Timberline Trail (30 page)

Tia hesitated for only a moment, reluctant to leave the cocooning warmth of her log cabin, but her curio
sity was pricked.

“Alright” she said, “I’ll be right in.”

Right in
, of course, meant two hours later, and as she pulled her new 4x4 in front of the Timberline Lodge, she noticed Nancy had been as good as her word about decorating the outside of the lodge with gaudy Christmas lights that flashed red and green. Tia grinned to herself; she might be deep in the wilds of Alaska but there was enough of LA right here to satisfy anyone. She slipped out of the warm interior of her truck and headed toward the reception area of the small lodge. Nancy fussed behind the counter with a display she’d fashioned out of pinecones surrounding a small Nativity.

“Oh there you are,” she cried happily
, and reached under the counter, pulling out two large envelopes.

“You can see this one has been all over the un
iverse,” said Nancy, pointing to its battered packaging.
Return to Sender, Address Unknown
was stamped in bold red letters across the front.

“Lookie here, they sent it to Timberline in the
Northwest Territories; no wonder it didn’t make it.”

Tia’s heart caught in her throat.
In the upper left hand corner, in neat printing, were the simple letters
J. Simons
.

“Oh my God,” she gasped
, ripping open the envelope. Inside, a short letter folded around one small floppy disk.

Nancy
studied her suddenly white face. “What is it honey, are you okay?”

“It’s from Jenny Simons,” Tia responded, her heart pounding. “The disk she sent me so long ago finally made it.”

“Well they don’t call it snail mail for nothing,” said Nancy, gulping.

The letter inside was brief.

Dear
Ms. Heath
, it said:

You don’t know me, but my name is Jenny Simons, and I
’ve discovered some information regarding your brother, RK Heath’s possible involvement in Corporate Espionage. Apparently an idea developed by your father was stolen by his partner, Andrew Carson, and is in the process of being sold to a firm in Tokyo by your brother. The enclosed disk contains all the information necessary to back up my suspicions. Please make a copy and send it to my brother Jon Simons at P. O. Box 712, Vancouver, B.C. There’s a possibility I may have been discovered, and beg you to contact the proper authorities. I trust you simply because RK doesn’t. Thanks for helping me do the right thing.

Yours,

Jenny K. Simons

A solitary tear trickled down Tia’s face as she visualized the soon to be deceased woman’s desperate attempt to divert the disk away from her employer and into the hands of someone who would expose the whole sordid affair.

“I promise Jenny,” she said out loud
, and Nancy nodded, having also read the letter Tia spread over the smooth wooden counter of the reception desk.

“
Nancy, will you turn this over to Jayce as soon as possible? He’ll know exactly who to forward it to.”

“Of course,” said
Nancy, reaching across to place a gentle hand upon her shoulder. “That was Jon Simons’ sister right?”

“Yeah,” said Tia sadly. “The one murdered in
Las Vegas.”

“And here’s the
second letter. I’m going to rush this over to Jayce right now and then stop by to pick up Tory at Roy’s. Just tell Gerald you need a room and we’ll talk later.” Nancy gave the younger woman a reassuring hug before scurrying away.

Tia wiped away
her tears and wandered into the rustic lounge of the Timberline Lodge to sink into a high-backed leather easy chair. Poor, poor Jenny. How could she have known her letter would be so incorrectly routed, leaving her desperate plea unheard? A discreet tap on her shoulder forced her to open her blurry eyes.

Mary
peered anxiously at her. “I noticed your truck outside. Is everything alright Tia?”

“It is now,” she whispered
, and spent the next few minutes relating how the lost letter had finally made its way to Timberline.

“And what’s that?” asked Mary, lowering her heavy frame into the comfortable chair opposite
her.

“I don’t
know.” Tia tore open the end of the other large envelope. Inside, a letter written in a large masculine hand was accompanied by a white business envelope. She gulped before reading the short letter to her waiting friend.

Dear Tia,

You probably remember me, Ben Oswald
, the partner of that no-account photographer, Jon Simons?

Well,
I’ve had enough of Jon sulking around with his head stuck in a dark black cloud and I decided it’s time for me to take both of your futures into my own hands since you both seem unwilling or unable to recognize that you two are the best thing that ever happened to each other. I have never in my entire life met two more stubborn or ornery people. My poor deceased wife used to say I was the most mule-headed man ever born, but I’m nothing compared to the likes of you two! So come to your senses girl and hopefully this ticket will reach you in time to fly here by Christmas. We’re doing a shoot about wild dogs in South Africa and this was the best present I could think to give him. Consider it a charity gift for endangered species, because if you don’t come I’m just going to have to put him out of his misery. Help me out because I’d hate to have to train a new partner.

Best regards and get over here as soon as possible.

Ben Oswald

The oversized signature nearly ran off the page and Tia remembered the rough face of the grizzled older man and his no-nonsense attitude when he’d visited her in the clinic three months ago. Tia opened up the white envelope and one round trip ticket to Johannesburg, South Africa, along with an accompanying ticket to the Sabi Sands Game Reserve, stared up challengingly at her. The flight from Los Angeles was scheduled to leave on the twenty-third of December. A broad grin spread across Mary’s good-natured face.

“Well, well, maybe you won’t be spending
Christmas in LA after all? I bet we can arrange for Jed to fly you down to Anchorage and get you to LA in time to make your connection.

Tia shook her head
.

“Oh don’t be a blasted fool,” said Mary, losing her temper as she rose to her full
five-foot-nothing height “He’s sulking, you’re sulking. Why don’t you just take the free trip and take a chance. What have you got to lose? Besides, anyone with a lick of sense can see Jon Simons is the right man for you since nobody else could possibly put up with your reclusive nature and blasted stubborn streak! I’m sick to death of seeing that mooning face of yours around here. So turn around that truck, pack yourself a bag of safari clothes, and move your butt to Africa. And don’t forget your passport, do you hear me girl?”

