Pacnwgirl

By Maribeth Baltutat

Chloe Jasperson was raised around hunting in the stunning, timbered Bitterroot Mountains of Montana. Her father instilled in her the reality that hunting is beneficial to the wildlife, as it thins out the population and keeps disease at bay. She relocates to Seattle, Washington, after graduating from the University of Montana, and acquires a position with a world renowned magazine as a gifted staff photographer. Initially she is introduced to the seedy world of prostitution on the SeaTac, where she begins to view prostitutes as the victims and the johns as the enablers of this centuries old profession. The Green River Killer once stalked this bustling underworld near the Seattle’s airport.
When Chloe is requested to team up with the famous freelance writer, Kelvan Teague, she is exposed to an entirely different way of life than she knew from her sheltered childhood. The handsome writer teaches her the ropes in hurricane ravished New Orleans post Katrina, where she witnesses such devastation that television news could never impact her in the way that walking the neighborhoods, speaking with the people and capturing the damage through her own camera lens does. Chloe also watches as the professional, diamond hard crust of Kelvan Teague begins to crack, when she sees him wrestling with his Louisiana nephews on the front lawn of his sister’s home. It becomes apparent to Kelvan that the New Orleans assignment has left Chloe shell shocked and depressed, so he arranges a clandestine retreat that will surely restore her usual vibrant and high spirited personality.
Kelvan is so impressed with this vibrant, talented, yet emotionally sensitive new photographer, that he convinces Life and Lens to allow him to sweep her away to Zambia in Africa, while he researches the people and their daily life challenges. Chloe soon transitions into a seemingly less vulnerable and much more seasoned photographer, as Kelvan had believed she would. She learns to interact with the children in such a way as to capture detailed photos, dresses as a slouching teenage boy to avoid attention on the rough streets and supplies him with valuable insight for his story. Upon their arrival back in Seattle, Kelvan’s enlightening story and Chloe’s true to life photographs, bring much praise and attention not only within the United States, but abroad as well.
The battle within each of them as professionals to keep their ever tempting attraction for each other at bay is lost when they travel to Bangor, Maine to visit Kelvan’s mother. Something about a mother’s love for her son, snowmobile picnics in the mountains and a refreshing New England winter weakens their resolve. But, time and distance has a way of splashing, just enough cold water on the flame, to make it flicker. Kelvan has a manuscript to complete in his home office in Bangor and Chloe has a blossoming career to nourish back in Seattle. Chloe is offered an intriguing assignment in Tokyo, Japan. It will be her first overseas assignment, as a freelance photographer, with no ties to Life and Lens or the ever sought after Kelvan Teague. This was the perfect opportunity to prove that she truly does have talent in her own right.
In Tokyo, Chloe’s talent as a photographer and her undercover skills, are sharpened to perfection when dealing with the terrifying issue of human trafficking. Frequenting bars of ill repute with her Los Angeles writer and the willing sister of a missing teenage girl, she enhances her skills as an actress, a detective and a master manipulator.
Chloe is well on her way to becoming her own desired commodity when she teams up with Kelvan Teague once again. He offers her a business mixed with pleasure trip to Rome, Italy. Together they make the ideal freelance team of writer and photographer eventually travelling to any country that strikes their interests. Chloe leaves each assignment with the peace of mind that she was able to make the herd a bit healthier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maribeth Baltutat
• Release date: Jun 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310449819

Book preview

PACNWGIRL

Maribeth Baltutat

Copyright 2008 - Maribeth Baltutat

PACNWGIRL

Maribeth Baltutat

Prologue

Faded and scarred, the last of the survivors finally released their grip of the ancient maple’s branches, as a mighty gust of wind proved too much. The leaves danced along on the current, until being haphazardly plastered across the picture window of the rustic house, eventually falling to the ground.

The old woman sat on the porch, her thin housecoat billowing around her small frame; she was oblivious to the chill in the air. The laugh lines near her glossy green eyes deepened as she watched a pair of sleek blue-black ravens dive bomb her cat. The threesome had been playing together for years. The cat would prowl through the deep vegetation like a crocodile eyeing unsuspecting prey, then pounce toward the birds, as if they were not watching his every move the entire time. The ravens would hop several feet into the air landing seductively just out of his reach.

