you were a kid?”

He rustled the top of my hair. Definitely a big brother move, not a romantic one. “Meg, you kill me. I wish I could bottle the way you look at the world.” He sighed and leaned back again. “No one would buy it. World's too cynical.”

The week's frustration, fear and Pops' sweet memory flooded my system, erupting with unexpected force. “You think I'm a kid. Don't you?” I clapped my hand over my mouth.

Greg sat up and chuckled. “Not at all. I think you're a killer journalist.”

This day couldn't get any worse. Salty tears welled in my eyes. “I'm sorry,” I sniffed. “I . . . I shouldn't have said that to you. You're my boss.”

Greg cracked his knuckles and said, “Sure, I'm your boss, but I hope I'm your friend too. How many times have I told you we don't run that kind of office?”

His cell phone rang. A look of irritation washed over his face when he looked at the screen and answered it. “What's going on?”

I wiped my eyes and tried to ignore his conversation. His voice sounded hard.

“Listen, I keep telling you I don't want to do this on the phone. We'll talk later.”

He stuffed his phone in his pocket.

Who kept calling him? He obviously didn't want to talk while I was around.

“Sorry about that. What were you saying?”

“Nothing. It's this week, the whole thing with Lenny—it's gotten under my skin. Hey, speaking of that, what do you know about Leaf? I read an interesting article about his family money.”

Greg patted my back and chuckled. “There's our little Meg. Looking for dirt again. You're right. He comes from deep pockets. I know his father.” He let out a whistle. “Whew—tough one. Nothing like Leaf. Nothing like anyone you'd meet in the Northwest. He's Texas all the way.”

“How so?”

“He's not someone I'd want to cross, that's for sure.”

He checked Beacon Rock for any sign of Leaf and Alicia. “Hey, Krissy and I went out for a cocktail last night.”

This news made my heart sink. Krissy had her eye on Greg, and not only was she more worldly than me, but she was the kind of woman who would not take no for an answer. I could picture her with a bottle of wine in hand and her pencil skirt intentionally pulled above her knee, inviting Greg to her hotel room. Yuck.

I tried to appear casual with my response. “That's nice.”