Chapter 27

Later, Friday week, Hairy was in town to pick up his pickup ... and I related the events of the past week. Done, I looked at him.

“Good Lord, Karen. That’s the stuff of fiction.”

“There’s more.” I said.

A burned out car with a female body was found in the river. Three days later a wealthy ... exceedingly wealthy ... family lost their eldest son to an accident on the Red Grade Road above Big Horn. Rumor had it that he was so drugged up that neither he nor his high school buddy were in control when the vehicle sailed off the road.

(Careful examination of Google Maps reveal that RED GRADE road is much altered in the nearly half century since the events mentioned took place. Perhaps it was the loss of such an illustrious scion of a famous family that prompted the Forest Service to smooth out the wrinkles. My most recent Red Grade experience would have been 1978 when I was helping a church brother cut fence poles. Fully loaded and beyond, we coasted the last uphill grade and reached the crest, he stopped on the edge and looking down, I could see where the road finally straightened out ... it looked to be directly below and straight down. He said, “Is your soul right with God, brother?” I nodded. “Good,” he said. “I don’t have any brakes.” I didn’t have time to get out.)