Tia gazed
into the flashing black eyes of Mary Whitebird and nodded slowly.

Tia fidgeted
as the humming Boeing 757 made its way from Atlanta to Cape Town and stared nervously out of her window, wondering for the umpteenth time if she should just turn around and head home. Everything had gone without a hitch and once in Cape Town she would take a connecting flight to Johannesburg before catching a smaller plane to Sabi Sands, where Jon was supposedly encamped tracking the elusive wild dog.

Tia reread Ben’s l
atest telegram and glanced down at her fingers which trembled, scarcely believing she’d actually dashed off to the Southern Hemisphere to see a man who’d most likely reject her the minute he laid eyes on her. It was supposedly summer in South Africa and Tia knew she wasn’t any more prepared to face the sweltering heat of the bushveld than meet Jon again. She only had a ninety minute layover at the Jan Smuts International Airport in Johannesburg to brood before reluctantly boarding a small four-seater plane that would take her to a remote airfield near Kruger National Park.

As the aircraft circled the small landing strip Tia observed a herd of 12-15 elephants slinging mud and water over their hot hides at a sma
ll waterhole, while some sleek impala sidled up to the pond to drink beside the massive herbivores. The aircraft bumped several times on the sandy runway before skidding to a stop and Tia flinched at the warm blast after the small airplane’s door opened to disgorge her.

A smiling African man, who sweated
profusely, met her as she stepped off the small aircraft.

H
eat hung in shimmering waves this warm Christmas morning, the humidity high.

“Welcome madam,” said the c
heery Zulu guide, retrieving Tia’s two suitcases and leading her to a small white van. She soon sat beside him on the jolting road, heading toward Jon and Ben’s camp.

“Keep looking out the window,” said her guide
, who’d introduced himself as Lucky. “You never know what you might find. There’s been a lot of rain and sometimes it’s hard to glimpse the animals in the midday heat because they’re hiding.”

“Your name’
s really Lucky?” asked Tia, glancing at the nametag pinned to his green safari shirt.

“Yes,” he said
, flashing incredibly straight white teeth. “That’s my name alright. My mother had six daughters and when I was born named me Lucky on the spot.”

Tia laughed and suddenly pointed a shaky finger at a massive long-legged bird sprinting through the high grass.

“What’s that?”

“Ah, just a
secretary bird. We love ‘em because they eat all the snakes you know; lots of cobra and mamba in the area.”

Tia gulped and tucked her legs under the seat as the van bounced toward the remote camp.
By the time she arrived, Tia had spotted numerous antelope and at least twenty species of bird, including one Lucky told her always inhabited the camp in hopes of picking up some leftover tidbits. “That’s the yellow hornbill. Noisy little bugger but great about warning you if dangerous game is about.” Lucky pointed to a brown-colored river flowing through a clump of huge trees. “Just yesterday a whole herd of Cape buffalo crashed across the river and we thought they were going to stampede the camp. Luckily for us they chose to return to the river.”

The
camp loomed into sight, surrounded by a large electric fence designed to keep the animals out. It consisted of a large cooking structure and covered eating area as well as several free-standing tents. A combination outhouse and shower was located discreetly downwind from the social areas.

Right before they drove into the electric wired e
nclosure of Jon’s camp, Tia spotted a regal cheetah sitting underneath a shady thorn tree, panting heavily in the mid-day heat. The animal didn’t seem remotely startled at Tia and her driver.

“That cheetah has been hanging around here for a couple of days,” said Lucky, dismissing the animal
as if it was something routine. “Mr. Simons and Mr. Oswald took some great photos of her the day before yesterday. Said they’re going to include it in their new book. We’ve seen lion, rhino, and hippo in the area and the other day discovered a leopard kill, but no leopard. We’ll have to keep an eye out for him.”

“What about the wild dog
s?” asked Tia. “Isn’t that the reason Jon and Ben came here?”

“You bet. Sipho has been track
ing the pack for the last couple of weeks and found their hidey hole about two kilometers from here near the river. They’d whelped their pups in an old termite mound and just yesterday Mr. Simons photographed the pack running down an impala.”

Tia had read a little about wild dogs
’ ruthless manner of hamstringing their prey to bring it down before tearing it apart. Their brutal hunting habits had encouraged farmers and hunters throughout Southern Africa to kill what they considered a nasty animal on sight, not realizing how important the wild dog was to the precarious African food chain.

A short, khaki-
clad black man opened the gate for them as Lucky drove noisily into the enclosure. “That’s Thabo, the camp cook. He speaks seven languages including English, Afrikaans, and Zulu. He also plays a mean game of poker.”

Thabo smiled broadly,
revealing a shiny gold cap half-covering his front tooth. He stuck out a hand and gripped Tia’s firmly. “I’m glad to meet you Mama. I’ll put you away from the men. The loo is over there, downwind from the camp, and you should be safe enough in here at night, though I’d advise you to never  wander outside the fence. This is a permanent electrified camp for environmentalists who periodically check on the wild dogs’ progress, so we have a lot of visitors and want to make sure everyone wakes up with all their limbs intact.”

He chuckled and sauntered on his way as Tia peered into the tall grass, wondering what other an
imals lurked outside the fence other than the harmless-looking cheetah. A red hornbill dabbed its big beak into the dust near her tent and flew up into a thorn tree with an indignant cry at her approach.

Tia followed Lucky to her large safari tent, built two feet abo
ve the earth upon wooden slabs in an effort to discourage snakes and insects from entering.