- From Chapter One -

A phone call from my daughter, Wenona, seemed to herald the reign of terror in our peaceful alpine valley of Lake Tahoe. South Shore buzzed about the controversy surrounding the death of a climber who fell from Cave Rock. The fatality was deemed accidental, but the condition of the rock climber's body suggested there might have been more to it than originally thought. Everyone knew the Washoe Tribe decried the fact that their sacred places were being defiled, but no one was pointing any fingers. Not yet.

The week before Thanksgiving, I was doing a routine flea check on my basset hound, Cruiser, when the phone's shrill ring startled me.
"Hi, Mom! It's me." Nona's voice always sounds like wind chimes.
"Nona. What's it been, two years since I last heard from you?"
"Aw, come on, Mom. It's only been a couple of weeks."
"What's keeping you so busy these days?" I parted Cruiser's fur inch by hairy inch, hot on the trail of a particularly elusive flea.
"I landed another modeling assignment."
"Not bathing suits again?"
"Lingerie, actually."
"Underwear?" I accidentally yanked a clump of red fur along with the flea that prepared to feast on Cruiser's backside. He yelped, which was how I felt when Nona said, 'lingerie.'
"No, Mom, not underwear. Lingerie."
"Same thing, isn't it?"
"Not exactly."
"Really, Nona. What would Pop have said?"
Nona's tone softened at the mention of her father. "I hope he'd say he's proud of me." I echoed the heavy sigh at the other end of the line.
"Relax, Mom. It's for Victoria's Secret, not Hustler. Besides, I'm getting paid very well."
I worried that those photos might not be the only things being overexposed.
"Are you saving some of that money to come and see me and Cruiser during the holidays?" Cruiser's long ears perked up-no small feat for a basset-at the mention of his name, although I think he must have sensed the anticipation in my voice.
"How do you do it, Mom? Dad always said you were psychic. I think he was right."
"You mean you are coming?"
"Yes."
To heck with fleas, Nona was coming to visit! Cruiser sighed with relief when I lost interest in the search.
"That's great, honey. When?"
"I should be up on Tuesday."
"You'll be staying for Thanksgiving?" I held my breath. Nona's modeling career kept her so busy, we rarely had any quality time together.
"I have some time off after this job is finished. I'll stay longer, if that's all right with you."
I squealed with delight and hugged Cruiser. "Of course, it's all right with me."
"Um, there's just one thing..."
"What?"
"Can I bring my new boyfriend over for Thanksgiving dinner?"
Oh, no. Not another one, I thought. I loosened my grip on Cruiser's neck when he started to gag. "Who is it this time?"
"His name is Medwyn. Medwyn Abercarn."
For a moment, I couldn't make my tongue work.
"You're joking. Right?"
"No, Mom."
"Medwyn Aber...Abraca...I can't even say it!"
"A-ber-carn. It's a Celtic name."
Great! Now Nona's dating Druids. I tried to picture my mystery guest. Halloween might have been a better time to meet Nona's boyfriend.
"Mom? You still there?"
"Yes."
"So, you don't mind if Medwyn comes to dinner?"
"Oh, well," I sighed. "I suppose not."
"Thanks, Mom. You're an angel."
"I'll tell a couple of Grandpop's stories, then we'll see if he passes the test."
"No, not that! I'll never see Meddy again!"
"Oh, all right. Don't get your lingerie in a bunch. What time will you be here?"
"I should make it by six, traffic permitting. I'll pick Medwyn up, and we'll be over later."
"He lives here in Tahoe?"
"Yes. We met at the Alpen Sierra coffee shop last time I visited.
We're having dinner at the Fresh Ketch. I thought maybe we could stop by afterwards for coffee, so you two can get acquainted."
"Whatever." Sheesh! It seems like I see the glamour queen less and less these days. You'd think I could have her to myself for at least an hour.
"Well, gotta go. See you Tuesday. I'll phone you from the car if I'm running late."
"You have a cellular phone?"
"Uh, huh. Doesn't everyone?"
"No, not quite everyone." I'm one of the few people left who still steers her car with two hands. "I'll see you then, dear. Drive carefully, and don't forget to bring your skis. We can do some cross-country while you're here."
"You're on, Mom. 'Bye."
"Love you, Nonie."
"Me, too."
When I hung up the phone, I wished Nona were already here. I love the solace of the forest, but this cabin gets too quiet at times, even for me. I needed to talk to someone without four paws and floppy ears.

I could hardly wait for Nona's arrival. Odd boyfriends notwithstanding, I knew we'd have a wonderful time together, as always. Although we disagree from time to time, deep down Nona and I have always been soul mates.

But Nona wouldn't be caught dead wearing my Sherlock Holmes deerstalker. You know, the kind with funny earflaps that make you look like a cartoon
hound dog. Only mine is a pinkish plaid. The MacBean tartan hat belonged to my husband, Tom. I wear it now that he's gone. Admittedly, it's strange attire for a woman who's half Washoe Indian. I'm also of English ancestry,
which probably explains my penchant for deerstalkers and Doyle's master sleuth. If Sherlock had known Cruiser, he would have given Watson his walking papers. He's been my closest companion since Tom died battling a forest fire on Kingsbury Grade. I would never have made it through last winter if it weren't for Cruiser. That was when Cruiser and I had our adventure of a lifetime, and I'm not talking dog years.

By the way, I'm Elsinore MacBean. That's Elsie for short, but my friends call me Beanie, partly for the hat but also because of my industrial-strength vegetarian chili, guaranteed to send you sprinting for the nearest water fountain. I'm a storyteller, like my Washoe grandfather,
and an amateur sleuth of sorts.

