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“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 enter
tain 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?”
“Oh, you’re definitely getting a restraining order,” Emerson said.
“Seek not to contend. Where there is no contention there is neither victory nor defeat,” Wayan Bagus offered.
“All this not contending is making me hungry,” Vernon said. “Being as this is Little Buddy’s first time in our nation’s capital, let’s show him the sights. Little Buddy, you ever touch a genuine moon rock?”
Emerson turned to Riley. “Every time Vernon visits Washington, D.C., he makes a pilgrimage to the National Air and Space Museum to get an ice cream sandwich at the cafeteria, touch a moon rock, and take a nap at the planetarium.”
“Yup,” Vernon said. “Planetarium naps are just about the best kind of naps there are.”
They walked along the National Mall, past the Washington Monument to the National Air and Space Museum. As soon as they were inside, Vernon made his way to the cafeteria, and Emerson, Riley, and Wayan Bagus headed for the second-floor exhibit halls.
It was late in the day, and the museum was emptying out. Some school groups and clumps of tourists were still wandering around, but the earlier crowds had disappeared.
Riley was drawn to the special World War II Aviation traveling exhibit. Emerson and Wayan Bagus’s interests took them elsewhere.
