I love this series. Usually series get stagnant with the same characters and setting. Not these. And this one took me completely off guard.
Favorite passages:
“How you do?” Anna said mechanically. “Well, thank you. And yourself?” A long time had passed since anybody had bothered to finish the old-fashioned greeting formula. Evidently Rory had been raised right
No sense smelling stinky if one couldn’t be a stinker.
“I think it’d be mental cruelty to make somebody stay married to you who didn’t want to,” Rory said, sounding as if he spoke from experience.
Another terrific reason for not having children: it was so disturbing when animals ate them.
The logic of bear behavior was cheering her considerably.
Anna opted to sleep in the open. Better to face down the devil than blindly hear him circling.
Despite the fact there seemed to be a bear in Glacier with Anna’s name on it and a lunatic who sliced off women’s faces, she slept very well.
After a night of bears, a day of rain, and a defiled corpse, Anna’d not realized how starved she was—everybody was—for good news. The searchers fairly chortled and glowed over the airwaves. Everyone needed to quip, joke, to say some clever thing. Understanding this phenomenon, Ruick let the good times effervesce at the cost of radio discipline for exactly two minutes. Anna saw him look at his watch timing it. Then he cut it off with orders.
Anna was amazed that someone who could face down a chief ranger would be given the megrims by a mere grizzly bear.
His eyes lit on Anna and he made an executive decision. “You handle this,” he said and stalked off.
Harry was not pleased but he was practical.
disreputable footwear
all good manners and boyish deference now that he’d gotten his way.
The “sirs” were put to good effect. Ruick was sufficiently mollified
You need a lot more of rainbows and roses and whiskers on kittens in the daily fare.
Persons not young and not beautiful were of no interest to them.
“So why did you decide to come on a solitary backpacking trip in Glacier National Park?” For most visitors this was not a trick question. It was one they were dying to answer in great effusive gusts.
Often, in prisons it was the murderers who were chosen as trustees. Not that rare bird the serial killer, but garden-variety one-corpse-type murderers. These men and women were in reality no longer a threat to society. They had killed the person they needed to be dead and were done. Usually these were people who had killed someone they knew and, in their own minds at least, killed them for a perfectly good reason.
The country they traveled was beginning to look way too familiar to Anna. Walking through the common miracle of intensely green and living glacier lilies bursting joyously through exhausted black char, she found she looked mostly to the mountains rising above…Cleveland, Merrit, Wilbur. Wilbur, for Christ’s sake. Mundane names for objects of such staggering beauty.
goin’-visitin’ pajamas
She was amusing herself by cataloguing the gross errors committed by law enforcement on some cop show when Joan broke the long and peaceful silence.
Joan studied her as if she was a scat specimen. “How do you walk around like a normal person with such creepy thoughts in your head?” she asked finally. “It must be like being Stephen King but without the money.”
Since getting the full bore of his administrative persona was rare, Anna was flattered and mildly alarmed.
Ruick was looking at her. Dutifully she said yes to whatever it was he was expecting her to agree with.
There was just a hint of self-condemnation in his tone that led Anna to suspect Ruick felt Miranda {fire}wouldn’t have dared misbehave so grossly had his attention not been taken up elsewhere.
“The long and short of it is, I’d like you to work with me on this. Sort of Girl Friday.” Girl Friday was a significant promotion from step-’n’-fetchit, but this time Anna was offended not by the word “girl,” but the concept as a whole…sensing he’d merely been careless in his approach and was genuine in his remorse.
“I’m your girl,” she said. Ruick laughed. “Why do I doubt that?”
what did a matricide look like? In the imagination they were sly, sinister, horned and hairy.
“Why not just run her over in a crosswalk at home in Seattle?” Rory was nothing if not pragmatic about homicide.
“Rory intimated his folks were not experiencing unremitting wedded bliss, but he declined to elaborate,”
“You’re a fucking genius, Rory. You know that?” “Sorry,” he repeated sadly, and Anna wanted to strangle him.
The tenor of the country was that of growing paranoia. Americans were happily forfeiting their freedom of choice for imagined increases in security. Mandatory sentencing hobbled judges, taking the intelligence and humanity from their jobs.
