Month: June 2024

Murder Mystery – Chapter Seven.

Tentative title: “Bear the Great.”

< Offices of JLB, Pet Psychic Services, LTD.>

 

These people were coming in soon so she’d better get ready. What was the dog’s name again? Bongo? Banjo? No, that’s not right. “Bear.” A Great Pyrenees. Man, 150 lbs.? Doesn’t anybody have any self-control any more? There were no bad dogs, she knew. Only bad owners. Ah well, whatever. Focus on the dog.

 

********

 

Before a “reading” she had to quiet her mind. But she’d also done her homework. A little Google Earth street-view of the clients’ home address and she had not only the general lay of the land, but also the color of their siding. People always oohed and aahed when you said “avocado green.” Also, the placement of trees and shrubs around the house, and even a black Honda Accord parked at the curb. That was very good. Was it theirs? The neighbor’s? And that big boxy white van sitting just down the street a little ways. What did it say on the side? “Brilliante Lavanderia.” What was THAT all about?

No worries. She didn’t have to fill in all the blanks. She was an impressionist, not a member of the Barbizon School. Broad brush strokes were plenty. And empathy, lots and lots of empathy. People ate that stuff up like, well, probably like Bear ate up too many high-calorie treats. Christ. Would it kill people to exercise a little restraint? If not for themselves, then at least for their pets?

<deep cleansing breath>

<let all bitterness fade>

The fact was, when she got into the right frame of mind, she and Bear would be on exactly the same wavelength. Dogs and humans had co-evolved over many generations together since cave-man days. Should it be so surprising then if they shared similar thought processes? This was when she did her best work. And the owners would hardly matter. Not that the owners were unimportant, of course. Technically speaking they were the ones paying the bills. But, “Bear… Bear….” She felt herself actually becoming a Great Pyrenees. Large. Very large.  And shaggy. In this heat? Yikes. And anxious. Deeply worried about something. Hmmm. What was unsettling Bear?

 

********

 

“A neighbor disappeared and the police got involved.” She remembered Ginger saying this earlier on the phone. What people said, especially when it was a non-sequitur, mattered. A lot. More than most people without a background in Reiki or psychoanalysis realized. That, or maybe the laundry van, was her best way in. She felt energized. When she was on top of her game like this… God, what a life. Not what she’d ever imagined when she was first starting out. But now? With a little focused attention? The whole wide world could practically fit in the palm of one hand. Well, with a little empathy it could.

 

“This must be Bear. Welcome. Come in and have a seat, make yourselves at home. Would you like bottled water?  Or a cookie? I made ’em myself.”

“We brought along Bear’s treats like you asked. Nothing for us, though. We’re fine. Thanks for seeing us.”

 

********

 

Bear the Great Pyrenees was as big as advertised – and also as anxious. He paced for a bit, sniffed everything in sight, and finally stood stock still in the center of the room facing the psychic head on. She coaxed him over with one of the owner-provided treats. After that, they became fast friends. He laid down at her feet with a “Humpf.” He actually placed his shaggy head directly on top of her tan flats. Tricks of the trade.

“Tell me about what the police were doing in your neighborhood? Oh, and also, how old is that avocado siding? Might be at a stage where it’s ready for replacement. Y’know?”

At first they looked at her like she was speaking Ancient Urdu. “Wha…?” Recovering, but with defenses down, Ginger said the very first thing that popped into her head: “Um, the siding’s about 40 years old. And yes, the HOA’s threatening to have it replaced. They did the roof last year and a lot of people were NOT happy. Cost us an arm and a leg. The siding’s gonna be even more.”

“And the police?”

“Oh. Right. The police.” The clients were flustered, no doubt about it. The psychic knew enough about people, she could tell. And uncomfortable. This was certainly not what they had come here to talk about.

