Page 12 of Canyon Killer
“Your building permits appear to be in order,” the woman at the clerk’s office told him. “Here’s the inspection schedule that must be completed throughout the construction process. And you’ll need to have final approval from the county commissioners before you can open for business. Has anyone from the commissioners’ office contacted you?”
“No. They should have a copy of my business plan,” he said. “What else do they need?”
“They may have questions for you.”
“Fine. How can I get in touch with them?”
“You’ll need to contact the chair, Walt Spies. His office is across the hall.”
Ian accepted the schedule from the woman and crossed the hall to the office labeled County Commissioners. The woman at the front desk informed him that Walt Spies wasn’t in. Ian left his number and returned to his Jeep.
He headed toward the canyon, anxious to get started. He slowed as he passed the Peak Jeep Tours office. He should stop and say something to Bethany, see how she was doing after the shock of the other day. As he hesitated, a Jeep pulled up to the office and Carter Ames got out. Ian pressed down on the accelerator and sped by. He had caused enough friction between Bethany and her family.
As he neared the turnoff for the canyon, he was surprised to see a number of cars and trucks parked along the side of the road. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Had people come to gawk at the place where the skeletons had been found? They couldn’t ignore the signs he had posted, which meant they were deliberately trespassing.
At the end of the road, his way was blocked by a crowd of people milling about. He inched the Jeep forward, but they pushed in close. “No via ferrata!” they chanted. They leaned over, glaring into his windshield. “Open Humboldt Canyon!” others shouted.
He tapped his horn, but they pressed in closer. Finally, he shut off the vehicle and shoved open the door. “You people are trespassing on private property,” he said. “If you don’t leave, I’ll have to call the sheriff.”
“We have a right to peacefully protest!” a woman shouted.
“Not on my property!” Ian pushed through the crowd. He wanted to get a better look at the situation before he called for help.
The demonstration seemed to be concentrated at the entrance to the canyon, right outside the gates. So, technically not on his property. At least thirty people milled about, some with signs, others focused on a man who had climbed into the bed of a truck, bullhorn in hand.
Now that he was away from his Jeep, people didn’t appear to recognize Ian. They probably assumed he was another protester. He took advantage of that and hung back as the man with the bullhorn began to speak.
Unlike many of those gathered to demonstrate, this man was older, with a deeply lined face and stooped posture. He wore jeans, boots, a snap-buttoned shirt and a straw cowboy hat. His voice, amplified by the bullhorn, echoed around the canyon. “We’re here today to protest the privatization of a public asset,” the man boomed. “We’re here to take back Humboldt Canyon!”
Cheers rose up from the crowd. Ian leaned down to address a petite brunette beside him. “Who is that?” he asked.
“That’s Walt Spies,” she said.
“The council chair?” Ian remembered the name.
“I think so. I know he owns a ranch near here.”
“We’re here to peacefully exercise our right to free speech,” Walt said. “Our goal is to make it very clear to Ian Seabrook that him and his via ferrata are not welcome in Eagle Mountain!”
More cheers. Ian’s stomach clenched. He moved toward the pickup. He had every intention of grabbing that bullhorn and telling everyone here exactly what he thought of them.
“Mr. Seabrook. Do you have something you’d like to say to us?” Walt leaned over the side of the pickup bed to address Ian.
Ian was startled that Walt had recognized him. But a simple online search would have brought up his picture. “You’ve all had your say. Now you need to leave,” he said.
“Do you still intend to go through with building a via ferrata here?” Walt asked. “Despite the public’s objections?”
“A couple of dozen people with signs don’t necessarily reflect the opinion of everyone,” Ian said.
“What about those two skeletons you found?” Walt asked.
He frowned. “They don’t have anything to do with the via ferrata.”
“You don’t think they’re a sign that you should leave well enough alone?”
“I don’t believe in signs,” Ian said.
“Maybe you should,” Walt said. “The universe doesn’t look kindly on disturbing a grave.”
