Columbia Falls

By Stephen Bly and Janet Chester Bly

Co-authors Tony and Price Shadowbrook head for Columbia Falls, Montana, to spend the summer in the northern reaches of the scenic Flathead Valley near Glacier National Park. Their hopes for a quiet summer of writing are dashed the first day when a neighbor lady tearfully shares the mysterious circumstances surrounding her husband's death from a fall off a mountain trail. Some say he jumped. His wife claims he was pushed. The Shadowbrooks once again find themselves swept into adventure, excitement, and danger. But that isn't the only complication for the Shadowbrooks. They must also deal with the woman's son, a big fan of Tony's western novels, a young lady who seeks their assistance in launching her singing career, an unusual summer home that is a tourist attraction, and their agent, who is constantly working a new deal. All of this, combined with long-range parenting of adult children who have some surprising news, guarantee the Shadowbrooks another hectic, humorous, and sometimes hazardous summer. Meanwhile, their trust in God is strengthened, their faith is shared, and their love for each other is deepened.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bly Books
• Release date: Jul 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310828850

Stephen Bly

Stephen Bly (1944-2011) authored and co-authored with his wife, Janet Chester Bly, more than 100 books, both historical and contemporary fiction and nonfiction. He won the Christy Award in the category western novel for The Long Trail Home, from The Fortunes of the Black Hills Series. Other novels were Christy Award finalists: The Outlaw's Twin Sister, Picture Rock, and Last of the Texas Camp. His last novel, Stuart Brannon's Final Shot, finished with the help of his widow, Janet Chester Bly, and three sons--Russell, Michael, and Aaron--was a SELAH Award finalist. She just completed her first solo adult Indie novel, Wind in the Wires, Book 1, Trails of Reba Cahill.

Book preview

The Hidden West Series

Book 3

Columbia Falls

Stephen and Janet Bly

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Copyright©1998 by Stephen and Janet Bly

All rights reserved.

For a list of other books by Stephen and Janet Bly or other queries, contact:

Bly Books, P.O. Box 157, Winchester, Idaho 83555

http://www.BlyBooks.com

For Ray Lodien

and the whole gang

at Christian Book Supply

Chapter 1

A Look Back Through Our Files ...

—Twenty Years Ago—

June 10, 1977

World renowned big-game hunter, adventurer and author Trak Garett has completed construction on his massive log home south of Columbia Falls on the north bank of the Flathead River.

The flamboyant and affable Garett landed his personal jet at Glacier Park International Airport at 10:00 a.m. today, then rode horseback to the house. He was returning from a hunting trip in the snows of the Argentine Andes. The house, the only known log structure in the world shaped like a gigantic arrowhead, is destined to be a Flathead Valley landmark for decades to come.

The bright Montana sun straight above her, Price Shadowbrook inspected the massive logs of the building. She pushed her honey-tinted Solar Ray sunglasses to the top of her golden-brown hair. This is incredible, she said as she sneezed.

Didn’t I tell you this was one great house? Black cowboy hat pushed to the back of his head, Tony opened the tailgate of the leased Grand Cherokee.

That wasn’t exactly what I meant by incredible, she said, a bit dazed. Is that the garage?

Yeah, it forms the shaft of the arrow. You drive in one side and out the other to complete a loop. I suppose we’ll use the carport near the door most of the time. Isn’t this just the kind of lodging you’d expect from Trak Garett?

It does fit. Who else in the world would live in a gigantic arrowhead? Price meandered toward the huge, shaded windows and tried to peer in.

Wait until you see the inside, Tony called out. It’s pure drama.

Price sneezed again. She walked with care over the gravel in her thin-soled sandals to the rear of the silver sport utility rental. She surveyed the baggage for the medicine case. I know why you didn’t tell me much about this house before. No description would do it justice. Do we have to deal with tour groups? Tony shoved the Jeep keys into a front pocket of his blue jeans. Of course not. It’s a private dwelling and the owner’s not home.

Price pulled off her silver and gold left earring and massaged her lobe. I can’t believe the flyover.

Tony unsnapped the sleeves of his teal-green shirt and rolled them up. I thought that was a nice touch.

A nice touch? The pilot said every plane that lands at Glacier Park International circles over this house. We’re spending the summer in a tourist attraction. It will be like living in Graceland. She re-hooked her earring and grabbed a bottle of nose drops from her purse.