A shrill whistle mysteriously sounded prompting the old woman to search the branches of the maple and those of the majestic tamaracks standing guard around her sixty-acre property. Aside from the ravens she saw no other birds, she dismissed the sound as something caught her eye. She stood and padded over to the tree in her hand-knit slippers. She ran her frail hand over the trunk. She and her brother had carved their initials in the tree as children and in later years had added those of their spouses… so long ago.

She closed her eyes and smiled in reflection. The demanding whistle invaded her thoughts once again, as suddenly she spun around and trotted through the open front door directly to the stove, leaving dirty prints on her polished hardwood floor.

Oh my, the tea kettle, she exclaimed as she reached for a hot pad, rescued the kettle and turned off the burner as the relentless screaming mercifully subsided. She placed a teacup on the kitchen table, set a bag of green tea into the cup and poured what remained of the steaming, roiling liquid.

The phone began to ring just as she was setting the tea kettle back on the stove. It was her daughter from back East. How are you, mom? You sound out of breath. Is everything alright?

I’m fine sweetie, just came in from outside. How are you and the family?

We’re all doing great. Shana has a new boyfriend she met in one of her college courses and her brothers are still trying to get her to set them up with her college friends. She can’t seem to convince them that college women want absolutely nothing to do with high school boys.

Well, soon enough they will be in college themselves and have an entire campus of females to choose from, said the old woman.

So true. So, when is Heidi expected out today?

Oh, she should be here any minute now. We are going for a hike up behind the house so I can take photos of what’s left of the fall colors. I’m hoping to see the moose calf that we saw last time we went up there, but it was later in the evening when we saw him before.

Please don’t be gone too long and tire yourself out Mom. I assume you are taking the baby goats with you? the daughter asked. Although the baby goats were nearly six years old now, her mother never got over calling them babies, since she bottle fed them as kids.

But of course! Heidi gets such a kick out of them bounding down the trail and butting heads with each other. Did I tell you she is considering getting a couple of Alpine goats for her children?

Seriously? Well, I’m sure you did quite the sales job on her. You have always adored goats above all animals.

That I have, the old woman giggled. Honey, I think I hear Heidi coming up the driveway, so I better get off the phone. Send my love to Derrick and the kids, alright?

Will do, Mom. Take care of yourself. I love you!

Heidi, the personal care aide hired by the children of the old woman, tapped on the door just as the old woman approached. They said their hellos and the old woman excused herself to go dress in her winter clothing in preparation for their hike. Heidi slowly walked around the kitchen with her eyes scanning the inside of cupboards, the pantry and the refrigerator. As suspected, she located an iron on the middle shelf of the refrigerator sitting between the grapefruit juice bottle and the milk carton. She took the iron out of the refrigerator and set it on the kitchen table. She looked at the stove top and found fresh smoke shadows surrounding the burner ring, a sure sign that burners were being forgotten. Heidi nodded her head, a mournful look developed upon her face.

I’m ready when you are. The old woman announced as she came out of the bedroom appropriately dressed for the weather. There had been times, more recently, that the old woman would appear in a summer outfit or mismatched boots and Heidi would have to subtly suggest other clothing options. The old woman was always sweet and never argued. She would merely giggle to herself and say, Silly me, in a small embarrassed voice.

They opened the gate to the corral and the goats sprang up the draw, gathering mouthfuls of vegetation as they moved along. The old woman took the lens cap off of her camera and focused on anything that caught her eye. By the time the hike was over, she had taken close to three hundred shots. After the hike and the animals were put away, Heidi prepared dinner, helped straighten the house and fold some laundry, then they said their good-byes. Heidi did not have cell phone service until she had driven nearly fifteen miles from the house, but once she did, she stopped her car at a fishing access point and dialed the old woman’s daughter.

Hello, this is Heidi. I’m calling about your mother, she said with hesitation.

Hi, Heidi. How was your hike with mom? Did she have a good time?