 

********

 

“Our neighbor a few doors down disappeared a while back. He was retired. Always out hiking. We live near a State Park. Probably tripped over a root and fell down a ravine or something? Or maybe he had a heart attack? He looked pretty fit, though. And Bear was always friendly with him. That guy’d be on his way out nearly every day,  very early in the morning. Usually about the same time as when we let Bear out to pee. So the two of them were on speaking terms. But we didn’t really know him all that well. Whatever happened, it sure is a shame. Unless maybe he ran off with an old flame and is now sitting on an island in the Caribbean sipping Mai Tais. You know, silver lining and all?”

Hearing his name twice, Bear raised his head and looked around the room. He wondered what was going on. The hoomans all looked worried and tense. That made him worried and tense. But not worried or tense enough to get up and actually do anything about it. Nobody had a treat in hand, after all. And the leash was still coiled up in mom’s purse. So nobody was going anywhere soon. With a hopeful glance up at the psychic who had given him the last treat, he settled his head back down on top of her shoes. Her feet smelled better than mom’s. Loyalty was not Bear’s strong suit. Ah well, there were worse flaws.

“The police came by and asked us a few questions. They also spoke with the lady next door. She’s the groomer we used to take Bear to. That lady’s kinda weird. Squirrelly. She definitley makes me nervous. Maybe the police will be able to see something from the outdoor cameras they had installed? Assuming they save the footage on their hard drive or whatever. I don’t know. Anyway, do you think this has something to do with Bear? I really can’t imagine.”

 

********

 

“Okay, let’s stay in touch. I’ll write this up, give it some thought;, and then get back with you. I’ll let you know right away if anything pops out at me. Bear’s got something on his mind, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks, Jacqui. We really appreciate it. See you in two weeks. You want us to bring more treats next time?”

“That would be great. ‘Bye.”

“‘Bye.”

Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Six.

<a few weeks earlier>

“Just another day in Paradise.”

He said it to himself quietly so as not to wake her. She was still asleep.

He always woke without an alarm. It’s barely even light out at 5AM. In another couple of weeks – at the summer solstice – hot weather will descend. But the early morning chill today is exactly what the doctor ordered. Almost paradise. Step on the scales: 235. Not bad, but not the best. He likes seeing the readout say two-twenty-something. Must be retaining a little water. Cut down on the salt then. Just like the doctor ordered.

He rations out the day’s meds into a small rectangular plastic box he carries around in his pocket: A multivitamin to prevent scurvy – HA! – check. A statin to lower cholesterol, check. Metformin and Glipizide for DM-II, check and check. He’d stopped taking the Jardiance. The Kaiser doc had prescribed it, but no way was he willing to pay Big Pharma megabucks to recoup their R&D costs. Not when all his other generic meds were 100% covered under Medicare for free. He could manage by cutting back a few carbs. Fuck ’em. Oh, and check.

Today’s finger stick showed a blood sugar at the high end of the normal range, around 180 mg/dl. That’s where he liked to see it pre-hike. Post-hike it would be down closer to 100 – which was also OK. But let it drop below 70 or so and he’d start getting a little light-headed. His knees would begin to tremble. And his vision might even go a bit blurry. Definitely not good signs. The near-term danger for Type-2 diabetics on the trail was always hypo-, not hyper-, glycemia. That’s why he always carried a couple extra granola bars along, just in case,. Which he now made sure were in his pack: Check and double check.

 

********

 

 

The long-term dangers of DM-II were well-known: Retinopathy leading to blindness. Kidney disease leading to renal failure. Peripheral neuropathy leading to foot ulcers. Ultimately, there’d be vascular changes in the brain leading to stroke and death. His grandmother had endured all these pathologies before she passed away many years ago. And DM-II was, he knew, hereditary.

So far, he’d only experienced a single ulcer on his right big toe. It happened after a new pair of hiking boots didn’t fit quite right. It had rubbed a big hole he couldn’t feel, and it had bled all over the carpet when he peeled off his sock. The bleeding didn’t stop for days. In addition to ruining the carpet, that was plenty enough to get his attention. It was a deep one, too. Deep enough that the doc wanted to x-ray it to make sure there was no bone involvement. If there had been, he was told, the recommended treatment was amputation.

