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  A voice at her back commented, “I think we’re going to both need a clearer day to get a better shot.”

  She turned and saw Austin Murphy smiling behind her.

  “Hi Austin, I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, smiling back. “I’ve got news on our predator! I was going to call you in for an update, but I got called out here first.”

  “No worries. So you finally heard back?”

  “Yes, I did. First of all, it’s rather large as we already suspected.” To prove her point, she stepped aside and said, “Look what it got into last night.” She gestured over her shoulder with her camera toward the garbage bin in the mist behind her.

  Trip walked up behind Austin just as she stepped aside, and Christine watched with mild amusement as both Austin and Trip’s jaws dropped in unison when they saw the state of the dumpster lid.

  “Holy crapoly! What happened? Garbage truck damage the bin again?” Trip asked.

  “Hey, Trip! Nope, I believe it was our new resident to the valley, our huge friend who left the prints at the sledder’s campsite. Can you think of any other creature that could fold back a sheet-steel garbage bin lid like that?”

  “Bigfoot?” Trip queried.

  “Nope.” She shook her head in the negative, her ponytail bouncing around from the back of her hat.

  “The Abominable Snowman?” Austin suggested, raising his salt and pepper eyebrows in askance.

  With a slight tilt of her head and a pout on her lips, Christine said to the two men, “No, I’m sorry, only contestants from the fossil record can play today.”

  “So it is on the fossil record, then!” Austin said, sounding intrigued.

  “Yes.” She nodded, smiling.

  “Okay then, what is it?” Trip asked.

  “And how much of a monster is it?” Austin finished his friend’s thought.

  Figuring she’d kept them in suspense long enough, she said, “Arctotherium Angustidens, is his name, or Angus for short. According to my zoology colleague Zelda, our new voracious friend from the campsite went extinct just a little over one hundred thousand years ago."

  “What?” Austin stood with his mouth agape once more.

  "Angus, huh? Man, he’s still doing really well for his age!" Trip observed, nodding his head lightly in admiration.

  "You’re right, and he’s not a lightweight either. He weighs just over two metric tonnes, and his shoulders are at least as high as the top of your six-foot-two head," Christine said, looking over at Austin.

  “Six-foot-three, actually,” Austin amended.

  Christine smiled at Austin’s correction and continued, “And if it stood on its hind legs it could look into your second-story bedroom window, right before it scooped you out with its half-metre long claws and started jamming you into its mouth.”

  “I live in a bungalow,” Trip said, sounding both anxious and relieved at the same time.

  “That’s crazy! How is this possible? First, that weird raccoon from the past, now this bear. What’s next, a dodo bird?” Austin asked.

  Christine continued, “And I don’t know if this is something you might have thought of, but this raccoon, and now bear, didn’t show up after the seismic event here, isn’t that right?” Christine inquired.

  “Something like that, I suppose,” Austin responded with a nod.

  “What if all that shaking somehow woke these things up?”

  Shaking his head as he looked toward the bin, Trip said, “Like a giant alarm clock for very, very sound sleepers, huh? Well, they must have hit the snooze button after the shaking because that was over a month ago.”

  “Well, I don’t know why the delay, but somehow I think these three things are related. The shaking, then the raccoon shows up, then the bear.”

  Looking down at the ground around the bin, Austin said, “Looks like Angus made a bit of a mess, too.” The snow around the container was dark with frozen blood, great sprays of it painted over the side of the dumpster as well as a rusty Trans Am sitting next to it.

  “According to Chef Murray, he found the bin like this. He also said the kitchen wasn’t completely cleaned when he came in, either. It was like the evening crew had just left without finishing their duties.”

  “More missing persons?” Trip asked.

  “They don’t know at this point. Possibly two people at least. They’re still trying to get a hold of the kitchen manager, one Antoine DePascal, as well a busboy, Dan Lewis, who had been on duty last night before closing. No luck so far, though. But speaking of which, I had more of the bad variety this morning, actually.”

  Trip asked, “What happened?”

  “I met Ray Chance for the first time today.”

  “Oh, that is unfortunate,” Austin said in commiseration.

  “Yes,” Christine said, wrinkling her nose in remembrance. “He doesn’t work anywhere near an open flame by any chance, does he?”

  Austin Laughed, “No, but he does enjoy the odd cigar from what I’ve seen. I guess he hasn’t reached his maximum saturation point with that brandy he’s always drinking, yet. But someday...” His smile faded away as he trailed off, looking at the garbage bin once more. “Did the police show up yet?” Austin inquired.

  “I contacted them, and they said they’d send a car up. But that was a couple of hours ago. And knowing how beloved I am with the LPD, I’ll be lucky to see them show up before I’m done here,” Christine replied.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone was very lucky here last night, at least not outside the casino anyway,” Trip observed.