As always, she enjoys the outdoors so much. Give her the goats and her camera and she is in seventh heaven! She paused, took a deep breath, and went on, but the reason for my call is….well….her Alzheimer’s has become worse. Today I found the iron in the refrigerator, signs that the burner is not being turned off when it should and other items are being put in unusual places. I’m no nurse, but I do feel that she needs round the clock care now.

There was silence at the other end of the line, then a heavy sigh as if the daughter’s breath had been being held. Thank you for your honesty Heidi. Does the agency provide live-in aides? she asked.

Unfortunately, they don’t, in fact with college back in session it’s getting more difficult to find even part-time aides. I will do some checking around and see if I can find anyone interested in a live in situation on a temporary basis. That will buy you and your brothers’ time to decide what you feel is best.

Yes. I’ll give them a call and discuss our options. My mother has always hated the idea of a retirement community, but with all of us living so far away from her, I don’t know what the alternative would be.

I can send you some links of the better communities around Missoula. Some are very luxurious, although expensive.

Thank God my father and mother had such lucrative careers throughout their lives. Money is not going to be a factor. But, it is going to be very, very difficult to convince my mother to leave her childhood home. Not only that, but she always jokingly told us that she would never go to a retirement home, but would want to walk the spirit world as the Eskimos and Indians did when they became a burden on their people.

Wow, that’s certainly a romantic way to look at the end of life isn’t it? remarked Heidi.

It is, and I have the same beliefs as my mother, but my brothers do not. They love her dearly, but instead of realizing that her wish is to merely end her days in the forest, which is heaven to her, they only see her starving, freezing and being eaten by wild animals.

I’m sure you all will get it solved and your mother will be very happy. Please give me a call and let me know if there is anything that I can help you with. I will let you know what I find as far as a temporary live-in aide. In the meantime, I can certainly spend more time out here if you don’t mind me bringing my kids along.

Not at all! My mother loves your children. Thank you, Heidi.

Heidi thoughtfully shut her cell phone, restarted her engine and headed back toward Missoula.

The daughter immediately got on the phone with her brothers and explained the need to come together and determine what was best for their mother. As expected, the vote was two to one that a nice luxury retirement community was to be found, and quickly. The daughter realized that she was betraying her mother’s wishes, but allowing her to merely walk alone into the spirit world was simply not a realistic option.

The following day, the old woman answered the phone in her bedroom as she was putting on her overalls to go visit the animals outside. It was one of her sons from the Oregon coast.

Initially the conversation went well; she telling about her life and he about his. But, partway through the conversation she began to feel as if there was something he was not sharing with her. Then when he sprung it on her that his brother and sister were going to be taking the following weekend off to come and visit, she knew they were up to something. She had heard partial conversations that Heidi had been having on and off when her daughter and sons would call lately, but Heidi kept her voice very quiet and her conversations brief before handing the phone over. Something was up, and she was far too intelligent of a woman to not know what they were all taking the time from their busy lives to discuss with her. The old woman had to act fast.

Drifting through the fog like a phantom, the chartered Cessna landed at Revelstoke Airport in British Columbia. The old woman handed the pilot $1000 in cash and walked briskly away with her small overnight case. She and her late husband had acquired numerous reliable contacts around the world over the past decades and this pilot, as well as the bush pilot awaiting her at the far end of the Revelstoke terminal to escort her to his seaplane, were there for the asking. Both had been versed on the need for secrecy and the extra cash assured it.

Within the hour, the seaplane located the well-hidden lake and deposited its secret passenger. The old woman stood on the dock with her overnight case watching as the seaplane gently lifted from the glassy surface. Once the plane was a mere speck amongst the dark gray clouds, she turned toward the cabin she had not visited in nearly fifteen years. The key was still hidden under a rusty Folgers coffee can packed with rocks. It had been used for decades to hold the screen door ajar.

She wriggled the key in the lock and after a few firm tugs the knob turned. She set to work starting a fire in the stone fireplace, washing a bowl and utensils with fresh creek water and emptying some canned soup into the cast iron kettle hanging over the flame. When she had finished with her soup, she sat in a cozy worn leather recliner wrapped herself in a quilt and sipped some well seasoned brandy she had discovered stored in the kitchen cupboard. She fell asleep reminiscing about the past and coming to terms with thoughts of her near future.

