Timberline Trail Read online

  Timberline Trail

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “Timberline Trail,” by Loren Lockner. ISBN 1-58939-897-1.

  Published 2006 by Virtualbookworm.com Publishing Inc., P.O. Box 9949, College Station, TX 77842, US.2006, Loren Lockner. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Loren Lockner.

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  Timberline Trail

  by

  Loren Lockner

  Prologue

  (November 16th, 2003)

  Andrew Carson stumbled blindly through garbage-littered puddles, banging into several overflowing trashcans as he staggered groggily down a dim back alley near the brightly lit streets of Hollywood and Vine, blood streaming from a graze upon his forehead. The attacker approached steadily, the Glock handgun that had been secreted only minutes before in his briefcase now raised at chest level to inflict the final shot needed to silence his too-knowledgeable foe forever. Andrew Carson backed against a huge green trash bin and held his arms up defensively to shield his face from the inevitable bullet.

  “Please, please! I promise not to tell anyone about Timberline Trail! Don’t hurt me. Please!”

  When the fatal shot made contact, it was a direct blow to the chest, not face, which caused the fifty-five–year-old executive to drop to his knees, his mouth still open as he tried to continue his desperate plea before his cloudy hazel eyes rolled upward and he dropped face down onto the damp pavement.

  His assailant quickly removed all traces of fingerprints from the still-hot gun with a white linen handkerchief before tossing the weapon into the dumpster. With a gasp of supreme effort the murderer lifted his now lifeless opponent upward with one mighty jerk and heaved the body into the trash bin after the gun, slamming the metal lid down with grim finality. The merriment of the strip continued unabated, as low-riders cruised, short-skirted women strutted, and hawkers tried to encourage the tourists to buy their guides to all the Hollywood sights. Tinsel town remained oblivious to the demise of yet another one of her native sons. A cool dark rain began falling and didn’t cease for another three days, content to delay the discovery of the corpse of one of California’s finest, crumpled within the stinking interior of a dumpster located behind an adult movie theatre. The newspapers had a field day with this one.

  Chapter One

  (September 11th, 2004)

  To some, Alaska seems a remote, even desolate place, but to Tia Heath the very wildness and absence of others was exactly what she craved. Alaska is a huge vast wilderness comprised of broad leaf evergreens in the south which gradually gives way to the bent and struggling trees of the midlands before finally leveling out to miles of endless tundra whose persistent icy winds sweep down from the Arctic Circle. Tia had traveled all over Alaska; enjoying the charm of Skagway, the incredible wildness of Kodiak Island, and the endless, slightly humid terrain of the northlands where one can become confused as to direction and place names during the short summer, or if one’s truly adventurous, the endless winter. The Alaskan Peninsula, with its long archipelago of islands, illustrated to its new occupant how land and sea often meet with violent confrontation, causing a result truly rugged and spectacular.

  This earthquake-prone wilderness exhibited an amazing variety of landscapes. To the north was Seward’s Peninsula, named after the simple-minded politician who dared suggest to the US Congress that they buy the vast wilderness called Alaska from Russia for a mere 7.2 million dollars. Thus, because of his foresight, the richness of this immense land is still to this day called Seward’s Folly. It was at the base of the majestic mountains to the northwest of Anchorage, in the vast open wilderness that separates the Alaska Range from the Wrangell Mountains, that Tia found a peaceful place to recuperate and reflect on the tumultuous events that had made up her life over the past year. Not that far north of her rustic log cabin lay the great reserve of the Denali, where the awesome Mt. McKinley peaked through the clouds, towering over twenty thousand feet.

  In this vast land of extremes Tia discovered and accepted that she was only small and insignificant after all, her problems nothing compared to the incredible cycle of nature. At twenty-nine years of age, single, and seemingly free from all those who sought to control and manipulate her, she slowly healed. A successful children’s book author, Tia hid from the modern world, licking her wounds and contemplating a future without duplicitous men or the aimless society of the crowded Los Angeles’ basin where she’d previously been held a voluntary captive.

  To aid in her healing transformation, Tia followed a simple routine each and every morning until the weather restricted her ritual. She dressed in black sweat pants with a matching top, tied her long blonde hair into a tight ponytail and pulled on her stained and well-worn running shoes before adding a short necklace of jangling musical bells for protection. Tia stretched out for fifteen minutes before heading out the sturdy front door of her small cabin, her eyes scanning the forest before starting a slow jog down the trail that wound through the wooded region near her cabin. Tia quickly picked up her pace and for a full thirty minutes ran joyfully through the beautiful forest of her adopted home. Every new day saw a noticeable difference in the season, for the days were getting shorter and the morning air contained a crisp edge, indicating that Tia would soon have to abandon her morning jog. But until the first snow fell, Tia rose like clockwork each morning to greet the day and enjoy the exhilarating freedom of her morning jog as well as the mental rejuvenation it provided.

  Tia didn’t notice that both human and non-human eyes watched her movements intently. It was not her nature to be suspicious or wary in this sanctuary where she’d retreated. Upon the conclusion of this morning’s excellent jog Tia returned and showered, afterward pulling on her normal uniform of warm blue jeans and a red-checked flannel shirt, its sleeves rolled up for comfort and freedom of movement. She finally added brown hiking boots scuffed by the rough terrain and her constant fidgeting, ready to continue her morning routine.