Yikes.

Since retirement last fall he’d gotten into a routine he’d begun following meticulously, almost religiously. Without the pill box, for instance, he’d always forget how many of which of the meds he’d already taken – or needed to take. His AppleWatch faithfully kept a pretty accurate step count, so he could always be sure of getting in a good 3-5 miles a day. That was every bit as important as meds and diet, he’d found. Whole months went by where he never missed a single day, rain or shine. But, let’s face it, here in arid Colorado?  It was a whole lot more shine than rain. And that was fine by him.

 

********

 

Stepping out onto the porch in the first light of dawn, he was careful not to let the screen door slam. No sense waking up the whole neighborhood. Glancing over his shoulder at the neighbors’ front door, their security camera shone it’s unblinking red eye back at him. He gave it the one-finger-salute, the middle one, of course, and stepped off toward his garage in the back alley. Tweaking the neighbors in this small way was also fine by him. He knew they’d see it on tape. And frankly, my dear, he really didn’t give a damn.

The neighbors had the cameras installed, both front and back, when the HOA had been in the middle of a big roof replacement project. The roof was a controversy that had split the neighborhood 50/50. Half said, yeah, sure – whatever. We’re gonna have to do it sooner or later, right? The other half said, hell NO. That roof will last another 20 years, easy. In the end, everyone had to pony up their $10K share, and the project went ahead. But half the neighborhood simmered. And Julianne, for one, had the cameras installed “just to make sure those shifty rotten roof-worker bastards don’t come down here, break in our front door, and rob us blind.”

Oooo-kay then. Whatever you say my dear.

 

********

 

He never decided where he was going each day until he’d already ventured out. There were enough different hikes to choose from in the 3-5 mile range that he’d never have to do the same one twice in a month. @RoxStatePark alone had 6 or 7 good trails. @ChatfieldReservoir, @SouthValleyPark, @CastlewoodCanyon, @WatertonCanyon, @SpruceMountain, @Lair-o-the-Bear, @MountFalcon, @StauntonStatePark. And that’s not even counting the 14 miles of privately maintained trails in the immediate neighborhood. The possibilities were – if not endless – at least plentiful.

Whichever route he chose, once he was on the trail he fell into a pleasant rhythm. Often a particular song played in his head on endless-repeat-loop. The genre and the lyrics mattered much less than the tempo. A pace between 2 and 3 mph suited him just fine. After all, this was not a race. It was, in fact, one prong of a medical treatment regimen meant to stave off the inevitable. The stroke that would eventually kill him one day, just like his grandmother before him. He knew it in his bones.

Today’s hike, however, was destined to be different. Although he didn’t know it yet, he was about to unwittingly experience a stroke of a very different kind. And no regimen of diet, exercise, and medication would make one single bit of difference.

<to be continued>

Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Five.

 

Dear Ms. LeBeau,

We came across your Pet Psychic Service advert on the Internet. We are hoping you can help us with our Great Pyrenees Mountain Dog. “Bear” is 10 years old. As I’m sure you’re aware, that’s near the end of the line for most dogs this size (150 lbs.). He used to be much more active than he is today. But, of course, who among us hasn’t slowed down a bit with age. Right? The thing that’s more concerning to us is… well – it’s hard to say this without sounding a bit loony – it’s his anxiety level.

I know there are those who’d say “A dog is just a dog and you’re projecting your own feelings onto him.” And we get it, we really do. But we were hoping, because of your past work with Animal Communication, you might take this request for help seriously.

What in the world is Bear worried about? He’s no longer the same happy-go-lucky Bear we once knew. He hesitates to come outside when we take down his leash from the peg by the front door. He sniffs at his food like it must be poisoned or something. We can remember when he’d stick his nose in our laps when we were trying to have supper, begging for more food. No longer.

Something is seriously wrong with Bear.

Can you help us? We’re desperate.

