straight uphill from Hood’s cabin-but even the switchback misery of the Forest Service trail was better than scrambling across logs and breaking through the salal and sword fern of thick Cascade forest. Rominy wore the women’s boots Jake had provided-half a size too big, she estimated-and had cut off the oversized jeans at mid- thigh. It was nice Barrow had the gear, but after the revelation about the saliva and the Starbucks cup, Rominy was suspicious of his story. Had Jake learned her shoe size, too? Was he an investigative reporter or a stalker?
Had he deliberately disabled her cell phone?
If so, had he simply been buying enough time to sell her on this wild story? She also remembered his caresses and couldn’t believe her instincts were that wrong. Christ, he could kiss. He’d found her inheritance, too.
But the cash had been put in his heavier backpack, not hers.
Rominy had thought of trying to sneak the old. 45 into her own pack for protection, but it was as inconspicuous as an anvil and she was doubtful it would even fire. Her Safeway skirt was packed away, her purse was in the truck, her identity stripped. Jake said he was taking the money for safekeeping. “Better than risk it lying around the cabin, just in case you did see someone,” which was not exactly reassuring. “Don’t worry, I’m trustworthy as a bank.”
“Like that’s reassuring, after the Wall Street meltdown.”
He laughed.
The money was in a zipper pocket of his backpack, about as fat as the other one that carried energy bars. Rominy thought about demanding to carry the cash, but he’d found the inheritance and she didn’t want an argument to break the mood of partnership. Instead she quietly did take one secret scrap along for herself, just so she did something Jake didn’t know about. She tucked the old Tibetan scarf with its invisible writing in her bra between her breasts. It wasn’t much, but it was something she did, not Mr. Reporter. She needed to regain a measure of control.
But she also wanted to get to the bottom of this crazy mystery, and so far they’d made a great team. So she’d play along, learn about her ancestor, and then if necessary run screaming for the cops.
Well, it was a plan.
Barrow was certainly fit. Not unusual in this part of the nation, but he soon had her panting as he chugged up the trail with the determination of the Little Engine That Could. Rominy had done her share of hiking-guys saw it as a cheap date-but her idea of alpine adventure was driving to the parking lot at Paradise on Mount Rainier and meandering with the mob through the wildflower meadows until pavement ended. If God had wanted people to walk on dirt trails, why had he provided asphalt? This path seemed to be made of equal parts mud, rock, roots, and brush, and was empty for good reason. There was no view, just monotonously steep forest rising above the Cascade River Valley. It was shadowy and still. Few birds lived in these deep woods.
“Did you bring a flashlight?” she finally remembered to ask.
“I’ve got two, plus GPS, working compass, climbing rope, Swiss army knife, and food for two days. We could invade Afghanistan.”
“You seem awfully prepared.”
“I was an Eagle Scout, remember.”
“Why aren’t I surprised?”
“Ski Patrol, lifeguard training, CPR, and ballroom dancing.”
She didn’t know if he was kidding. “Ballroom dancing, really?”
“I took some lessons.”
Intriguing. “I thought newspaper reporters hung around bars and stayed up late and ate bad food.”
“I do eat bad food. Haven’t you noticed?”
“But you know about wine and you have all this outdoor gear.”
“I’m a backpacker and camper, and I knew about Hood’s cabin. I just couldn’t get to it without your help. I’ve been preparing this for a long time, Rominy. I didn’t expect the car bomb. Or how clever you’d be.”
“I don’t feel clever. I feel bewildered.”
“Or how pretty.”
Male bullshit, but she liked it. Even now, huffing and sweaty, she felt a kind of satisfied tingle from their lovemaking. Why wasn’t anything ever simple? “What do you think we’ll really find? Did Hood come back from Tibet with some kind of treasure? Is that why he hid out here?”
“I hope so. Not for the money but for the story. I’ve already got a good story, of course: you, the bomb, the ancestor, and the safety deposit box. But I’ve got a hunch I still don’t have the whole story. And why are those skinhead goons after you? What happened to your relatives? Why did Ben Hood make this a game of Clue? I hope we’re hiking up to all the answers.”
“Each answer just seems like it poses new questions.”
“Kind of like life, isn’t it? Too many questions, and then you die.”
After two hours of steady climbing, Jake took a reading from his GPS, consulted his contour map, and announced it was time to leave the trail and strike due east-still up-on their own.
“Just make sure we can find our way back.”
“I’ve got a satellite to guide me. But if worse comes to worst, just head downhill. Eventually you should hit the Cascade River Road, if you don’t starve or get eaten by a cougar or a bear.”
“Thanks for that, Jake.”
Fortunately, the trees had already shrunk in size at a mile in altitude, so the downed logs were more hurdles than walls. It was slow going through huckleberry and silver fir, Jake shouting once in a while to warn any bears away from their plowing. Slowly they broke out into heather meadows with a view to higher peaks. Rominy caught her breath. A great rampart of rock and snow, glaciers hanging, loomed above a densely forested valley. Alpine meadows were a bright Irish green between the dark trees and the snow.
Jake looked from his Survey map to the horizon. “Dorado Needle, Triad, Mount Torment, Forbidden Peak.”
“Cheery.”
“And that one is Eldorado. Appropriate when looking for a gold mine, no?”
“Except El Dorado didn’t exist.”
“Or Oz, Shangri-la, or Camelot. Or did they?” He smiled, fetchingly.
“Lead on, Dorothy.”
Jake would stop periodically to take readings from his GPS and then plot their position on their two maps, his USGS green contour one and Hood’s fingerprint chart. They steadily closed in on their target. The entire idea of using satellites in outer space to plot their position in the Cascade Mountains struck Rominy as little less than magic, and using clues from a petrified finger as little more than weird. The entire day was fantastical, the air crisp, the sun bright, the distant glaciers gleaming, and this new man beside her who’d come out of nowhere and seemed able to do anything and everything. Her heart beat faster just watching him move. His mystery made him frightening and fascinating.
What wasn’t magical is how the coordinates forced them to work in and out of ravines, scramble across downed timber, and get clawed at by underbrush. The morning dragged into hard work, only the excitement of a treasure hunt preventing the bushwhacking from getting dispiriting.
And then they were there, supposedly.
It was a steep mountainside in a stand of alpine firs twenty to thirty feet high, dropping off below to a cliff that fell down to the forested gulf between them and Eldorado. There was no striking outcrop, no “ X marks the spot,” no gleam of gold or skull. The spot seemed utterly unremarkable.
“I don’t get it,” Rominy said.
Jake squatted, studying his GPS and his maps. “If we guessed right in the cabin, we should be here.” He peered up at the sky as if the satellites might give him a different answer. “Maybe we figured the clues wrong.”
“Great.” She looked around with her hands on her hips. “All that sweat for nothing.” She felt dirty and uneasy.
“Maybe your great-grandfather miscalculated a little. He didn’t have our instruments, after all.”
“Maybe my great-grandfather was crazy as a loon. Well, let’s check around. Could be we’re just off by a hundred yards, though it looks to me it’s more likely a hundred miles. You go back up, I’ll go down.”