People were giving up their decision-making power because they did not want the responsibility.
she studied the bulletin board above. It was full of 8x10 glossy color photographs of Ursus horribilis looking not in the least horribilis…caught the great bears in the act of frolicking…lying on their backs hugging their treasures like sea otters hugging abalone.
delightful display
McCaskil was not a good citizen, but he was apparently nonviolent.
She was always kind to animals and had been known to be kind to humans on those rare occasions when they deserved it.
Only idiots and Yankees stood anywhere but in the patches of shade provided by the gracious old oaks and pines.
To be beaten by one’s own child must be a torment only Shakespeare and God could comprehend.
He was so…so pathetic. It made me sick.” Rory looked sick. Anna felt sick. They sat in sick, wretched silence for a while
Rarely did Anna find it a burden to walk instead of ride. The mere act of putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward completely on one’s own will and strength, gave life a sense of purpose and control. And there was that adage about regular movement of the legs that stimulated orderly progression in the brain.
Snoopy was not how Anna chose to characterize herself. She much preferred the term “inquisitive” or, at worst, “impatient.” Working on other people’s timetables, waiting docilely until they were ready to feed her items of information, seemed a waste of time. This theory went a long way toward happily blinding her to such crimes as trespass and invasion of privacy.
Considering herself absolutely justified
Anna was convinced that computers, like horses, could smell fear and turn on the operator when mishandled.
I’ll let you in on any details you haven’t already found on Maryanne’s desk.” “Thanks,” Anna said sincerely. Ruick muttered something that sounded like “skin of a rhinoceros,” but, accustomed to the idiosyncrasies
Lester was doing what depressed and grieving people traditionally do: everything wrong.
The brittle safety of polite platitudes
though Anna had come to accept it intellectually, viscerally it still pissed her off.
Ruick retreated with unflattering speed back to the safety of his lonely chair.
Till she sorted out her bits of hair and scat, Joan was useless for any other topic of conversation.
hiking into the wilderness with a potential murderer was not what grated on Anna’s nerves.
perhaps at menopause, when she underwent reverse adolescence, she, too, would become uniquely dangerous
“Howdy, howdy,” she said, just to be irritating. “Oh. It’s you,” he said repressively.
I like being cold. And I like being alone.
within an inch of their tawdry little lives
If people could go insane, who was Anna to say an animal couldn’t do likewise? Probably an animal smarter than the rest. Too smart for its own good. “Get thee behind me, Dean Koontz,” she said aloud, realizing she’d slipped into nightmare in the midst of the most stunningly beautiful of days.
The true charm was being on horseback under a fathomless sky with nobody to answer to for the entirety of a splendid day.
Park rangers were subject to the ailments of the general populace: prejudice, stupidity, small-mindedness, malice; but she had never known a single one she suspected of littering.
was the sum total of excitement.
At length, enjoying a childish morbidity, she lay down in the place where Carolyn had been dumped
Free from what she expected to see, Anna finally saw what was actually there.
Deerflies with jaws like airborne Chihuahuas
With understanding came fear’s cold touch
Fear was the root of all evil. The others could be tracked to it. Greed was fear of want in pathological form. Lies, fear of being discovered for who one was, punished for what one had done.
She would not be robbed of that which made all else endurable, the peace and perfection of the natural world.
There was something about this case that was causing her to isolate. Anna snorted. Sensing an equine conversation in the offing, Ponce snorted back.
“This trap was pretty paltry pickin’s,” she said.
“Shall we tell her?” Buck asked. “I think not,” Joan said. “You don’t know her like I do. She is exhibiting an uncharacteristic enjoyment in bipeds.
Glacier’s got nothing in the way of gold, silver, precious stones, gas, oil. One of the reasons it’s been left alone is nobody ever figured out how to make any money out of it.”
She couldn’t figure out if this particular murder had too many clues and too many suspects, or too few.
some of the most courageous choices she’d seen upper management make were those made not to pour technology on a problem, not to bring in guns and dogs…but to fight nature on nature’s terms. Or, more courageous still, not to fight at all, to let the fire burn, the river change course, the historic crumble without replacement. Often enough to make it an act of bravery, these administrators lost their careers. The public hated nature when she wasn’t in their control.
He’d probably end his days as a chief ranger at some Civil War battlefield two acres across. Anna respected him for it.