Morning arrived with roaring peals of thunder to the north of the cabin, but no rain was to be seen. The old woman stepped from the cabin and removed the Folgers can allowing the warped screen door to slam back into place. She was wearing her dead husband’s over-sized black and white checkered flannel shirt over a pair of grey sweat pants, worn hiking boots, and had the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She took one last look at the peaceful lake and beyond to her home and family, turned to the north and began her final journey.

The deep forest seemed to beckon to her, smelling of the comforting scents of pine needles and moist soil. The storm to the north was gradually shifting to the south. The trees began restlessly dancing about, tossing their pinecones to the quiet floor below. Small animals scampered for cover in their burrows in anticipation of the approaching weather. The old woman walked for hours, pausing every now and then to sip some water from a water bottle or take a few bites of a granola bar. The chill snuck in under her quilt and clothing, as if retreating from the storm in its own way. The old woman did not mind. She adored the forest and was fully aware of what was to come….or was she?

The forest darkened as the day retired. The old woman could no longer see well enough to walk on her own. As she began to search for a spot to settle for the night, a man appeared from behind a tall charred snag, perhaps twenty feet ahead of her. His face was warm and compassionate; he wore the collar of a priest. He held out his hand to the old woman and she calmly walked toward him and placed her delicate cold hand in his. Together they walked in the waning light.

The priest looked down into the old woman’s eyes and spoke. You only did what your soul asked of you. He led her to a cluster of fallen trees and guided her to a huge hollowed out log for shelter. He then walked away as the noose swung like a pendulum from his neck down the length of his back.

The old woman settled into the decayed wooden bed, pulling the quilt tightly about her shivering body. She dozed for a bit until awoken by a lightning strike partway up a surrounding mountainside. She noticed the benign figures of three men of Asian descent standing guard several yards away, felt comforted by their protection, and fell into a peaceful slumber.

Several hours had passed when she awoke to the sound of heavy raindrops and a woman with a mane of stark black hair dressed in an ivory colored full-length silk robe kneeling beside her, as she held a large leaf over the old woman’s head to shield her from the rain. The old woman placed her thin wrinkled hand flat against the side of the woman’s severely scarred cheek, running her fingertips caressingly along the rough melted surface. The rain abated and the woman, a warm smile upon her face, tilted her head to the old woman and stepped back into the forest.

At the break of dawn the old woman crawled out of her shelter, shook the soft bark out of her quilt, wrapped it around herself and sat on a boulder to drink water. She then continued her journey.

She was beginning to realize how weak she was becoming from lack of food and warmth. Her environment appeared blurry, as if she were taking a glorious stroll through a brilliant watercolor forest. Snowflakes began swimming in the brisk air, coming to rest upon the forest floor. The blanket of snow beginning to muffle the chattering squirrels, chirping birds and snapping twigs.

A chubby, ruddy-faced man in a white tailored suit appeared, offering his pudgy hand to her as she maneuvered up a steep section of slippery shale. The front of his white suit seemingly smeared with a sticky wet crimson substance, but the old woman’s vision was worsening, surely it must have been her imagination playing tricks on her. He bowed to her as if she were royalty once she was safely off the face of the dangerous slope, crested the ridge and disappeared from her sight.

The view from the top of the ridge was spectacular, a marvelous painting full of multiple shades of greens, reds, yellows and oranges, steep cliffs and serrated mountain peaks. Alpine lakes were nestled into the landscape like hidden luminous trinkets. As she stood marveling at what appeared to her to be the top of the world, a tall handsome elderly gentleman came up from behind her and wrapped his strong, loving arms around her. She closed her eyes and leaned back into his familiarly warm body as he whispered, Welcome home my love.

Autumn

The brisk autumn Montana morning brought a frosty crystal blanket to rest upon the peaceful canyon. Chloe scrambled up the trailer and perched herself on her daddy’s camouflaged four-wheeler, while she watched him gather his hunting gear. Although her father went through the same ritual each November, this year Chloe found her father’s activities far more intriguing than the cartoons her mother put on the television while she prepared breakfast.

Thoughtfully, Chloe ran her fingers over the top of the canvas, army green pack, strapped at the front of the four-wheeler. Daddy, don’t you feel sad shooting an elk? I mean, what if he has a daughter like you have me?

