Chapter 5 #2
“Have you had a chance to look over the outlines I sent for the web articles and podcasts?” Scott asked.
“I’m excited about how the pieces started to come together.
From the background research I’ve done, several of the locations I suggested haven’t come up in recent coverage, so they should be fresh for readers and listeners. ”
“You always do a good job coming up with topics,” Sam replied.
“Yes, I did read over everything. The old ski resort and defunct amusement parks are a perfect hook for the journal. And like I said in my email, Dr. Foster is interested in the mine piece and wanted to talk through how you’d deal with the politics of the old mine as he moves forward with that idea.
There’s some sensitivity about the history and the revitalization efforts. ”
“Did something come up about the articles? Someone raise a concern?” Scott had worked with academic and industry publications long enough to know they had their own strange politics.
“You can get more specifics from Dr. Foster, but market changes and new techniques have raised the possibility of reopening the big iron mine,” Sam said.
“You can certainly talk about the history. Iron from that mine was used in plenty of historic projects in the United States over the years. You just need to be careful not to bring up old information that might jeopardize new deals or set the mines in a bad light.”
“They’ll want me to avoid delving into the involvement of the Mob back in the day, and speculation that they never completely lost their involvement?” Scott had grown pretty good at guessing editorial concerns over the years. He didn’t even mention creatures and Mafia witches.
“I know historians love that sort of thing, and if the site was completely abandoned and had no future prospects and no legal owner, old scandals might add spice,” Sam said.
“But it’s a viable property with an active owner, and the clickbait isn’t worth the legal exposure for the university. Dr. Foster was pretty clear on that.”
Scott tried not to bristle at the term “clickbait,” even though he knew Sam meant it as shorthand for a salacious hook.
“After a century, some of that history is old news and no longer relevant,” Sam replied. “Whatever connections the original mine owners might have had to organized crime one hundred years ago don’t matter now.”
“I’m not trying to cause any trouble or get anyone sued. I’m just looking for a good draw,” Scott replied, knowing he had lost the argument.
“If the mine were a dead issue, it would be,” Sam agreed. “But there’s some big money involved along with investors, and reopening the mine means jobs for the area. They’re not going to like any negatives.”
“Not everyone is excited about the possibility,” Scott pointed out. “Jobs aside, even though iron is cleaner to mine than a lot of other things, there are still potential problems with pollution, habitat, waste generation, and worker safety.”
We should bite him, Scott’s coyote muttered loyally in his mind. And not in a sexy way.
“Fair enough,” Sam agreed. “There are probably others who would buy that investigative reporting. But I don’t think the university is interested.”
Scott knew when he was beat. “I hear you. I’ll keep the content neutral and focus on the upside and talk to Dr. Foster. I’m excited about the information I’ve found so far, and I’m already starting to get interviews lined up for the podcasts.”
“I think you can bring out a lot of good information without compromising your principles or getting the university in trouble with the mine owners,” Sam said.
“Thank you for being willing to talk through the issue. And I’m looking forward to working with you on the history of the parks and resorts. ”
They spent the rest of the time planning the key topics and release dates, and Scott shared the details he had for the podcasts that were already set up. By the end, Sam sounded enthusiastic, and Scott had mostly made peace with the tidbits he couldn’t cover.
In his mind, Scott pictured his coyote’s tail twitching with irritation, mirroring his own feelings about the call. These articles will be good, and I’ll do what Dr. Foster wants to keep the mine assignment. Still going to get paid, Scott pointed out.
Food is good, but I don’t like that guy, his coyote grumbled.
It occurred to Scott that the difference between investigative reporting and historical accounts lay in the elapsed time since the occurrence of the crime. And he really couldn’t blame Sam; he was just the messenger.
This is what I get for reading so many mysteries, Scott thought as he closed the video call screen.
He wasn’t quite ready to dig into the article, and a glance at the time told him Justin was probably flying. A new post from Fox Hollow caught Scott’s eye, and he clicked to open an announcement updating the area’s fall and winter activities.