Where the bug hunting had been particularly good
In Mississippi, Anna’d dealt with a woman who believed herself to be the mother of eight children, all penguins.
They had only Rory’s word for it that there’d been a bear and Rory was not exactly the poster boy for mental stability. A deep and rotten core of fear opened in Anna, making her nauseated.
It must have looked particularly mothy to the guy.
Anna’s life now existed at the whim and pleasure of the sow. Realizing that produced an odd calm. When there was nothing to be done, one was free of the responsibility to think of how to do it.
Anna never looked back, never fell and never stopped
For once the wind wasn’t blowing. The silence of the morning was so absolute…she would have suspected she’d gone deaf overnight. Nowhere was the sound of birds waking, water running, squirrels doing whatever it was squirrels did at this hour of the morning.
Her guess was the roller of rocks and filleter of faces had moved on after using the time she’d cowered in her crevice
the unmitigated gall to bring a dog into a NPS-designated Wilderness Area? If they ever caught him, in addition to “murder in the first degree,” she’d make sure Harry wrote him up for “dog off leash.”
For the first time in her life, Anna wished she’d had children so she could trade her firstborn for a drink. The hikers were glad to have the privilege of rescuing a ranger.
It was about the best description of a person Anna had ever gotten in her years as a law enforcement officer. These women were of that rare breed that saw what they were looking at.
Full of questions and needing to pester somebody
Lester was there. He sat on a rock, doing nothing. So seldom do people actually do nothing that to see it creates an impression of deadness.
If he’d appeared old and sick and gray when they’d met, he looked three days dead now.
It was not that she was without compassion, at least she liked to think she wasn’t
pictured him…as an old tomcat, battered and beaten till it could barely move, a cat who’d been so misused, when approached by a human hand, it could no longer even hiss but only close its eyes, wait for the blow and hope, this time, it would kill him.
Law enforcement officers do not like fairy stories
Looked at in the harsh light of reason, the benevolent bear spirit that brought drinking water to lost souls was pretty irrational.
But you and I both know what they’ll find.” “What I found,” Anna agreed, “less half a peanut.”
Anna didn’t like it. Intuition told her there were connections, somehow, somewhere, between the seemingly unconnected events…a Florida con man, a promiscuous Seattle divorce lawyer and a mysterious young man with a chain-link belt and a beautiful smile, were related to punctured water bottles, army cutworm moths, glacier lilies and murder.
Still, she was old-fashioned enough to feel adultery should be done on the sly, in great secrecy, and that it behooved the adulterers to feel ashamed and guilty. The libertine sentiments of Ms. Cuckor and the late Mrs. Van Slyke left her with a sense of sleaze that was unsettling.
That he’d registered for a permit at all suggested that either his pursuits were innocent or, given he was well versed in the ways of crime and law enforcement, he knew in obeying the minor rules one was far more apt to get away with the major infractions. A significant number of felons were rotting in the federal penitentiaries because they got pulled over for failing to signal on a right turn and then one thing led to another.
The telephone operator Anna had hooked up with was probably as close to a saint as the phone company had on its rosters.
Anna had what she wanted but she didn’t know what she had.
Ms. Cuckor had her own brand of professional ethics. She’d been only too happy to share in gory detail the fact that her boss had had sex with all creatures great and small.
the whole truth, nothing but the truth and damn little of that.” “I’m Officer Anna Pigeon investigating the death of Carolyn Van Slyke. Could you answer a few questions for me?” A pause, then a careful voice as devoid of regional inflections as that of a radio announcer said, “Ask your questions.” Anna noted the lack of commitment to answering them.
There would be no softening up or slithering around Claude. Anna cut to it. “We can’t divulge any client information.” “The fact that a person has engaged the services of an attorney does not fall under attorney-client privilege,” Anna said. So often the attorney, doctor, priest and whoever-else client privilege was claimed for wasn’t for the protection of clients. It was claimed, legally or not, because people were either too lazy to bother giving information to help out the police. Anna suspected Claude claimed it to avoid involvement and work. She waited through a clearly audible sigh. I’ll put you through to the secretary. Give her the names. She will tell you if any of them have engaged the professional services of Carolyn Van Slyke in the past year. She won’t go back further than that and she will not tell you anything else.” “Thank you,” Anna said but he’d already put her on hold. Minutes later, when she was beginning to think she’d been put on hold to grow old and die, Francine came on the line. She was businesslike to the point of rudeness.
