Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Two.
Aelin (current pronouns “she/her”) was hot. Literally. Sitting at her desk in the Visitors’ Center, listening to chatter on the two-way hand-held radio, sweat beaded on her brow under a CPW ballcap. It also trickled uncomfortably down between her breasts under a long-sleeved tan Ranger shirt. Goddammit. She was gonna have to shower after she got home tonight. Late. In midsummer the Park opened at 5AM and stayed open until 9PM. Ah well. Into every life a little rain must fall. Better buckle in for the long haul.
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The hormone treatments making her life miserable weren’t gonna last forever. The surgery to stretch out her vocal cords – thus lowering the timbre of her voice – was scheduled with the ENT for next month. Dr. Thomas, AKA “Voxdoc” – the pretentious little twerp – assured her that recovery time from surgery would be minimal. With any luck at all she’d complete the entire transition before end-of-season come fall. Then, by this time next year, Aelin would be Aaron. And HE would be on HIS way to climbing the next rung of the Park Service’s rigid heirarchical ladder. Patriarchy be damned.
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At 6’3″ Aelin was imposing no matter what pronouns you applied. Always a tomboy, she’d lived her early life longing to be outdoors and as far away as possible from the cloistered strictures of the classroom. Also – if possible – she preferred to be on the trail with a forty-pound pack, a good water filter, and a can of bear spray. She’d already made the Denver-to-Durango trek twice. The trick was having food and water cached for those twenty-mile-or-more stretches where there was no civilization and, in late July, only a few dried-up stream beds. But, with the help of family and the occasional Trail Angel, she’d done it. Twice. That’s 487 miles one-way for those of you keeping score at home.
The summer after college, accompanied by a couple of her more-adventurous friends, she’d hiked for a month on the Camino Santiago in Spain. Compared to the rigors of the Colorado Trail, that one was a walk in the park, a veritable piece of cake. Afterward, when she finally got home, she decided to buckle down and really apply herself. She put in her application with CPW. And they, for their part, wasted no time in hiring her. First as a Summer Seasonal. Then, a year later, as a full-fledged Ranger. Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?
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The problem with CPW, Aelin found, was the same as the problem with many government jobs: There were strict procedures to be carefully followed inside an organizational structure that had become highly calicified down the years. Fill out this form in triplicate, then wait. Get training, try not to doze off, then wait. Wait until your arse is sore. Then wait, wait, and wait some more. Moving up was an ongoing exercise in agonizing deferred gratification. Her boss had been in the same position with CPW for the past 14 years. His boss’s boss was a lifer, now nearing retirement. Maybe if that crusty old sonofabitch keeled over with a heart attack, things might open up. But, Lord help you, don’t hold your breath.
So, at 29, Aelin was in a holding pattern. She worked long hours for not-great pay. Granted, it was a job she loved. But how long was gonna be long enough to climb to the next rung? And then there was the good-ol’-boy network to contend with. Nothing overt, but definitely an issue. Eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. Unwelcome comments about how “fit” she looked. “Fit?” Gimme a freaking break, boys.
She was definitely in good shape, no doubt. But none of her male counterparts were subjected to this kind of underhanded “complimentary” treatment. She’d taken to wearing horn-rimmed glasses and keeping her head down. That just seemed to make the problem worse. It was like she was mild-mannered Clark Kent, just trying to fit in with the crowd. But everyone kept seeing her as some kind of hotter-than-hot Superman. Did Lynda Carter have this problem when she played Wonder Woman? Sheesh.
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That’s what really pushed her over the edge to change genders. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em – right? She only ever really felt like herself under the stars. Camping at night a million miles from everything and from everyone. On the trail, she’d always thought of herself as no-gender. Just a hiker with a pack and a good pair of broken-in boots. Add in an extra bit of grit and determination for good measure, and voila. That was “Aelin.” But if becoming “Aaron” was what it took to get ahead, to get CPW off the goddamn dime? Well, then fuck ’em all ’til they’re dead and gone. And you can write that down too, mister.
The two-way radio crackled to life, startling Aelin from reverie. “59 to base. Come in, over.”
Probably some hapless trail runner with a twisted ankle. Or some volunteer out lopping scrub oak branches asking to come in early. It was a very hot day after all. And those volunteers got paid even less than she did. HA!
“This is base. Whassup, 59? Over.”
“Um, Aelin… we’ve got a situation out here on South Rim. You might wanna turn down the sound. Or put on your headset. Over.”
That definitely got her attention. People in the Visitor Center were all milling around, filling water bottles, smiling, chatting, buying trinkets. Oblivious. What should they NOT be hearing? She opened her drawer, pulled out a pair of buds, inserted them into her ears, and plugged the other end into the two-way.
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“Go ahead, 59. Spill. Over.”
“We’re at South Rim mile marker 2.5 doing some erosion mitigation. Also digging to put in some rail tie steps. It’s just me and Janee. And, um, well…”
What the actual fucking HELL?
“Spit it out, 59. Over.”
“There’s a body. It’s definitely a body. A human one. Buried. On the uphill side, right off the trail edge…. Well, it’s partially buried, I guess I should say. Over?”
Holy CRAP.
“Hold tight, 59. I’m on my way in the ATV. Be there in 10. Maybe 15 at most. You see any hikers come by, you keep them the hell away. Tell them to keep moving. Nothing to see here, folks. Are we clear on that, 59? Over.”
“Um… yep. Got it, Chief. Thanks. Over.”
“The first responders from Southwest Fire Station are not gonna be able to drive up there where you are. From the sound of it, there won’t be anything for them to do anyway until the Douglas County coroner gets there. So, better settle in and get comfortable. It’s gonna be a long day. Over.”
Shit. Jesus H. Christ almighty. I need this like I need another hole in my head.
Ah well, better get moving. That corpse isn’t gonna un-bury itself.