<signed>

Ginger <last name redacted for legal reasons>

 

********

 

 

Dear Ginger <last name redacted for legal reasons>,

Of course I’ll help you with Bear. Even if it turns out he’s just getting older, at least you’ll know. First off, a couple of questions about you, your home, your current life circumstance, and Bear’s immediate environment.

1. Any major (or even minor) changes recently? A move, perhaps? A death or disruption in the family? Maybe even something as seemingly mundane as a job or career change? Our pets pick up on these sorts of things.  Even though they can’t tell us directly, they’re still telling us something, or trying to.
2. Been to the vet lately? Does Bear have a clean bill of health? How about to the groomer? We don’t call them “pets” for nothing, you know. They love to be petted, have a good brushing, get their nails trimmed. Whatever you spend on your own hair and nails, remember this: Your pet has more hair and nails than you ever will, so they deserve at least the same (or more) care.
3. Where does your pet sleep? On a crate by the front door? At the foot of your bed? Is it noisy or quiet? Hot or cold? Comfortable or not? You’d be amazed the effect sleep disruption has on a pet. When you’re away on a trip and sleep in a hotel, do you come home and say to yourself, “Ugh, I sure hate sleeping in my own bed?” Of course not! Same for pets.

OK, that’s enough to get started. Send me a brief note with your responses to 1-3 above and, if it makes sense, we can schedule an in-person consultation. A rate and fee schedule is attached. Looking forward to your reply.

All the best to you. And to Bear.

<signed>

Jacqui LeBeau, JLB Pet Psychic Services Ltd.

 

********

 

Dear Ms. LeBeau,

Oh, thank you so much for agreeing to help with Bear. It means the world to us.

To answer your quesitons:

1. We haven’t moved.  No family or job changes recently. Nobody died. Well, a neighbor a few doors down went missing a couple of weeks ago and the police are investigating. But we can’t imagine that’s what’s bugging Bear.
2. The vet says Bear’s in pretty good shape for a dog his age. We did change groomers recently. A minor issue with @YourLuxuryPetExperience resulted in our switching over to @ADog’sWorld. I know it’s slightly less personalized attention than our old groomer. But Bear still seems to enjoy going. Do you think this could be what’s putting him off his feed?
3. Bear sleeps on a mattress in the living room, same as always. In fact, sleeping is the one thing he’s never had any problem with.

Bear came to us as a puppy. He was a rescue dog. When he first arrived, he was highly anxious. But that’s been a long time ago now, and he’s been fine until recently. We’re hoping you’ll agree to see Bear in person. Your fees seem reasonable. And you sound like you care, and know what you’re doing. There isn’t much we wouldn’t do for Bear.

Thanks again,

Ginger <last name redacted>

 

********

 

Dear Ginger <last redacted>,

Bring Bear by my office a week from Tuesday and we can get to know each other a little better. Arrive by 2PM and bring along a few of his favorite treats. There’s no reward like the tried and true.

Sincerely,

JLB Pet Psychic Services Ltd.

Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Four.

 

To: @RampartsBob, Board President, Ramparts@RoxboroughHOA.

You ugly fat disgusting slug.

From: Julianne Acosta Rodriquez, Owner and proprietor of @YourLuxuryPetExperienceLLC.

We’re mad as hell and we’re not gonna take it anymore.

Re: @RampartsHOA Bylaws. Chapter 47, paragraph 6.

You may THINK this applies. But you’ve got another think coming!

 

Dear Bob,

It has come to our attention that some of the neighbors here @RampartsRoxborough have been complaining to you about us “running a dog boarding and grooming business out of our home.” Nothing could be further from the truth. We do have a dog or two of our own. And we do like to keep them nicely groomed. And yes, when one of our close friends with dogs goes on vacation, we do sometimes step in and offer to help.  As any good friend naturally would. I mean, what are friends for? But that is a far cry from the kind of blatant commercial activity covered in chapter 47, paragraph 6, of the @Ramparts HOA bylaws. Not even close!

In any case, you are hereby put on notice. Any further harrassment of us by you and/or the @RampartsBoard will be referred to legal counsel for swift followup and decisive action. We are not kidding around, Bob. Are you prepared to fight us in court? If so, you’d better get ready. You’ve been warned!