I once planned a career in law enforcement and studied criminology in college two years before landing a summer reporter's job with the San Francisco Chronicle. That sparked my love for writing and life in publishing's fast lane doing power lunches. But I was much younger then. These days, I settle for freelancing and a bowl of killer chili.
When I'm not getting myself entangled in Washoe tribal politics or stringing articles for the Tahoe Times or Fur and Feather Quarterly, I occasionally assist my good friend, Deputy Sheriff Skipper Cassidy, on unusual cases in South Lake Tahoe. My experiences with Skip have provided me with enough fodder for a great mystery novel, when I get around to writing it.

Christmas was still over a month away, but with Thanksgiving so close at hand, I considered it officially the holiday season and time to decorate the house from foundation to chimney pot. By the time my daughter arrived with Medwyn Whoozits, this place would look like a Thomas Kincade painting. Even Cruiser could get into the act. I still had those silly antlers he wore when I had his photo taken with Santa Paws one year at the local pet shop, The Haute Hydrant.

I found all but one box of Christmas decorations in my attic. I must have loaned it to Nona the year she wanted to deck the tiny halls of her first apartment. I pulled out the matted ball of twinkle lights I had tossed in the box last year after I pulled them off the pine tree beside the driveway. I could see this might take awhile, so I clicked the television on, made a nice cup of cocoa and sat down on the couch to undertake Tom's traditional holiday task I'd inherited. I unraveled the lights one by one, cursing under my breath.

"We join Anchor Heather Halloran live at Cave Rock, the site of a rock climber's recent death, where a demonstration is in progress," said the news commentator. "Heather?"
"Thank you, Randy. I'm here at Cave Rock, a sacred spot to the Washoe Indians, where a group of tribal members, led by Sonseah Little Feather and Dan Silvernail, are gathered to protest the recent ground breaking for Cave Rock Casino and Resort being built by Tallis Corporation," Heather said. "The new recreational playground is being designed to incorporate the massive
rock into a year-round, indoor/outdoor rock-climbers' facility."

I had to admit that in spite of the fact Sonseah is my age, she looked great, and TV always adds 10 pounds. She wore native dress to the protest, for effect. Never mind the fact that she drives a late model bimer and shops at upscale Tahoe boutiques, thanks to Indian gaming profits, which added fresh fuel to the bonfire that still smolders between Indians and Whites.

Dan Silvernail flanked Sonseah, wearing his long hair tied back under his trademark black Stetson. A quill from the endangered bald eagle decorated its brim. Both Dan and Sonseah are revered tribal elders. I am also concerned about anything that affects our people and was no greater fan of Tallis than they, but we have slightly different views on Native American affairs in the Tahoe Basin. We're forever finding ourselves on opposing ends of the totem pole.

"We will fight to keep the rock climbers and Tallis Corporation from further desecrating Cave Rock, our spiritual stronghold," Sonseah said to the reporter. "As long as they continue to defile it and mock us with names such as "Psycho Monkey," which they give the routes used to climb the rock, we will stand as a nation to save our civilization, as we should have 100 years ago when we were driven away from our land by the white man."

"Sonseah's on her soapbox again, Cruiser," I mumbled while untangling twinkle lights, most of which wouldn't twinkle.

Cruiser ambled up and sniffed the open box of decorations. Discovering no biscuits inside, he curled up beside the fire on his favorite pillow, the one generously coated with dog hair.

"Looks like Tallis CEO Richard Brennan is also here. Let's see if we can't get a word with him," Heather said, sidling up to the CEO who looked like he'd just stepped off the cover of Gentlemen's Quarterly. "Mr. Brennan, excuse me. Would you care to comment on Ms. Little Feather's statement?"

Brennan stepped to the mike. "Cave Rock Resort is going to boost the sagging economy in Tahoe like you've never seen. Rock-climbing is becoming a very popular sport. The draw to this spectacular new attraction and casino will be phenomenal, bringing more tourists to the area. That's good news for everyone, including the Indians. As far as we're concerned, it's full steam head on this newest Tallis project."
"How will your new casino help the Washoe, unless we're running it?" Dan Silvernail retorted off-camera.
"Does that mean construction will continue through the winter?" continued Heather.
"Yes, as weather permits, of course. With the drought conditions, we shouldn't encounter many delays. We've already had far too many delays on this project as it is." Brennan shot a defiant look at Sonseah and Dan.
"We intend to have Cave Rock Resort up and running by summer."
"Save Cave Rock! Save Cave Rock!" The protesters began chanting, drowning out Heather's interview.
"Well, uh, thank you, Mr. Brennan, for your time," Heather shouted over the din. "Back to you, Randy!"
"Thank you, Heather. And now, on to the weather..." Randy laughed at his newsy pun.

I soon found my mind wandering back to the task at hand. I thought of many things while sorting decorations. My thoughts turned to Tom as I unwrapped the first ornament we had ever purchased together, a silver heart engraved "Christmas 1971," the year we were married. Here I was, facing another holiday without him.

The year following his death was the hardest I'd ever had to bear. Loneliness took on a new meaning. I blamed myself for his death because I had wanted this peeled cedar cabin with knotty pine walls nestled in Tahoe National Forest. It was my dream, not Tom's, that brought us here.

As I admired the Baby's First Christmas ornament my parents gave us after Nona's birth, I heard the mournful wail rising from somewhere in the forest. The unearthly ululation made the hairs on my neck spike. Cruiser heard it too, for he woke suddenly from his comfortable slumber, sat upright on his haunches, and bayed in answer to the feral lament.