Chapter One

“Nope, not seeing it. Do you mean that jellyfish flattened by an eighteen-wheeler?” I hid my smirk with a fake yawn, waiting for Burt’s reaction. 

“That’s ridiculous.” He didn’t disappoint, his tone sharp with irritation. “It’s right there. As obvious as those two blind eyes on your face. Look.” He aimed the thin red beam into the night sky, connecting the stars with more fervor this time.  “This is clearly Hercules’ body, these are his arms, and these are his legs.”  

We’d been going back and forth like this for the last thirty minutes, and it was doing only good things for my mood. Before that, I was sulking in my camp chair, listening to the heavy metal staccato of the Cascade frogs and half-heartedly watching for falling stars and UFOs. I was so deep in my brooding I didn’t notice the light shooting from Burt’s hand until he commanded me to look. Apparently, we weren’t attending the same pity party I thought we were. He’d just been waiting patiently to kick off his nine o’clock Star Show.  

I had to give it to him, his Neil deGrasse Tyson impression was pretty on point, minus Neil’s charm and full head of hair. Burt launched into his tour of the night’s constellations like he was teaching an evening class at the community college. He connected the dots, playing it off like a laser pointer was standard-issue camping gear, and his expert knowledge of the star map, like in all other things, was a given. Stopping him, I refused to let him continue until he explained the rabbit-from-hat trick he was performing. Burt admitted it was something he started learning back when he was a Scoutmaster for a local troop. Turns out, twelve-year-old boys and thirty-five-year-old women were equally impressed. 

“Have you done this for Carol yet?” I asked, imagining it would have a similar effect on potential sixty-six-year-old love interests.  

“No, haven’t had the chance. And did you hear? The beams on her porch are rotten, so now it’s another two-week delay before she comes back.” 

I had, in fact, already heard—three times. Twice from Burt and once from Carol’s daughter and my best friend, Leigha Lore. Both were counting down the days until Carol’s return. She bought a fixer-upper in Claryce Falls, and three weeks ago, left to pack her old place and was staying there until the renovations were done. 

Burt and Carol weren’t officially a couple, but things appeared to be heading in that direction. They hadn’t spoken much since, and it was clearly a drain on Burt’s already limited supply of cheer. 

Thwarted romance and much-needed attitude adjustments were the real inspiration for this overnight camping trip. Burt was mopey about Carol, and I was equally disgruntled about my friend Owen Reece, the new forest ranger. My feelings for him recently wandered into extra-friendly territory, and I was pretty sure his did too. 

Then wildfire prevention happened. Around the same time Carol took off, Owen deposited his Chihuahua, Fizzy, with me and headed into the backcountry. Just as things started heating up between us, he hiked into the woods to stomp out actual flames. And now he wasn’t due back for another six weeks. 

Bending over, I picked up my dinner bowl, using the last crumbs of Burt’s melt-in-your-mouth homemade cornbread, to soak up the chili remnants. 

“There’s more if you want it,” he offered. 

As good as it was, there were limits one should impose on personal chili intake out of respect for your camping companions. And I was on the verge of surpassing mine. Shaking my head, I sunk back in my chair, feeling mildly combustible. 

Things in general were too quiet lately. I’d settled into my new job as the postmaster of Claryce Falls. Burt, who I took the job over from when he retired, had finally quit coming in every day to make sure I wasn’t messing up. Now he only dropped by a couple of times a week to drink coffee and bring in his latest baking creations. 

After this spring’s excitement of solving a murder and busting a poaching ring, I was feeling oddly empty and restless. So when Burt floated the idea of a quick camping trip along the Salmon la Sac River, even though it was only twenty minutes from my house, my sleeping bag and marshmallows were in the trunk before he even finished asking. 

“What’s over in that direction?” I waved my hand, vaguely to the left part of the Milky Way. 

Burt jerked the laser over to where I was gesturing, sweeping the beam like a radioactive firefly trying to dodge a mason jar. But before he landed on a new star cluster, all three dogs who had been peacefully lying around the campfire went rigid and lifted their heads. 

Burt clicked off the light. We all stilled, straining to hear past the concert of frogs and the river's roar for something menacing. I pulled Fizzy onto my lap. As an eight pound Chihuahua, she’d be a chew toy for anything in these woods.  

Somewhere beyond the trees, a twig snapped. All three dogs growled. 

“What is it?” I asked Burt. 

He said it was making too much noise for a cougar, which was a relief. I’d run into a handful of bears while out hiking, but one glimpse of a cougar print in the mud, and I was high-tailing it in the opposite direction. That was one surprise dinner party I did not want to attend. 

I grabbed my husky, Clover’s collar, in case she got any ideas about chasing whatever was lurking. Unfortunately, Burt’s dog, Buddy, picked up on the same idea. And before Burt could catch him, Buddy was off—faster than a bad decision on dollar beer night at the Oasis. Burt snatched his flashlight and tore after him. I tossed a protesting pair of dogs into my car, snagged my super-sized canister of bear spray, and followed. 

I stayed mostly upright, thanks to the moonlight illuminating the obvious tripping hazards as I ran after Burt’s bouncing flashlight beam. Between the dogs barking, Burt calling for Buddy, and me yelling after Burt, we made enough racket to scare off any sensible creature within a five-mile radius. 

Burt’s voice abruptly cut off, and his flashlight stilled. 

“You find Buddy?” I called. 

No answer. Trying to move as silently as my limited natural dexterity allowed, I continued toward the stationary light. 

When I spotted them, Burt was crouched with an arm slung over the old lab, staring into a dense copse of Douglas fir. 

“What was it?” I asked in a loud whisper. 

Burt patted Buddy’s chest but kept staring into the trees. 

I nudged him with my foot. “Hey, did you hear me? Did you see what Buddy was chasing?” 