Jake glanced up at his slightly plump, curly auburn haired little girl. He had answered a similar question just two seasons ago when he took his son Travis hunting for the first time. Boys and girls had different ways of viewing things; he would have to choose his words carefully. He looked into her bright, expectant, green eyes and explained as best he could, The daddy elk - bulls, usually don’t stay with the mommy elk - cows, or the young calves. The bulls will either live by themselves or sometimes travel with other males. Jake paused while Chloe mulled this over. He continued, People who study animals have found that if deer and elk didn’t have predators like hunters, wolves and mountain lions, they would overpopulate and die of disease or starvation.

What is overpopulate? inquired Chloe.

Jake smiled, It means there would be too many animals for the land to feed.

Chloe shifted a bit on the machine beneath her. Sorta like if you and mommy had ten kids instead of just Trav and me? You would overpopulate the house?

Jake gave a small laugh, Yeah, but somehow I don’t think Montana is going to begin issuing kid tags. He shook his head and began to load his gear into the truck. He continued, You know Chloe, at one time it had been decided to take all of the wild wolves out of Yellowstone National Park. It didn’t take very long to discover what a huge mistake it was messing with nature like that. The deer and elk in the park grew in far too high of numbers. The wolves were brought back to help thin the herd.

I understand, like when mom works in her garden, she pulls the yucky weeds out, so the vegetables have more room to grow. Weeding a garden is like thinning a herd! Chloe announced, as if a light bulb had illuminated in her young mind.

Chapter One

Mom, dad, I landed it! Chloe’s voice carried her excitement over the phone line from Seattle’s world renowned magazine Life and Lens. Chloe’s innate ability to capture the soul in her subjects’ eyes won her a position as the photo editor’s gofer after she graduated from the University of Montana three years ago. Her degree in photography opened the door, but hard work and determination earned her the magazine’s respect. My first assignment will be shadowing one of our top writers as he interviews women along the SeaTac strip.

Chloe’s mother Meg shuddered, But that’s a really seedy part of the city isn’t it? What is this story about honey?

Oh mom, a great photographer can’t capture real life images from an ivory tower. Noah’s words and my photos together will tell the world stories that need to be told.

So these are prostitutes you are speaking with? Jake intoned.

Yes Dad, but Noah’s doing all of the talking. I just concentrate on the subjects’ expressions and mannerisms. Unfortunately, with the line of work these girls are in, none of my shots can be straight on. I doubt any of these girls want to be recognized by pimps, cops or family members. That is if they even have family.

Meg persisted, How dangerous is this Chloe? This really scares me! We’re both so very proud of you, and don’t mean to take your excitement away, but can’t you photograph athletes, politicians or musicians? Seattle is full of fascinating people.

Jake intervened on his daughter’s behalf, Meg, sweetie, Chloe’s an artist. If everyone dictated what the artist paints, we would never see things through his or her eyes.

Chloe added, Mom I promise to be careful and I will stay with Noah at all times. These are prostitutes, not violent offenders. Chloe finished the conversation with her parents, after assuring them that this assignment would open more doors for her professional career. Life and Lens sent writers and photographers all over the globe. Just imagine a small country bumpkin, raised in Slate Cliff, Montana, having the opportunity to become an international photographer! Seattle was merely the first step on her spiral staircase leading to adventures she could only imagine.

That Friday Noah picked Chloe up at her duplex and together they drove south to the SeaTac area. The Seattle evening was clear and fresh after one of Seattle’s notorious rain showers. Cars trolled up and down the crowded strip. It did not take out-of-state visitors in their airport rental cars long to realize that this was not where they would find the classier hotels to spend the night. This was, after all, the Green River Killer’s old stomping ground.

Noah felt the only way to actually capture the feel for this piece was to place himself in the same surroundings as that of the prostitutes. To spend a few hours on the streets, just to top off the night with a hot shower cozily ensconced in his fifth floor Bellevue condo, would not enable him to get a real flavor of their daily lives. Therefore he rented a room with two double beds directly in the heart of the action.

