Beth Ciotta: Into the Wild

She palmed the gold amulet.

Was this a portion of what he’d found in an excavation? Or, like the photos, a sentimental souvenir? It didn’t surprise River that he’d choose some treasure over her, but over life? Surely, he hadn’t meant that literally. Not that she cared.

Except, to her surprise and dismay, she did. Just a little. Just enough to phone Professor Bovedine, her father’s oldest friend and perhaps the sole professional associate who hadn’t believed Henry Kane was an inept kook. If anyone could make heads or tails out of this cryptic letter, it was Paul Bovedine. Luckily, unlike her father, Bovedine had made it a point to check in with River throughout the years, hence his number was programmed into her cell.

She gripped the phone in one hand, the journal in the other. She held her breath until someone answered.

“Professor…” sniffle, “Bovedine’s residence. How may I…” gulp, “help?”

“Mrs. Robbins?”

“River?” Professor Bovedine’s housekeeper burst into a sob. “River. Professor Bovedine is dead.”

“Dead?” River felt the world shift away, just a little farther. “How? When?”

“Yesterday. Someone broke into the house. Professor Bovedine returned early from the university and…the police said it was a bungled burglary.”

River couldn’t believe her ears. Yes, Bovedine collected antiquities, but he donated or sold them to museums. He was a lifelong bachelor who traveled frequently and cared little for material possessions. From what she remembered of his rambling old house, there was little of value.

Beware of the hunters.

River stared at the letter.

I have discovered something men would kill to possess.

No. It was too bizarre. Henry’s discovery and Professor Bovedine’s death could not be connected.

Share it with no one except Professor Bovedine.

She hadn’t shared the journal. She hadn’t shared any news at all. She hadn’t had the chance.

“We haven’t heard from you in several months, River. How odd that you called today. The timing…” She hiccupped over a sob. “A package from your dad yesterday. A phone call from you today. And the professor, he…he missed them both.”

River nearly dropped her phone. “A package? What was in it?” She regretted the insensitive question as soon as it popped out. She should’ve asked about Bovedine’s funeral arrangements.

If Mrs. Robbins thought the inquiry rude, she didn’t pause. “I don’t know, dear. The mail came early yesterday. I put the package on the professor’s desk and left to do my weekly shopping. I’m sure it’s around here…somewhere. The burglars ransacked the house and I’m not allowed to clean until the investigation is…over. It’s just so…awful.”

River tried to console the sobbing woman, but her efforts were lame. Though heartsick over Professor Bovedine’s senseless death, fury snaked though her system. What if Henry’s mysterious package had somehow contributed to Bovedine’s death? Just as his selfish behavior had contributed to her mom’s?

Her mind exploded with a verbal rant. Her body trembled with suppressed emotions. She physically ached to have it out with Henry Kane, to address and resolve old and new issues. In the next mental bout, she blasted her ex for being a selfish, heartbreaking weasel!

Closure.

In the midst of Mrs. Robbins’s teary walk down memory lane, River had an epiphany. She needed closure with her past in order to map a new future. Closure with her father and David. Never mind that it meant traipsing into the wild and battling deep-rooted fears. Suddenly, there was nothing more important than facing her demons. For the first time since David had dumped her, she had direction.

River clung to that thought as she tenderly ended the conversation with Mrs. Robbins. She didn’t mention she’d also received a package from Henry. Why tempt questions she couldn’t answer? Her father’s letter had effectively sealed her lips. Except to Bovedine, and Bovedine was dead. That ugly truth reinforced River’s decision to take action. What if Henry’s ravings had merit? What if he was in genuine danger? Or in danger of going genuinely bonkers? If she didn’t at least try to save him from whatever mess he’d stumbled into, she’d never be able to live with herself. For better or worse, he was her dad.

Rescue and closure.

Rescue and closure.

Mind racing, she tucked the amulet and journal into her satchel and squirted sanitizer into her hands. True, most tropical diseases were transmitted by insects and parasites, but just her luck, she’d be the first person in history to be infected by a malicious jungle germ clinging to the pages of a crusty journal.

That’s Grandpa Franklin talking.

Cursing her germ phobia, one of David’s top three complaints, River blocked out the haunting voices of her pessimistic, dysfunctional family. She could, she would do this.

Moving into the house, she fired up her laptop and ran a mental checklist. She had to move fast and she had no idea how long she’d be in South America. Her next booking was three weeks away—the bells-and-whistles church wedding of Kylie McGraw and Jack Reynolds. Although Kylie was a fairly new friend, she was a good friend and a kind soul. Aside from the professional obligation, River felt personally compelled to afford Kylie and Jack ample time to hire a different photographer. In addition, she’d have to give Ella some sort of explanation for her hasty departure without telling her about the contents of the journal.

Typing Cheap Airfares into her search engine with one hand and dialing her assistant with the other, River decided to stick to the generic truth. “Ella? Heads up. You’ll have to handle the studio for the next couple of weeks.”

“Are you having a meltdown?”

“No. I’m flying to South America to get my life back.”

Cajamarca, Peru, South America

Altitude 8,900 feet

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN they canceled the shoot?”

“An executive decision.” Spenser McGraw thumbed his cell to vibrate and placed it beside his empty beer bottle as Gordo Fish, his friend and professional sidekick, dropped into an opposing chair. The popular café buzzed with good cheer, offsetting the men’s grim expressions.

They’d flown from the Scottish Highlands to South America to film an episode for the popular cable show, Into the Wild. Spenser was the talent. Gordo was the one-man camera/audio crew. Now instead of exploring “The Legend of El Dorado,” instead of searching for a lost city of freaking gold, they’d been ordered to cool their heels in Cajamarca until the show’s new producer and a board of equally young turks hammered out the details of a new adrenaline-charged adventure. Spenser met his friend’s baffled stare. “They want to introduce an element of danger into the show.”

Gordo frowned. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Something tells me Necktie Nate is behind this.”

The nickname they’d given to Nathan Crup, their new Armani-suited producer. “Probably.”

“Has that asshole watched even one episode from the past five seasons?” Gordo complained. “We’ve battled extreme elements and hostile people. Survived mud-slides, cave-ins, avalanches and assorted injuries.”

“None of them life threatening.”

“Like hell. What about the time I got food poisoning in Cairo?”

Spenser found it amusing that a man who’d endured extreme temperatures, snakebites and altitude sickness would label the time he’d hugged the porcelain goddess in a ritzy hotel room as a near-death experience. “You weren’t even close to dying.”

“I ended up in the hospital.”

“Because you called an ambulance.”