“No persons by those names have contacted Ms. Van Slyke in her professional capacity,” Francine said mimicking an automaton. Had the sentence with its convoluted precision come from someone else, Anna might have suspected them of hiding something. From Francine it just sounded petty and pompous.
A pleasant young man, at least he sounded young and handsome and virile but may well have been a nasty old poop with a nice voice
She’d verified that Lester’s wife was indeed the queen of sluts.
Shuffling the crazies back into the pile
Things were not necessarily untrue simply because they were unbelievable.
Home for so many years had been wherever she fed the cat.
she found she was disappointed in the out-of-doors as well. The realization was so alarming she stopped walking. She’d grown disenchanted with the natural world because it had been behaving in what seemed an unnatural manner, and disappointed with the world of people because it behaved precisely as she’d come to expect it would. This way madness lies, she thought and took some time to realign her brain.
Anna believed there were those who belonged on the Better Off Dead list.
“I’m glad you’re back. We’ve been needing a treat.” Anna was considered a treat. Things were looking up.
“There’s always room for another idiot,” Joan admitted.
when it came to adolescent boys she saw through the eyes of a mother. Anna’s were more akin to those of a parole officer.
around a place that was only flat in Joan’s imagination
his great head swaying from side to side as tiny bear thoughts in his small bear brain shook into alignment
First came thought, a sense of mind creeping forth from a place far more distant than sleep. She knew she was thirsty and she knew she was cold. Opening her eyes, she knew she was blind or had gone to a place where sight did not matter. It wasn’t that Anna did not care, it was that she could not think, so fear didn’t follow.
A scared crazy man, with a rifle and hostages. In law enforcement this was what was referred to as a worst-case scenario.
he hollered, “Ouch!” The wretched rotten boy actually said ouch.
Writhing across the slippery bed of needles, as single-minded as a sidewinder…Crablike, snakelike, scuttling like a scorpion, hoping like any low and little thing to strike quickly enough and with enough venom to survive one more day.
“Don’t shoot him,” the boy said, as if Anna could have destroyed that much beauty even to save her own worthless hide. “His name is Balthazar.” “How do you do?” Anna croaked idiotically. To her amazement the bear raised a single huge paw to shake and she laughed, sounding, at least in her ears, a little on the hysterical side.
given that Rory’s skin was still whole and he was still in it
Maniac turned craven, the man actually looked rather pathetic oozing toward the woods and temporary freedom. Being captured by a crippled-up lady ranger would only add to his humiliation.
The boy sat with his arms around his knees looking weary and relieved and terribly sad.
“You don’t let anybody shoot them in the park,” Geoffrey said simply. The logic was indisputable. One does not take a friend to live where murderers are waiting to take his life.
McCaskil felt bound to pipe up. Reassured by the company of others, safe from the bear and, in a strange way, safe within his bonds from the responsibility for decision or action, William McCaskil was recovering his equilibrium. Anna liked him better mute and cowering.
He’d have been grown when Geoffrey was young but evidently visited Mom often enough to torment a little boy and a little bear.
You’re a son-of-a-bitch, McCaskil. Be nice and shut up
When he smells him he knows something bad is happening and he goes back to bear rules to save himself.” “Fucking menace,” McCaskil growled. Balthazar growled back and McCaskil shut up.
Some tricks he taught himself and just does them for fun when he’s happy. He likes to juggle…Sometimes he just starts in to dance even when there’s no music.
“This whole thing has been stressful for Balthazar. I mean, I’d never been out of Florida but Balthazar’s never been anywhere. The other bears scare him. Deer scare him. He almost ran off that cliff up by the army moth place. He’s never been in a world that had cliffs in its floor.
“I’d read a person can live a long time without food but not without water. I’m sorry about the bottle. Balthazar got to playing with it. We’ll buy you a new one.”
they’d have to shoot through the person of Geoffrey Micou before they got to the shaggy body of his brother.
He was a greedy immoral man pushed to violence by his own fears.
“What is it?” Thigpen asked. “Shit,” Anna said happily.