Everyone assumed Albany had a lot going on because it was the state capital.
For being a relatively small city in population, the area made the most of its history and natural resources with an active calendar of public events all year long.
Scott had been happy to discover Fox Hollow also had enough civic involvement to sustain an impressive slate of fall and winter events.
Liam had already made it clear that whenever Scott decided to move to Fox Hollow, the library would love to collaborate with him on programs about local history, an offer Scott intended to accept.
Scott looked around his apartment, thinking about moving more important items with him on each visit. He started a new page of notes with columns labeled “sooner” and “later” to capture his thoughts and felt like he had made progress after filling a page.
He’s the one. Why wait? his coyote nudged. And while Scott agreed, he knew that the human world had some extra complications that his animal side didn’t factor in.
I don’t want to have to pay a penalty for breaking my lease, but I also don’t want to extend it if I’m not staying, Scott explained to his other half. It’s complicated.
That’s why we should spend more time being a coyote, his animal side replied.
Scott turned his attention back to the website for upcoming events. Justin had already asked him to visit over Halloween, a holiday Fox Hollow celebrated with gusto, and Scott had gone a step further, joining the Halloween planning committee.
Scott glanced at the schedule of live music, seasonal specials at restaurants, and a marathon of vintage spooky movies. The Lone Coyote also sponsored several local events, and its website featured plenty of pictures showcasing the store, the town, and a vibrant community social life.
Scott had his eye on the Halloween concert, something he hoped to go to with Justin. They shared a lot of the same favorite songs and bands. That kind of effortless compatibility was one more reason Scott felt certain that Justin was the right guy for him.
We need to run. Everything is better after a run, his coyote added.
Scott agreed. Going out in his fur was just what he needed to clear his mind, but he didn’t dare shift in the city. That was a certain way to end up in animal control, which would be messy.
He grabbed a jacket. The weather wouldn’t bother him as a coyote, but in human form, it was cold.
Scott’s backpack held essentials he would need when he got to where he would shift—a collar with all the right tags in case he got caught, a tracking tag, and a small pouch that fit on his collar to hold his car key.
The collar also signaled to any trigger-happy hunters that his coyote was “domesticated,” probably someone’s pet, and more trouble than it was worth to shoot.
Much as he wished he could add a small pouch to carry his cell phone, it was an odd addition for a “wild” animal without a human escort, one likely to raise too many questions.
Fortunately, he had found some abandoned farms not far from the city where he could run in the tree line without encountering many people.
He pulled into a lot, already itchy to make the change and feel the ground beneath his paws. Scott parked at the far end, near the woods, and used the car to screen him as he stripped down and made the change, chucking his phone and clothes onto the driver’s seat before locking up and shifting.
Oh yeah, his coyote cheered. Let’s go chase some squirrels!
Scott raised his head, scenting the air. He shook his body, a compact form of lean muscle and sinew, and his ears twitched. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched, although he didn’t see or scent anyone nearby.
Satisfied that he was alone, Scott trotted into the woods, then took off at full speed, running for the sheer enjoyment of the movement.
He knew this area well enough to have worked out some trails for himself and knew how to avoid places where he had spotted hikers.
The tree cover screened him from eagles, and nearby major roads decreased the occurrence of wolves, mountain lions, and bears, which were coyotes’ main predators aside from human hunters.
This is more like it, his other side sighed in contentment.
Scott cleared his mind of human thoughts, focusing on chasing the scent of mice and rabbits, then following deer tracks to a pond with good water to drink. His heart pounded, he drew in deep breaths of the cold air, and nothing mattered except the joy of the moment.
Eventually, he noticed the change in the light, indicating that it was time to go home. His runs always seemed too short. Still, even the brief outing had helped him let go of concerns and live in the moment.
He padded back to the car, careful to pause at the tree line to make sure there were no unexpected observers, then shifted and dressed quickly. The temperature had fallen by several degrees, which hadn’t bothered him in his fur, but bare skin noted the change.