  Tia scarcely looked into the mirror as she combed out her long blonde hair after her shower, braiding the still damp locks into a simple French braid. Her eyes were that clear dark gray of poetry, but she would scoff at anyone hinting at their beauty, certain they were being ridiculous or more likely desiring something from her. They were simply a physical attribute she’d inherited from her father, Anthony Heath. His eyes and hair the color of the California sun were the only two things she’d inherited from him in appearance, but Tia had also acquired his no-nonsense attitude toward life, as well as his stubbornness. She’d also managed to inherit his ability, which so many others lack, of enjoying himself and what life has to offer, even while alone. That trait was probably the chief motivation behind Anthony’s decision to build a remote cabin hide-away only a few short years ago. Here, he could retreat from the high-powered corporate life he’d led for so many years and “recharge his batteries,” as Anthony liked to say.

  The rest of Tia’s looks had been passed on to her by her gentle mother Tanya. It was her mother’s slim frame, straight nose, and superb intelligence that dominated her lovely delicate face. She so resembled her mother that people who’d known the deceased Tanya would still gasp when Tia walked into the room, only recovering as they realized the dark-blonde hair and silver eyes belonged to the daughter not the mother. Even her father had difficulty with their incredible resemblance and many times Tia noticed pain flicker over his steel-gray eyes as he gazed at his only daughter. Tanya Heath had been so
vibrant and deeply in love with her successful husband that her death of ovarian cancer at age 48 nearly caused the senior Heath to throw away his life and his career.

  It had only been Tia’s undying devotion and determination, as well as the turmoil surrounding her brother’s inborn stubbornness and subsequent precarious relationship with his father that had caused Anthony Heath to recover his sanity and innate business sense as he vowed to whip his wayward son, RK, into shape. Tia secretly blessed her obstinate brother, who’d absolutely refused to take over his father’s business, seeking instead to start his own company independent of his successful father. She wisely remained on the sidelines during the bloody fray that followed when her twenty-five-year-old brother announced he was going his own way.

  Tia had been barely twenty and immersed in studies and a new beau. She was quickly learning that while many men would flatter and woo her because of her beauty and money, few were truly sincere. So Tia shrugged off her beauty as an unnecessary fact of her life, just as she did the money and unwanted notoriety of being the daughter of a rich man.

  Tia Heath simply was and didn’t care if others found her appealing or intellectual. Their opinions regarding her lifestyle were their problem, not hers. One thing she’d certainly learned from her father was to carefully analyze what information and emotions were absolutely essential for her well-being and to discard the rest just as she had all those problems surrounding her back in LA. Tia had finally regained the confidence she needed to function and was now entirely certain of her abilities and future. The false glamour surrounding the LA social circles were deemed unnecessary and pretentious and she now despised any aspect of her former life that had tarnished the real Tia Heath.

  So here, in this beautiful corner of Alaska, Tia finally healed, at last recognizing she held the key to her own happiness, not someone else. Tia readily admitted she would find it difficult to trust others again, in particular men, but placed this glaring fault of hers at the very bottom of her self-improvement list. She preferred to be wary since the ability to trust had flown right out of her life, just like her ex-fiancé.

  Tia devised a routine that suited her and enhanced her creativity and writing and for now she was content and not the least bit lonely or melancholy. Alaska had become her new home and she meant to remain here for a while, basking in the huge state’s majestic beauty and tranquility. Life was finally good again and Tia wasn’t about to let another person take away her newly gained independence and serenity.

  When not writing Tia often walked, taking photos of the abundant bird and animal life. She enjoyed the simple chatter of the gray squirrel as well as the chase and the scream of the occasional bald eagle which she felt exceptionally privileged to view. The waters were full of trout and occasionally even salmon and on her long walks she wore her bear bells, the warning system of all Alaskans who recognize that the large grizzly and brown bears of the region will avoid confrontation with humans if forewarned, but attack if not.

  Still, even wearing her bells, Tia had glimpsed the huge shaggy beasts many times on her treks into the forest, even snapping a magnificent photo of one large carnivore slapping at a struggling salmon before lying down on his haunches to tear at the tender pink meat inside. During the summer the mosquitoes and flies were a constant annoyance, but now, as summer neared its rapid end, all creatures fed in unrestrained frenzy to store up the additional fat they needed to maintain their strength throughout the long cold winter, making the flying insects wonderful pickings. The mosquitoes were now food for the small birds of the area and Tia blessed their lovely diet as she scratched the annoying bites, thankful that fall was approaching and the flying pests were rapidly disappearing.

  Tia planned to take a short three-day trip to Glacier Bay, just north of the capital city Juneau, in a week or so to view the fantastic blue-white glaciers that grow and recede at their own leisurely pace. Her major goal was to observe and photograph the comical-looking Puffin with its topsy-turvy body and bright red beak. The bird was incredibly clumsy on land, but unlike the equally awkward penguin, had not lost its ability to fly and was also an accomplished swimmer. Tia hoped to make one of these funny birds a friend to her newest hero, a little Inuit boy who traveled the length of Alaska searching for his lost father.