Chloe cautiously set down her camera gear and duffle bag. The latter had enough clothing inside to last the three nights it would take Noah to do his research. She used the tips of her fingers, as if holding a soiled diaper, and pulled the hotel bed sheets back to check for cleanliness. Although dingy and stained, they did have the overpowering scent of commercial laundry detergent.

Noah chuckled, What’d ya think, that all writers and photographers got to stay tucked safely away in Five Star hotels? That’s only for the television reporters with laptops in one hand and their make-up bag in the other. The true down and dirty pros get bed bugs, lice and dysentery many times throughout their career.

Chloe scrunched her face and replied, Until I become that seasoned pro, I would prefer to do preemptory critter checks if you don’t mind.

But I thought you were Montana born and raised? Since when do bugs get to you?

Chloe gave him a sideways grin, In Montana, I know where my bugs have been. Bear scat, moose and elk droppings, natural things like that, but only God knows where these hotel bugs have traveled!

Noah’s eyes widened along with his grin, Are you saying country bugs are cleaner than city bugs?

But of course! That’s a given, Chloe paused, Well unless there’s a mutilated carcass nearby or some hunter failed to bring his poop shovel along. Chloe could not determine whether Noah knew she was half teasing or not. What she did know is that this light banter helped calm her shaky nerves.

Once they were settled in their room, Noah pulled out a bottle of brandy and splashed some into a couple of plastic hotel cups he had unwrapped. He had been a writer for Life and Lens going on five years now, yet he still had the butterflies that he knew Chloe must be feeling as well. He handed her a brandy and began to teach her how to dress in drab, non-attention grabbing clothing, and to maintain relaxed, non-judgmental body language at all times. He, of course, would be doing all of the talking and Chloe would use her training and experience to dictate the most compelling shots. Noah’s calm professional demeanor, along with the warmth of the brandy upon her senses, assisted in relaxing Chloe. Soon she was ready to breach the threshold of her safe haven and enter into the shady world of Seattle’s nightlife.

Once the sun had finally settled behind the Olympic mountain range, they walked out on the street. Initially the prostitutes that Noah approached appeared brazen and hollow-eyed. Perhaps that was how Chloe wanted to see them. It made it easier for her not to humanize them, but after three nights on the streets and dozens of photographs, Chloe learned to see the frightened young girls beneath the tough facades. The stories that Noah was able to drag out of these girls were both enlightening and heartbreaking at the same time. Chloe’s pictures spoke the words that could not be spoken. The vast majority of these girls did not choose to be on the streets. Most were from sexually, if not physically abusive homes. Many were drug addicted, which was their only means of escaping reality. What bothered Chloe the most was how society saw these girls as undesirables, yet seldom focused on the enablers to this wretched part of humanity, the men. Without the sexually abusive fathers, uncles, brothers, pimps to control and threaten, without the sexually deviant lower, middle and upper class Johns, there would be no prostitution.

Chloe knew she was powerless to change a part of society that had been around since before biblical times. She could only hope Noah’s depiction of life on the streets, and her own artistic impressions, would have an impact on some men. Perhaps they would think further beyond their ever-thriving nature of self-gratification. Rather than Will my wife catch me? or achieving a temporary sex fix, could men learn from the magazine spread? Would they question, Why is ‘Amy’ letting men use her like this? Does she have a child? How often does her pimp beat the crap out of her because she didn’t lie with enough men like me? Chloe let out a deep sigh, wiped away a tear, latched her camera bag and followed Noah down the hotel hallway that reeked of stale alcohol, cigarettes, cheap perfume and urine.

Within a couple of weeks the spread was finally published. Chloe squirreled away several copies of the issue to forward to her family and friends. She had been with the magazine long enough to realize that not all of her precious photos passed muster once the editing was over, but all in all, she was content with what went to press.

Chapter Two

The winter slowly metamorphosed into spring, flowers bloomed and cherry trees blossomed. The daffodil yellow seaplane gently glided across the small alpine lake, discretely nestled within the Purcell Mountains of British Columbia. Kelvan would fly up to his primitive cabin every spring, both to escape city life and to contemplate where his next adventure would take place. He was a freelance writer who wrote articles for several popular magazines, Life and Lens being one of the largest.

After taxiing the plane