And as for any nosy neighbors who’ve been whispering about us in your ear? Well, God have mercy on their pitiful worthless little souls.

Yours truly,

Julieanne

 

cc: Ramos Law Corporation LLC.

bcc: Douglas County Sheriff’s Office.

bcc: @RampartsRoxboroughHOA board members.

 

********

 

From: @RampartsBob.

To: @JulieanneAcostaRodriguez.

Re: Bylaws. Blah, blah, blah. Blah, blah, blah.

 

Dear Julieanne,

The neighbors have not complained. Rather, it’s the commercial linen truck that’s parked in the Fire Lane outside your garage every week that tipped us off. See photo attached. Our best guess is this: Even if you showered twice a day, every day, and groomed those precious little dogs of yours every hour, on the hour, there’s no way in hell you’d ever need that magnitude of towel pick-up and delivery. Every single week? HA! Get real!

As for your threat of legal action?  Go ahead and and bring it, Missy. We’re not afraid of you – or of your yappy little dogs.

Yours,

Bob

 

cc: Douglas County ASPCA.

bcc: Douglas County Planning Commission.

bcc: @RampartsRoxboroughHOA board members.

 

********

 

From: @RampartsBob.

To: @RampartsRoxboroughHOA board members.

Re: @JulieanneAcostaRodriguez.

 

All,

Can you BELIEVE this nutcase? Crikey. They don’t pay us NEAR enough to do this job!

For the greater glory,

Bob

 

That’s a whole lotta towels.

Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter Three.

 

The couple from Ohio were excited to finally land in Colorado. They’d flown in yesterday to DIA and last night around midnight they had finally gotten settled into their hotel room @LaQuintaInn in Lakewood. This morning they planned to show up early @RoxboroughStatePark, right after a quick bite of breakfast @EinsteinBrosBagels on Wadsworth. Both of them were 20-year Air Force veterans, and therefore they both had great military pensions. So the couple were finally taking advantage of their flush financial circumstance and their newly emptied nest to travel together. This was the first stop on a whirlwind grand tour that was supposed to include stop-offs at many different ports of call across the globe. A well-deserved victory lap – or so they assumed.

Julia had stayed home with their 2 kids after she retired from active duty many years ago. The kids were now through college and out on their own. Mike was only recently retired from his post-military gig ferrying B-list supermodels and aging rock stars back and forth across the pond on a Gulfstream-V owned by Les Wexner of Victoria’s Secret fame – also of Jeffrey Epstein infamy – but that’s another story for another day.

 

********

 

 

Mike’s former passengers were often seen attending the Cannes Film Festival, or headed with an impressive array of long guns to a week-long quail-shoot in Argentina.  He once had flown Hillary Clinton around on the campaign trail during primary season, but that did not end well for either of them. Suffice it to say, while Julia manned the fort and kept the home fires burning back in Columbus, Mike was jetting across the globe with the moderately-rich, the semi-famous, and the super-well-armed.

But all that was about to change. Finally, they were traveling TOGETHER. For FUN, no less. And tomorrow they planned to hike South Rim in Roxborough. OK, it was only rated a “Moderate” hike. But this WAS after all within their first 24 hours at altitude. Julia, for one, could hardly wait. Mike was his usual taciturn, inscrutable self.  Hey, you don’t endure for long as a private jet pilot by being a Chatty Cathy. Just sayin’.

 

********

 

“Jeez. I can’t believe I’m THIS outta breath already.”

“Take it easy, hon. The trail will still be here after the sun gets up over South Rim.”

“I know, I know. But I guess I’m kinda excited. You know, this is the first time since you retired we’re actually hiking a trail TOGETHER.”

Mike scowls, takes a long slug from his Nalgene water bottle, and squints up into the uninterrupted blue of a perfect Colorado summer sky, not a cloud in sight. “Try and curb your enthusiasm, dear. This is just our first stop. By the time we make it to The Great Wall of China, you’re gonna wear yourself out.”