Tony pulled off his nonprescription sunglasses and tossed them in the front seat of the rig, then rubbed the bridge of his slightly crooked, slightly large nose. Come on, Dr. Shadowbrook. What can anyone see from an airplane?

I’m sure going to watch myself on the deck. She shaded her eyes and scanned the cloudless, light blue sky. She heard a delicate flutelike sound and a rush of wings. A yellow-breasted bird flew into a nearby ponderosa.

"Relax, Darlin’, I’m sure not every plane flies over this house. Tony began to unload the baggage. How do you like that carved wooden bear by the entrance?"

Price tried to brush a wrinkle from her teal denim skirt as she strolled toward the entrance. She sneezed again and pulled a tissue from her pocket. Bear? It’s as big as Godzilla.

Tony dragged two huge, wheeled Pullman suitcases to the tall, double front doors. Oh, come on, it’s not more than ten or twelve feet tall.

His name is Dillon. The young voice from behind startled them.

They turned and saw a teenage boy dressed in oversized jeans, tennies, and black Calgary Stampede t-shirt strolling up the gravel drive, his long arms dug deep in his low front pockets. He stopped at a distance and looked them over. His dark brown hair parted sharply in the middle and hung to the top of his eyes, but was shaved close on the sides.

I’m Mathu Eriksen, he announced. I live over there. He pointed through the tall, pale-green elm trees to a large home with a red tile roof. Mr. Garett and me call the big wooden bear Dillon. He says it reminds him of a Kodiak he shot in Alaska, only it’s smaller.

The Alaskan bear was smaller? Price asked.

Dillon’s smaller. Mr. Garett holds the record for shooting the largest bear in Alaska. Are you guys on the home tour?

Price whirled around to glare at Tony. What home tour?

Mathu scratched the back of his neck. Sometimes people come by to see Mr. Garett’s house.

Like who? Price felt a peaceful summer ambience fleeing.

Usually wildlife photographers, outdoors magazine editors, guys like that. I saw all your baggage and thought maybe you were going to photograph the trophies.

Price frowned. Why would anyone want to take pictures of trophies?

Mathu shoved his hands into his back pockets. Have you been inside yet?

Price surveyed his eyes, full of anticipation, yet the boy still held back. We just arrived.

This is probably the neatest house ever built in the entire world. Mathu bounced on his toes for emphasis.

Tony slammed the back of the Cherokee closed and picked up a load of bags and boxes. You see, Price, you are going to spend the summer in one of the world’s neatest houses.

She folded her arms across her chest. Then why do I feel a creeping apprehension?

Mathu stepped a foot closer. Spend the summer?

Price noticed the boy was her height.

Are you guys going to live here?

Tony dug through a burgundy leather briefcase, pulled out a key ring with a .338 Weatherby Magnum bullet and two keys attached, then unlocked the door. Trak Garett is a friend of mine. He’ll be gone until October, so he’s allowing us the use of his house.

That’s great, said Mathu. It will be fun to have neighbors. It’s half a mile to the nearest housing development. Over there. He waved his hand northwest. Are you a big game hunter like Mr. Garett?

No, I write books.

No fooling? I love to read. In fact, I read all the time. My mother thinks I read too much. Do you think a kid can read too many books?

Tony grinned at Price. You’d better ask my wife about that. She’s a professor of English at Arizona State University.

Price issued her theory. If your reading is an excuse to keep you from doing chores or homework or some other task, then I suppose you could be reading too much. But I’ve rarely known a teen who does.

What are your names? Mathu asked. Maybe I’ve read some of your books.

We’re the Shadowbrooks. I’m Tony. My wife is Price.

As in Anthony Shadowbrook?

Yes. I write ...

The boy jerked his hands from his pockets and leaned within touching distance. "You mean, like the Anthony Shadowbrook? River Breaks Series? Diablo Canyon? Afraid to Die! Nevada Payroll? The twelve-book Border Rangers? That Shadowbrook?"

Looks like you have a fan, Price noted.

Tony tapped the boy on the back. That’s me, partner. I see you’re familiar with my stuff.

Young Eriksen staggered to the wooden boardwalk that surrounded the log home and collapsed on his back, his arms and legs spread-eagled.

Price scurried to his side. Are you alright?

