EMERSON EMPTIED THE CONTENTS OF HIS knapsack onto the table at the Organic Kitchen, a local health food restaurant halfway between George Mason University and Washington, D.C. There were two books about volcanoes, including Plumes: A Journey, three manila folders labeled “Yellowstone,” “Crater Lake,” and “Hawaii Volcanoes National Park,” a yellow notepad, and a replica of Dumbledore’s magic wand from the Wizarding World of Harry Potter.
Riley set her Succulent Summer Smoothie aside, picked up the magic wand, and waved it at Emerson. “Does this work?”
“It reminds me that magic is all around us,” Emerson said. “All you have to do is believe.”
“Believe in what?”
“It doesn’t matter. Santa Claus. The power to cloud someone’s mind. Love.”
“I guess I’d like to believe in those things too,” Riley said.
Emerson looked across the table at Wayan Bagus, who was sipping on a cucumber and kale smoothie and watching Revenge of the Nerds on his iPad. “Wayan once told me that the moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease to be able to do it forever.”
“No second chances?”
“Take Peter Pan, for instance.”
Riley raised a single eyebrow.
“He had some good times on that island,” Emerson said. “Fighting pirates. Rescuing Indian princesses. Spending time with the mermaids. Good times. Good times.”
“All because he believed?”
“Exactly.”
“Maybe he just had an overactive imagination and was delusional.”
“Nevertheless, he could fly. Peter Pan, Tinker Bell, Rudolph. All excellent flyers.”
She couldn’t dispute it. They were all excellent flyers. And there was something oddly compelling about a man who, in a time of cynics and doubters, embraced the value of believing.
“What’s the next step?” Riley asked Emerson.
“Flying-wise?”
“Mantle-plume-wise.”
Emerson passed one of the manila folders over to her. “This is the file on a newlywed couple who disappeared without a trace in Yellowstone one month ago. They were staying at the Old Faithful Inn and went out to do some backcountry hiking. Search and Rescue looked for them for weeks. The bodies were never found. The Park Service speculates they fell into a hot spring and were boiled alive. Officially, it’s a closed case.”
“But you don’t think it was an accident.”
“They were experienced hikers,” Emerson said. “Worked as mountain guides in Colorado during the summer and backcountry ski instructors during the winter. No, I don’t think it was an accident.”
“What’s in the Crater Lake file?”
Emerson opened the folder. “Zachary, Taylor, and Adam Brolowski. Brothers. Have a popular YouTube channel where they stream themselves doing all manner of extreme sports. Call themselves the Bro Brothers.”
“And they’re missing too?”
“Dead. At least, Taylor and Adam. Taylor was killed during a deep dive into Crater Lake two weeks ago. Adam was killed in a car crash one week later. Zak told his parents he was going hiking in Three Sisters Wilderness three or four days ago and hasn’t been heard from since.”
“And you think they were murdered?” Riley asked.
“Three brothers die or go missing within weeks of each other in separate incidents. And, it all happens in one of our death parks.”
“You said yourself they were into extreme sports. It could be just coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Emerson said. “I do believe in conspiracies.”
Wayan Bagus looked up from the iPad, having heard something that interested him more than the Nerds getting revenge on the Jocks.
“How we explain coincidences depends on how we see the world. Is everything connected or do things merely co-occur? It’s all in how you think.”
“Well, what do you think?” Riley asked.
Wayan Bagus went back to watching the movie. “I am one with the universe. So are the Nerds. And so are the Jocks. The Nerds will never know the Jocks’ world and the Jocks will never know the Nerds’. And yet, we are all connected by the Tao, Nerds and Jocks alike.”
“In-ter-est-ing,” Riley said, and she turned back to Emerson. “What about Hawaii Volcanoes National Park?”
Emerson tapped the folder labeled “Hawaii.” “I think this one is the key. Half a dozen missing persons or deaths in the past three years. The local police just found a mutilated body near one of the volcano’s vents, Puu Oo, on the east side of Kilauea. He was chopped to pieces.”
“And you think Yellowstone, Crater Lake, and Hawaii Volcanoes National Park are all connected to the missing island?”
Emerson put the files back into his knapsack. “It is a statistical impossibility for all of this to be random. It might be explained by many things, but my favorite explanation is that these are not accidents, but murders. More importantly, I believe these murders are being committed by one person or group of people for some purpose we do not yet know. The same person or persons who stole Wayan Bagus’s island.”
Riley was willing to entertain the possibility that at least some, if not all, of the murders were the work of one person. Emerson lost her on the island connection.
“Our next stop on the day’s agenda is the United States Park Police,” Emerson said. “Everyone drink up.”
Riley, Vernon, Wayan Bagus, and Emerson stood outside the massive gray stone fortress with DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR chiseled above the entrance. They walked through the middle of five doors and made their way to the U.S. Park Police Office.
On their way, Vernon read from a tourist brochure he’d picked up from the information kiosk. “The U.S. Park Police was founded in 1791 by George Washington and is one of the oldest uniformed federal law enforcement agencies in the United States. The U.S. Park Police shares law enforcement jurisdiction in all lands administered by the National Park Service with a force of National Park Service Rangers. The Park Police is a unit of the National Park Service, which is a bureau of the Department of the Interior.”
Riley paused at the large glass door leading to the Park Police offices. “We’re going to look like a bunch of crazies announcing to the police that we’ve uncovered some conspiracy to murder tourists at national parks.”
Emerson pushed the door open and motioned everyone through. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “Three things cannot be long hidden. The sun, the moon, and the truth. And if we were to add a fourth thing it would be missing islands.” He approached the police sergeant manning the front desk. “We’re here to report a murder.”
Wayan Bagus nodded. “Also a stolen island.”
“And, I’d like to talk with someone here about the government’s war on coal,” Vernon added. “America!”
Five minutes later they were escorted out of the building by two uniformed police officers.
“In retrospect, I suppose it probably wasn’t the best idea for a monk, a blogger, a known conspiracy theorist, and his amanuensis to march into a police station,” Emerson said.
Riley was taking deep, calming breaths. Thank goodness she didn’t see any reporters hanging out because if this got into the papers she would be a complete laughingstock in the legal community. She would be working for this nutcase forever, because no one else would ever hire her.
“You think?” she said to Emerson.
“On the positive side, we made our concerns known.”
Riley stared at him incredulously. “They threatened to get a restraining order against all of us!”
Emerson shook his head and smiled. “I’m rich. You have to do a lot more than that to get a restraining order when you’re rich. Wayan Bagus is just a harmless little monk, and Vernon gets a restraining order at least once a week.”
Vernon waved his hand dismissively and blew a raspberry. “Restraining order, shmestraining order.”
“So, there you have it,” Emerson said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Riley stuck her thumb at herself. “What about me?”