When he faced me, he wore an expression I don’t think I’ve seen on him before. It wasn’t quite fear—more like shock with a side of what-the-heck?  Burt didn’t curse, not even under stress. Whatever he’d seen had rattled him, and I didn’t like it. 

I clapped my hands together, the sharp crack splitting the silence. “Burt, snap out of it. Get up. Let’s go back to camp before Clover and Fizzy dig their way out of the car to rescue us.” 

Still silent, he leashed Buddy and used a log to push himself to his feet. He swept his flashlight back and forth through the trees one more time, then turned and started walking. 

I tried again. “Burt, what did you see?” 

He held up a hand without looking at me. “Wait till we’re at camp,” he said quietly. 

He was acting strange, even for a man who carries a laser pointer, and that spooked me. Burt was nothing if not consistent. I shook off the prickles of fear crawling over my scalp and strained to hear any sounds of pursuit as we picked our way through the brush. 

It was a relief to see our camping chairs still sitting by the little fire. My shoulders released their death grip on my ears, as my muscles started to relax. Clover and Fizzy jumped out of the car like inmates freed from death row, but I kept the dogs on leashes this time. Neither of them was prone to running off, but I’d had enough midnight off-roading for one evening. 

Burt still hadn’t said a word. He got out a pan and poured some milk into it. While that heated, he pulled out mugs, a couple packets of hot chocolate, and the bag of marshmallows.  After he poured me a cup, he went to the back of his truck and brought out a rifle. He set it down next to his seat, picked up his cocoa, and finally sat down himself. 

I let him get two swigs in before I started again.  

“What’s with the gun, Burt? You’re starting to freak me out. Will you just tell me what you saw already?” 

He took another swallow of near-scalding hot chocolate, then turned and looked me straight in the eye. He was so serious that my muscles started bunching up again, ready for fight or flight. 

“Maya, I know this is going to sound crazy.” He paused, as if reconsidering what he was about to say. 

“Out with it already,” I snapped. 

“Fine. I saw Bigfoot.” 

Whatever I thought he was going to say, it wasn’t that. I snorted hot chocolate so hard I singed my nose hairs. 

“You really got me good,” I laughed, wiping my watering eyes and scorched nose on my flannel sleeve. 

Burt scowled. “I’m not joking, Maya. I think I saw Bigfoot.” He sounded irritated now, which was comforting. 

“Bigfoot, please. Fool me once, shame on me, and all that. Getting your rifle out was a nice touch, though. I was genuinely convinced you saw something that scared you.” 

Burt crossed his arms and glared into the fire. “Fine. Don’t believe me. But I saw something out there I can’t explain. It was big and tall, with long dark hair.” He held up a hand before I could interrupt. “And before you say it was a bear, it moved like no bear I’ve ever seen. It walked upright with long, humanlike strides.” 

I reminded him about the viral video I’d shown him last week, the one of a bear walking on two legs peeking into people’s windows. 

“You don’t have to believe me,” he said, “but I know it wasn’t a bear. We’ll check for tracks in the morning. Until then, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” 

And he didn’t. For the rest of the evening, Burt stayed mostly silent. After an hour of staring into the fire, I decided I’d had enough. I crawled into my tent with Clover and Fizzy, and left Burt to stew. 

I woke the next morning, kinked and contorted around the dogs like an old garden hose left out all winter. Fizzy had wedged herself under my chin, cranking my neck to an unnatural angle, and Clover shoved my left thigh so high I felt like I’d woken up mid–Cirque du Soleil audition. 

I loved nature, but I also loved waking up sprawled out in my warm, soft bed. 

My phone said it was 6:00. It was Sunday, the only day I didn’t work at the post office, but I was already awake, and it wasn’t like my current sleeping arrangement was something I wanted to luxuriate in. 

I unzipped the tent and shoved the dogs out. Standing and stretching, my vertebrae cracked and popped as they slipped back into place. 

“There’s coffee on the stove for you.” 

I yelped, startled. 

 Burt stood by the river’s edge, sipping from a metal mug, his gaze fixed on the river. He wore the same clothes as last night, and he looked wilted. 

I poured myself coffee from the pot on the fire and went to join him. We stood silently together, sipping coffee and watching the white and blue swirls of the water collide against the rocks. 

“You get much sleep?” I asked. 

“Nah. Had things on my mind.” 

I had a feeling Burt stayed up most of the night on guard duty. 

“I checked the area where I caught Buddy last night.” 

Guess confirmed. I grunted, indicating he should continue. 

“I didn’t find any footprints, but something big was definitely out there. I found a large patch of grass trampled down, like something had laid in it.” 

“Could’ve been a bull elk.” 

“Could be.” Burt rubbed his eyes. “There would usually be droppings, though. I didn’t see any.”  

“Maybe he was constipated?” I suggested helpfully. 

Burt ignored me. 

“So,” I eased into my next question. “You still think you saw Bigfoot?” I tried really hard to hide my amusement. I failed. 

Burt threw the rest of his coffee into the river and scowled. “I’m packed and ready to head back when you are.” 

I glanced over to where Burt's tent had been pitched between a couple of Alder trees and was none gone. 

“I’d like to finish my coffee if it’s all the same to you,” I grumbled. “Just because I don’t believe in mythical creatures doesn’t mean you have to get huffy.” 

“I’m not. I want breakfast, and I forgot the eggs.” 

He was definitely in a huff, but it was clear he also hadn’t slept much, so I didn't argue. I just drank up and packed up. 

Two hours later, we’d dropped off the dogs and gear and were on the way to our date with pancakes. Riding shotgun, I dangled my arm out the window of Burt’s ninety-five Ford Ranger with nothing on my mind but carbs and caffeine.

Thanks for Reading

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