  “Speaking of luck, we’re out of it ourselves,” Austin said, pointing his hand vaguely in the air at the swirling fog. “At least when it comes to doing any avalanche control in this part of the valley. Can’t see a blasted thing to shoot the gun at.”

  “Is the avalanche risk bad?” Christine asked.

  “Not too bad, at the moment. There’s just a bit of stuff at the top of Gold Ridge holding on for dear life. Should be okay unless we get more fresh snow, or if it gets any warmer. We’ll just have to wait a couple of days and hope that it clears up so we can get a shot at it.”

  “That’s great! Then in the meantime, do you think you might have some time to help me?”

  “Always ready to help, ma’am,” Trip replied with a brief salute, a slight smile and two very rosy cheeks.

  “Well, I’ve got a mess of ‘Bear In Area’ signs I’ve whipped up in the back of my truck that I need help putting around town so that people are aware of the threat.”

  “Sure, give us some, Christine,” Austin said. “We’ll plant them on our way back to town.”

  “Great, thanks!”

  "No problem! We’ll just be a few minutes here first. We have temporary storage for the howitzer on-site here. We’ll drop Baby off here until tomorrow when we can hopefully knock that build-up down if the fog clears.”

  “Baby?”

  “It’s a long story,” Trip said, shaking his head sadly.

  “I’ll have to hear it sometime. Anyway, you guys are awesome! Thanks so much!”

  “No worries,” Trip said, looking at his boots and blushing even more profusely.

  ***

  After loading several dozen signs into the back of their truck, they bid Christine goodbye. Climbing into the City Silverado, Austin said, “Let’s get the howitzer bedded down for the day and then plant some of those signs. It should only take a couple of hours, and then I’ll treat for lunch at Frostbite Fred’s. Sound good, my friend?”

  In spite of the half-dozen crullers he’d consumed within the last couple of hours, Trip’s stomach growled in anticipation as it thought of lunch at his favourite watering hole. “Well, if you’re going to twist my rubber arm…” he said, trailing off as he climbed into the passenger side of the truck.

  Austin had heard the celebratory snarl of hunger from Trip’s stomach and knew his friend was well motivated for the morning’s work ahead. Still shaking his head in wonder and smiling, he hopped int
o the driver’s seat and started the truck, saying, “Let’s go sew some signs!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Greasy little bastard!” Ray Chance spat. “I knew I couldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Chance, I don’t know what happened at the mine last night,” Watkins said, his toque bunched worriedly in his hands. “I went up there at first light to check on Mr. Oritz this morning like you wanted and he was gone. The snowmobile you lent him was still there, though. I called out and searched the cavern a little bit, but there wasn’t anybody there, and I don’t know where he is. It seems like everyone who works up there disappears.”

  “Not all of them.” Ray Chance glowered across the desk at him.

  The fumes from the scotch were more powerful today, Watkins noted, queasy from the sharp smell of alcohol. The colour of Chance’s mid-morning beverage was much darker than usual. He knew Chance usually cut his brandy down with club soda. Seeing the deep shade of the liquid in the glass, he realised there was no club soda in his snifter this morning. For some reason, Chance was drinking the brandy straight up. This can’t be good news, Watkins thought, then asked, “What do you mean?”

  “According to Chief VanDusen, Willy Wilson Junior, that son of your no-good brother-in-law, is now in the hospital in a medicated coma to stop him from talking about what happened up there!”

  “What?” He squirmed in his seat as he realised his prediction had come to pass. This was bad news, indeed.

  “I just got off the phone with VanDusen a little while ago. He said the kid wandered into Frostbite Fred’s last night babbling about monsters, teeth and claws. We’re lucky he was incoherent enough that nobody was really paying attention to him, and that he didn’t say anything about the gold. The paramedics pumped him full of drugs and hustled him off to the hospital before he could speak about what happened. If he does wake up and try talking, VanDusen is going to drop him off in the cavern.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Chance, I thought…”

  “Shut up! I don’t pay you to think! And what the hell happened behind the kitchen here at the resort? There’s blood all around the garbage bin, and the lid’s been bent back like it was tin foil! Was this that goddamned bear you were going on about?”

  “I don’t know sir. It could be.” He felt that familiar sinking feeling again.

  “All right, then, I want you up at the cavern tonight with a rifle to keep an eye on the place!”

  Watkins cringed at the thought. The hits keep on coming, he thought morosely.

  Chance continued, “If your goddamned bear or whatever it is shows up tonight, sniffing around, you can take care of it!”

  “But Mr. Chance...”

  “Shut up! I'm still talking here! If things don’t start shaping up,” Chance’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial level, and Watkins leaned forward, his eyes watering instantly from the brandy fumes.“Or if there are any further problems, I’ll call in Chief VanDusen, and he’ll help you deal with things.” Chance sat back in his chair with a pleased expression on his face.