Mathu’s grin was as wide as his pimpled face. I think I’ve died and gone to heaven. Anthony Shadowbrook is my absolute favorite author of all time. I can’t believe this. I’ve read every book you ever wrote at least six times. He scrunched his eyes tight and slammed his hands over his face.

Price stood up and stretched. Maybe his mother’s right. He does read too much.

Tony shoved their belongings inside the door. I don’t know about that. I think the boy has chosen well.

Mathu suddenly sat up. Say, could you autograph my copies sometime?

Be happy to. Bring them over after we get settled in, Tony told him. I won’t even charge you.

Mathu brushed the hair out of his eyes. If it’s not too big a bother, could you come to my house? I have fifty-six of your Westerns. I’d have to cart them in a wagon.

At last count, Tony’s only published forty-four, Price reported.

I have a complete set of Border Rangers in the Spanish version, too. I’m taking Spanish at school and thought it would help me to practice.

Tony stretched a strong hand down and helped the boy to his feet. No problem, Partner.

Mathu searched both their faces. Do you know that you’re an answer to my prayers?

Price moved close to Tony and swung an arm around him. You prayed that Anthony Shadowbrook would move next door?

Not exactly. Mathu prowled over to the Cherokee, then spun around to face them. It’s just that this has been the most awful year of my entire life. I’ve been praying and praying that something good would happen. You’re it. You’re the good thing that God has provided.

You’ve had a pretty lousy year? Tony prompted.

Mathu gazed down at the tops of his scruffy sneakers. My dad was climbing a mountain in Glacier Park. He fell off and died.

Price touched her mouth. Oh, my!

I surely am sorry about your daddy, Tony said.

And not only that, some kids in school say that my dad jumped off that cliff on purpose. I’ve had a lot of fights this spring. But I didn’t tell my mom. It would crush her.

Tony pulled off his hat and rubbed the back of his neck. I can see you’ve had it rough.

Mathu’s face brightened. But it’s getting better. Anthony Shadowbrook right next door. I feel about as excited as when Thump McGuire was tied to a wagon wheel and thought he was going to die. Then he looked through the gun smoke and saw Jeb Tanner and the Slash-A outfit riding up to save him.

Thump McGuire? Price repeated.

"Border Rangers Series, Book Two, The Mesa Valley War, Chapter Six, right side of the page. Don’t you read your husband’s books?"

It’s been a while since I edited that one.

Mathu turned to Tony. You remember what Jeb says? Oh, man, of course you remember. You wrote the book.

Tony rolled his eyes, gently chewing on his tongue. Why don’t you do the honors, Mathu?

Jeb said, ‘The good Lord’s had mercy on me and sent angels in chaps strollin’ through the smoky clouds to deliver me.’ That’s the way I feel. I’ve been rescued from the pit. That’s me, Mr. Shadowbrook.

You can call me Tony, son. Your mom happen to be a nice lookin’, dark-haired lady who wears a University of Montana sweatshirt?

Mathu’s eyes widened. You know my mom?

Nope, but a lady of that description is coming this way through the trees.

Mathu scampered toward the woman. Mom, you’ll never believe this. He’s the author Anthony Shadowbrook. And they’re going to live in Trak’s house all summer. Is this totally, inconceivably, radically awesome or what?

Tony pulled off his cowboy hat. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.

Price held out her hand to the taller, younger woman. I’m the famous one’s wife.

The dark brunette’s permed hair, without bangs, brushed her shoulders. It was a perfect frame for her soft features—the fortyish face was friendly and open. "I’m Beth Eriksen, your

neighbor, at least for a few more weeks."

Do you plan to move? Price asked.

That depends on the bank. We don’t want to move. Well, there’s no reason to go into that.

Price gently touched her shoulder. Mathu mentioned his father’s death.

Yes, well, we haven’t had much time to adjust to it. Beth Eriksen slipped her arm around her son’s shoulders. Anyway, welcome to Columbia Falls and the prettiest stretch of river in the Flathead Valley. I hope you came here to write another book in your Hidden West Series.

Price laced her fingers together. You’re familiar with our co-authored project?

Shadowbrook is a household word in the Eriksen home. The bookstore has a standing order the moment any Shadowbrook book is received. They call us immediately, Beth reported.

I’m truly impressed, Price said.

"I really enjoyed Fox Island and Copper Hill. Were you really involved in proving the innocence of Victor Lucero concerning the death of Clayton Gilette?"

