speak to her and Carmelita, who had trailed Rosie onto the deck. “Why don’t you two rip-roar back inside. Your mamá and I will be along in a minute.”
Rosie followed Carmelita into the cabin. Chuck tossed his pack on one of the plastic deck chairs arrayed on the porch and motioned Janelle to follow him down the steps. He dropped the truck tailgate and took a seat on it. She hoisted herself up beside him.
He allowed the quiet of the surrounding forest to sink in, the only sound the call and response of a pair of magpies flitting from branch to branch through the ponderosa trees above their heads.
Janelle turned to him. “Where do we start?”
“She’s really okay?”
“She’s sniffling a little, but it’s pretty much gone, like the doctor said.”
“Gregory,” Chuck said, an unintended edge to his voice.
“We’re talking about Rosie,” Janelle replied, her chin held high.
The afternoon sun reflected off the tiny jewel affixed to the side of her nose. The gold flecks in her hazel eyes shimmered. Chuck swallowed. God, she was beautiful. The young doctor’s ogling of Janelle last night had lacked any semblance of professionalism—but who could blame him for taking advantage of the opportunity for another look today?
Chuck took Janelle’s hand in his. “I’m sure Clarence has texted you by now.”
She shook her head no.
Chuck stifled a groan. He kept it brief—the tunnel-floor collapse, the appearance of the officer at the mine with the photo of Clarence’s bloody knife, and the suspicion that the blood was human.
Janelle slid her hand free of Chuck’s as he finished: “The cop said they’ll follow up. Later today, maybe tomorrow.” He read the look in her eyes. “And no, I’m sure Clarence doesn’t want you to say anything to your parents.”
Too late, she looked away.
Chuck continued, “He’s refusing to let me get him a lawyer. Says it’ll make him look guilty.”
She turned back. “But you disagree.”
“I do. He’s got a point, though. There’s no actual crime involved. Not yet, anyway.”
“What do we do next?”
Chuck closed his eyes. All he wanted to do next was sleep.
He opened his eyes and looked down the drive toward the Y of the Rockies lodge and conference center. “Parker,” he said.
As he drove down the two-track, Chuck called Professor Sartore. In addition to the text he’d sent the professor in the morning, he had emailed Sartore a brief rundown of the previous night’s events before setting off for the mine after breakfast.
“What the hell is going on up there?” Sartore barked over the phone. “I’ve already heard from three different sets of parents.”
“You know college kids,” Chuck said. “They love drama.”
“How much drama are we talking about?”
“More than I’d prefer. But things are settling down.”
“That’s not the sense I’m getting. What’s this I hear about your brother-in-law’s knife?”
Chuck braked to a stop where the driveway reached the gravel road. He filled Sartore in on the appearance of the cop at the mine, picturing the professor’s bushy white eyebrows working up and down in consternation as he listened.
“You understand,” Sartore said when Chuck finished, “this is a multi-year contract we’ve signed with the park service. The plan is to start with Rocky Mountain and expand from there. Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone. The opportunities for Fort Lewis and the School of Anthropology—and for you, too, I might add—are significant.”
“I know, professor.”
“And this is the first year,” Sartore said, gaining steam. “The very first summer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This whole thing with your guy’s knife?” Sartore thundered. “And blood? And now you’re saying it’s human? It’s absolutely the last thing we need.” The professor’s heavy breaths came over the phone. “Don’t you have something else you want to tell me about?”
“I was getting to that.”
“Go right ahead.”
“A small section of the tunnel floor gave way. No one was hurt.”
“The parents who called made it sound like it was the end of the world.”
“College kids,” Chuck reiterated.
“I hired you for a reason, Chuck. I tracked you down after all these years. You’re my adult up there, my boots on the ground. There’s as much opportunity for you in the summers ahead as there is for the college. But not if things keep going the way they are right now. You’ve got to keep a lid on things there, understand?”
“Perfectly, sir.” Chuck hoped the professor was thinking the same thing he was: three more days, just three more days.
“Keep me up to speed on this situation with the knife,” Sartore said. “And make damn sure nothing else happens up there, because right now, your ass is on the line.”
“Got it, professor.”
Chuck pulled around the conference center and threw the truck into park, steaming. Who was Professor Sartore to put him on the spot for events beyond his control?
He cut the engine and sat behind the wheel while he calmed himself down. The truth was, he couldn’t blame the professor for being so concerned. A lot had happened in the last twenty-four hours, none of it good. If he wanted to work for Sartore again next summer, he had to do as the professor said—keep things quiet from here on out.
Besides, it wasn’t as if the professor’s outburst came as a surprise. His volcanic temper was legendary on the Fort Lewis campus. Chuck remembered Sartore ripping into students for unsatisfactory work two decades ago. The professor hadn’t changed in the years since.
Chuck took a steadying breath and got out of the truck, heading toward the conference center. The massive log building and the matching lodge next door had been constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression in the 1930s. A banquet room took up most of the first floor of the conference center. Smaller meeting rooms honeycombed the second. Chuck had texted ahead to set up the meeting in Parker’s office, which occupied a front corner of the building’s third floor.
Chuck climbed the steps to the top story, knocked on Parker’s office door, and entered when the resort manager called out for him to come in.
Parker’s large office was done up in L.L. Bean chic. A plaid