  It was during Tia’s jogs and walks that she daydreamed about this beautiful land and its varied people, developing the characters she needed for her popular children’s books. After a brisk jaunt into the forest Tia felt fired up to work, her mind tumbling with ideas, exotic settings, and outlandish scenarios. She then would retreat to the front room of her beloved wilderness home and sit before her laptop to write. Her small and sturdy cabin, having been built by her father and uncle some six years earlier as a perfect getaway from the stresses of Los Angeles and the hectic lives they lead as co-owners of Heath Enterprises, was perfect for writing. Both men had studied statistics during the seventies, when computer technology had been born, and subsequently took their degrees and hands-on experience to create a computer company that sold both hardware and innovative software.

  Tia had respected their business but shown no interest in it personally, and at an early age had chosen to wrestle the written word instead of the business world. After a degree at UCLA and an apprenticeship as an editor and copywriter for a local magazine, Tia had finally decided to go freelance. Luck had been with her and her children’s book, Rosie Frankel’s Unexpected Adventure, had given her a first publication and a desire to write even more. Her father at first laughed at her hobby, but had gradually grown to respect and admire her craft after her third children’s book was published.

  Tia now worked on the fourth, about a little Inuit boy who makes friends with the animals of the tundra as they fight against a common enemy, the despoilers of the environment, while searching for his tardy father. This morning, as always, the moment the computer hummed and the pages of her novel appeared, Tia forgot the peaceful and simple layout of the cabin as Endu’s story took her to the barren, treeless tundra.

  The heavy cedar door to her home opened into a small hall where a low wooden bench hugged the left-hand side of the wall. Here, her foot apparel, ranging from running shoes to heavy sorrels, was arranged neatly under the bench. Her cross-country skis rested inside the square wooden box next to her ski poles along with a hefty walking stick and two heavy-duty black umbrellas. Above, a series of wooden pegs jutted from the wall and her jackets, slicker, and parka hung neatly, ready for any of the abrupt seasonal weather changes so often swooping down upon this region of Alaska.

  On the right hand side of the hallway rested a long narrow wooden cabinet equipped with flashlights, hurricane lamps, and other survival gear such as flares. While Tia had not often used this gear, she felt comforted by its presence. Another inner door acting as a weather buffer opened into the main room, which served as both a dining area and living room. A large gray stone fireplace hugged the far wall, equipped with heatilators. These warm air vents were not only built into the fireplace to enable hot air to circulate into the room, but Anthony Heath had also incorporated three black metal plates pushed into the river rock that could be pulled several inches out of their grooves, allowing the escaping heat from the fire to re-circulate back into the room instead of rising wastefully out of the chimney. Even when the cabin was deserted and Tia and her father returned from distant parts, the heatilator fireplace started warming the room in a matter of minutes after being sparked into life.

  A wide hearth spanned the front of the fireplace and Tia had parked a large brown-checked recliner directly in front so she could enjoy the warmth of the crackling fire on long winter nights. The highly polished pine floorboards were covered in thick rag rugs whose vivid interwoven designs of brown and red complemented the beautiful golden-brown flooring. The right hand side of the room boasted a large blue and brown sleeper couch set at an angle and behind that stood a huge built-in bookcase jammed so full of books that Tia could be snowbound for six mon
ths and not make a dent. A large cabinet, in which a medium-sized TV and VCR were discreetly hidden behind closed doors, was pushed against the wall; and inside, a lavish display of jackets indicated over four hundred videos. A plastic bag rested nonchalantly upon the floor where five new tapes waited to join their comrades inside the cabinet.

  A gun case with her father’s three hunting rifles and ample ammunition was locked on the remaining wall space and Tia never opened it even though her father had trained her well, since a reliable weapon is always necessary in the untamed Alaskan wilderness. Positioned next to the gun cabinet and facing an incredible floor-to-ceiling arched window overlooking the lovely forest was her mini-gym consisting of a well-used treadmill, a stair step machine, a rowing machine, a small muscle-building set with hand weights, a slanted push-up bench, and her favorite, the arm and torso machine. It had been a major hassle hauling the awkward equipment to the remote cabin and her father had complained bitterly, but Tia knew it was the best method for keeping in shape and releasing cabin fever during the long, dark winter.

  To the left of the small cabin nestled a good-sized kitchen installed with lovely pine cabinets and a center island. Tia admitted the kitchen seemed like a modern assault on the quaint design of the rest of the small cabin, but she loved it anyway. A large square table, hand-crafted by her uncle and accompanied by four leather-strung chairs in matching pine complemented the set. She’d placed the handsome table to the left of the entryway to minimize the draft from the front door. The cabin only had two bedrooms, if you could call the second office-sized room one. A powerful computer used by her father during his infrequent visits and a bookshelf loaded with all the trappings of the writing trade, as well as a CD player, filled the compact room. Anthony’s pine filing cabinet stuffed with her father’s papers and ideas were a constant reminder of her Dad’s preoccupation with his work.