Price noticed Beth’s puffy, red eyes. Yes, we were. She handed the woman a tissue.

I’m sorry, most anything causes me to tear up these days. I also heard an interview with you on National Public Radio last month.

Price laughed. You know all about us, then.

I know you have two married sons and one grandbaby; I can’t remember if it was a girl or a boy.

Tony was quick on the draw. He’s our little Cooper.

And fraternal twin daughters, Beth continued. I don’t remember their age, but Mathu was disappointed they were too old for him.

Kit and Kathy are twenty now, Price said.

I hope Mathu isn’t being a pest. Next to Anthony Shadowbrook novels, I think he loves Trak’s house best. He’s always been fascinated with it. Trak has spoiled him, letting him wander in and out any time he wants. He is not allowed to do that while you’re living here.

Price stopped a sneeze with her hand. I have a feeling he and Tony will be telling River Breaks stories all summer.

Beth waved her arms toward the south. Have you gone out on the front deck yet?

Price grabbed her hand. Come with me and tell me about the river and this area. Mathu and Tony can lug our things into the house.

Is that alright, Mr. Shadowbrook? Beth queried.

Of course. But I promise not to call you Mrs. Eriksen if you promise not to call me Mr. Shadowbrook.

Fair enough. Meanwhile, I’ll show Price the view that will inspire all your Columbia Falls stories ... before she sees the rest.

The front of the house faced the Flathead River. The point of the arrowhead design was a deck, leaving a windowed wall reaching out to the mountainous Montana landscape. Beth and Price walked side by side on the covered boardwalk that sur-rounded the arrowhead-shaped log building. The ground beside the walk was covered with red crushed rock. Wildflowers littered the grounds, yellow cinquefoils and buttercups, white chickweed and phlox, as well as bushes adorned with red berries. Price looked up when she heard the intricate flutelike sounds again. A flock of sharp-billed, plump birds streaked with brown gazed back at her.

Meadowlarks, Beth reported, the western variety. They’re great. They consume insects in the summer and devour weed seeds in the fall. Of course, they don’t get them all. I love to listen to them. And you’ll have to watch for the rascal. She pointed to a large pine with a gaping hole in its side. There’s a female raccoon who likes to nest in there. But she’s shy. And she mainly comes out at night.

Young pines surrounded the yard, and an assortment of elms, cottonwoods and a few ponderosas blocked part of the river view. Across the river stretched a warp of mountain range. Natural grasses and brush spread the acreage between Garett’s home and the Eriksens’ with its multi-leveled tile roofs. They could barely see a streak of the old Red Bridge.

Price’s whole body sneezed this time. I seem to be reacting to something.

I’ll bet it’s that quack grass, Beth replied. I know some over-the-counter antihistamines that help. I’ll bring you some.

Quack grass? Is it legal?

Beth laughed. Oh, yes. It’s all over the area. It’s the flat, hairy leaves with long flower spikes. Tom Linden, one of James Talbott’s sons-in-law, gets credit for introducing the grass in the early days of Columbia Falls.

It is pretty, Price managed to say.

But it grows so fast and it’s hard to get rid of. It’s an ornamental to some. To others it’s a weed. Trak lets it grow. He doesn’t believe in yard work. Of course, he never had children who needed a playground, or a wife who wanted landscaping. But I like the natural vegetation and wildflowers for scenery.

It’s beautiful, Price admitted. And so is the river.

Isn’t it something? Crystal clear and ice cold year round. See that big mountain straight ahead?

Is that Columbia Mountain?

You’ve done some research already.

I know Teakettle Mountain is to the left, but that’s about all, Price said.

Each peak has a name. Mathu knows every one of them, a legacy from his father. Richard taught him how to recognize Teakettle, too. It’s not as discernible since the fire of 1910. You have to know where to look. Richard grew up here and spent his life climbing in Glacier Park. He knew every mountain, valley, crevice and grizzly in the park. It relaxed him. How ironic that he died there.

Mathu mentioned a fall.

He didn’t fall.

What?

He was pushed.

Oh, no, Price gasped.

I’m sure of it. But don’t tell Mathu. I don’t want him to know until I can prove it.

What do the police say?

Park rangers consider it an accident. But Richard was a veteran. He didn’t take chances. There’s no way he would fall.

You seem so certain.

That’s not the half of it. Beth Eriksen leaned against the railing. "I don’t