  Best day ever, Watkins thought. “Mr. Chance, really, you don’t have to do that,” he said, and he meant it. He definitely did not want to work alongside the Chief of Police if he could avoid it -- there was something about that man that scared him shitless.

  “And we’re going to have to scrape up a few more able-bodied diggers, people more trustworthy." He emphasized the last word then chugged more brandy from his snifter. He continued, “Anyway, this might take a few days. Starting tonight, and for the next little while, you’re security and chief of mining operations, so I need you up there watching that goddamned place!”

  “But sir, I had an evening planned with the misses tonight.”

  “Go buy her a fur coat then. She’ll understand!”

  “But there’s also maintenance scheduled on the…”

  “No buts! You’re doing it tonight. That maintenance can wait and so can your wife, and that’s that! Now go get some rest, you’re going to have a long night!”

  Watkins sighed and turned to leave the office, his hand on the doorknob, about to open it when Chance spoke again.

  “Oh, and one other thing, Watkins.” Ray smiled when he saw the maintenance man’s shoulders draw together, visibly flinching from the sound of his voice. Yeah, it was good to be the boss. Still smiling, Chance continued, “I’m going to be coming up there tomorrow sometime with VanDusen to see what’s what. And if things aren’t being taken care of…” Chance left the rest of the sentence unfinished.

  Turning back toward the door, Watkins said, “Yes, sir, see you tomorrow, sir.” Watkins quietly pulled the inner office door shut.

  Roxanne was currently occupied at her desk filing down a sharp corner on one of her fingernails. “Is everything okay Mr. Watkins?” she asked, her voice betraying her lack of genuine concern.

  “It was until now,” he said, smiling glumly.

  Roxanne’s brow knitted with concern, “Oh, really? That’s too bad, Mr. Watkins.”

  “Yes, yes it is,” he said, shuffling out of the office. He pulled his toque down over his ears as he departed.

  ***

  Crouching near the pungent dumpster, Christine placed her camera back in its case for a moment when a familiar face came out of the service door from the kitchen. With his toque pulled low, the man trudged past her toward a battered Chevy Bronco in the corner of the icy parking lot. It was the maintenance man, Watkins. She recognised him from her earlier encounter with him that morning when she’d arrived. He’d been the one that had pointed out the damage to the garbage bin to her. After that, he’d excused himself, citing a meeting with his boss, Ray Chance. It appeared the meeting was now over, and it looked like he was getting ready to leave for the day.

  “Mr. Watkins!” she called out.

  Hands stuffed in his pockets with his shoulders hunched forward, the man continued to walk toward his truck for a moment. He paused and turned slightly, looking quizzically at Christine over his shoulder.

  She approached him, saying, “Sorry to bother you again, Mr. Watkins, but I need to ask you a couple more questions about what happened here if that’s okay?”

  “Sure thing, but call me Bill, please,” he said, smiling tiredly. He turned the rest of the way toward her, pulling the toque off of his head to speak.

  “Thanks for taking the time to speak with me, Bill,” Christine said encouragingly. She noted that the tip of his right thumb was missing as he clutched his hat.

  Seeing the direction of Christine's gaze, Watkin’s stuffed the hand back into his jacket pocket, saying, “Old high school woodshop injury.” He smiled painfully at the memory. “Listen, Officer Moon, I don’t want to appear rude, but I don’t have much time since I have to go home to get some sleep for a work shift later tonight.”

  “Really, well, I won’t keep you. That’s going to be rough, having to come back here again tonight for another shift, won’t it?” Christine queried, wondering what maintenance he would need to do here at the casino in the middle of the night.

  “No, it’s not here, it’s at another of Mr. Chance's properties.”

  Christine wondered at that. Maintenance at night at another of Chance’s properties? Doing what? Cutting his grass? At night? In late January? She smiled, regardless, saying, “I see, thanks. Listen, Bill, I was wondering if you could tell me if you’ve had any other problems like this regarding wildlife in the area?” As she spoke, she nodded toward the garbage dumpster, barely visible through the fog.

  Watkins looked over toward the blood-stained bin, his gaze lingering there for a long moment before answering. He turned back to Christine and looked briefly into her eyes before averting his gaze, saying, “No, ma’am. There was an incident at the dumpster last fall with a black bear, but since then, nothing else has happened, here.”

  Christine noted his emphasis on the word ‘here’. She tilted her head, asking, “You’re obviously aware of the need to kee
p this garbage bin locked at all times.”

  “Absolutely. I don’t know what happened here last night.” He glanced over at the bin briefly once more, then returned his gaze to the balled-up toque, now held in his left hand.

  “Well, I won’t keep you. If you think of anything, please let me know,” Christine said, handing Watkins one of her cards.

  “I’ll do that. Thank you, ma’am.” Putting his tooth back on his head first, he took the proffered card in his left hand, then gave her a dull smile. He placed your card in his jacket pocket without looking at it, then turned and shuffled tiredly back toward his equally tired-looking truck.