Julia smiles and punches him lightly on his manly right bicep. As she does so, she digs the toe of her Red Wing into the soft soil on this upper reach of the South Rim. Looking down, she stiffens, then gasps. “What the…?” Her boot has unwittingly uncovered a tuft of what looks suspiciously like hair… HUMAN hair. She drops to her knees and begins hurriedly sweeping red dirt away with her bare hands. Before long, it’s all too clear what she’s uncovering.

 

********

 

“Aw hell. Stop digging, hon. Let’s see if we can find a Ranger or something. No way in God’s green earth do I wanna see the rest of that guy’s face.”

Julia is a tough nut, but the sight of the top of a rotting corpse’s partially decomposed head has left her shaken. “My God. That poor man. I wonder how he…”

“Enough. I’m gonna hike on ahead and see if I come across anyone that looks like they know what the hell to do with all this. There’s no cell reception so hopefully I can find somebody with a radio or something who can alert the authorities. They need to get up here and finish what you’ve started. This is a crime scene. It’s not ours to dig up. Let them do their job.”

Julia is a little taken aback by all this verbiage from Mike. That’s more in one shot than she’s heard out of his mouth in all their thirty-some-odd years of marriage. OK, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration – but not by a lot. “OK. I’ll stay. You go. But hurry. Just looking at that guy’s scalp creeps me out.”

What she doesn’t say, but she thinks, is that there’s a big gash on the back of the skull that looks to her an awful lot like it might be the indentation of a blunt instrument. It’s the kind of mark you could make if you brought a claw hammer down really hard on somebody’s head from behind. You know, theoretically speaking.

This is not the sort of thought she ever imagined having on the first day of a World Victory Tour. But there you have it: Life so seldom gives us what we’d planned. And that is every bit as true for the couple from Ohio as it is for the corpse partially buried in the soft red dirt of the South Rim Trail.

<To be continued…>

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.

 

********

 

 

 

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.

 

********

 

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 567 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?

 

********

 

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.

 

********

 

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.

 

********

 

“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.

 

Murder Mystery (untitled) – Chapter One .

 

Hey Hon? I’ve gotta take Bear to the groomer’s today. Don’t wait up. I’ll be late.

Okay, no worries.

The “Bear” in question was a 10-year-old 150-pound Great Pyrenees nearing the end of the line. Hearing his name, Bear only deigned to raise a lazy head off crossed paws and loll out a pink tongue panting. This didn’t sound like a treat or a walk, so, no sense getting too excited. But he did like going to the groomer’s. A stiff brush through thick fur? Yep, heaven. That was one luxury Bear could definitely get on board with.

 

 

You know, we might have to look for a new place to take Bear. That crazy groomer’s got the HOA up in arms again. No parking in the alley. And you can’t even walk up and knock on the door anymore. You have to wait in your car and call her cell. They even had to put up a sign: “Don’t ring bell. Reactive dogs. Disturbs the neighbors.”

Wow. Maybe we should give that new Dog’s World place a call? You know, just in case?

Yeah, always good to have a Plan B. See you tonight.

See ya.

 

********

 

The groomer in question had worked out of her home for a few years now. When this never-ending remodel first started, they’d even had the downstairs bed and bath converted to a dog-wash and waiting room to accommodate the steady stream of canine clients. A commercial linen service delivered fresh towels weekly. Julieanne never even had to leave the air-conditioned comfort of her own home if she didn’t want. She could monitor what was going on outside with the aid of the remote control cameras they’d had installed on both ends of the house. Just wait for her cell to buzz. Then unlock the front door at the click of a mouse. Everything slick as a whistle. The way it should be.

Now if they could just get those goddamn meddling HOA pricks off their case, life would be perfect. And @YourLuxuryPetExperience could really take off.

<End of Chapter One.>

Yeah, I know: Needs more bulk. More breadth, more depth.

But hey, you gotta start someplace.

Plus, it’s time to take Bear for a walk.