“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
The man came around the hood and stood next to his wife, breathing heavily.
“I’m Dan Cashmore,” he began, his voice rising. Catching himself, he found a lower register and continued. “We were setting out lunch on the deck, going in and out of the house. Lena wanted to eat outside so she could get a picture?—”
“He must have come from the woods,” interrupted Lena. “We left the sliding doors open all morning because we were trying to let out abatthat flew in last night.”
Dan chuckled awkwardly. “The trees come right up to the deck, which is one of the reasons we chose this place, but the listing didn’t say anything about bats coming into the house, let alone bears. I was bringing out the salad when I saw him. Then he decided to come inside, so we ran out here.”
“There is abearin ourhouse,” said Lena. “Abear.”
While they were talking, Jordan sidled closer to the house, climbed the steps, and looked inside. Down a short hall, the place opened up into a great room lined by tall windows that offered stunning forest views. A medium-sized black bear was standing on two hind legs at the kitchen island, snout deep in an impressive slab of smoked salmon.
“Now get him out, please,” said Lena behind him, sounding like a guest who had discovered a stain on her sheets at a five-star hotel.
Jordan led them back to the driveway before answering. “You said the deck doors are open, too? I’ll wait with you until the bear leaves and then you can close up the house.”
“Can’t you shoot it?” asked Dan, a little too eagerly.
“Not unless it’s necessary for our protection. If it comes out on this side, I recommend you climb inside your car for safety.”
Lena looked like she was thinking about asking to speak with Jordan’s supervisor. “Well, can’t you at least call animal services?”
“They’re pretty much limited to dogs and cats. If he comes back enough times to become a nuisance, you can file a report with Fish and Wildlife, and they’ll see if he needs to be relocated. But black bears usually aren’t dangerous unless they feel threatened.”
“But what if it chews up our stuff?” Lena persisted. “The food I can deal with, but I have an open suitcase in there with two thousand dollars’ worth of new outdoor clothing inside. Not to mention all of Dan’s electronics.”
“Look, this won’t be likeGoldilocks and the Three Bears. The bear might eat your lunch, but it’s not going to play with your iPad and try on your clothes.”
After eating all their salmon, the bear probably would get sleepy—unless they had also left a pile of cocaine on the kitchen table.
“But what if the bear... comes back?” asked Dan.
Jordan nodded. “He most likely will. Bears love salmon. And you pretty much invited him to lunch by leaving your door open.”
Tires popped gravel behind them. Jordan turned and saw a gleaming orange Ford Bronco fully equipped with roll bars, a winch, and a snorkel, ready to churn mud and ford rivers in the jungle, should jungle ever overtake the foothills of the Sierras.
Unfortunately, he recognized the car.
“I texted the Airbnb owner right after we called 911,” said Lena, sounding proud of her resourcefulness.
Jordan tried to never let his guard down in front of civilians, but he could have spit and sworn as he watched Troy Silverman—the owner of this and a dozen other local Airbnbs—check his gray but luxuriant locks in his ridiculous rig’s rearview mirror. The real estate speculator had left Montecito the previous year to establish residency in Yosemite Lakes—the reason for the move becoming clear when he announced his candidacy for Jordan’s seat in next month’s sheriff’s election.
Jordan had been a deputy for twelve years and sheriff for five, landing in the job only after his father, the sheriff before him, died at sixty-four of COPD and heart disease. Jordan’s grandfather had held the job, too. Burkes had maintained safety in Madera County for seventy years, give or take. And while the job itself could be exhausting—he sometimes daydreamed about what it would be like to live life without being on call twenty-four seven—he was proud to serve his community and knew he would never stop feeling responsible for the place he’d lived every year of his life.
It was hard to say which way the election would go. Jordan hadn’t thought there was much appetite for a self-promoting slickster from SoCal, but these days, a lot of people wanted change for change’s sake. And Silverman had spent plenty onhis effort to get elected, even hiring a campaign manager, media consultants, and a team of so-called volunteers, all of whom did their best to make Jordan sound like an out-of-touch good ol’ boy who didn’t believe Black and Brown lives mattered. Which couldn’t have been further from the truth. While his grandpa, Chester, and his dad, Jerry, may have done their jobs like the other White sheriffs of their times, Madera was about 60 percent Latino. Spanish speakers formed the core of Jordan’s constituency. They weren’t just good, hard-working people—they were his friends.
Jordan suspected the real reason behind Silverman’s sudden interest in the job was to expand and protect his real estate holdings, but so far Jordan had been forced to play defense. He’d been too busy being sheriff to run much of a campaign.
Troy Silverman’s slogan?The Burke Stops Here.
Ignoring Jordan, the lanky Troy unfolded himself from his Bronco and aimed a smile at his renters. “I heard you’re having a little bear trouble.”
Lena and Dan perked up, perhaps sensing that Troy was one of their own, someone who would be just as alarmed as they were about what the bear was doing to their salmon and mixed-green salad at that very moment. Maybe they were from Montecito, too.
“Thebearis stillinthere,” Lena told him. “And thismansays we just have towaituntil itleaves. It’s not even thatbig.”
“It’s Sheriff Burke, ma’am,” said Jordan wearily. “And even small bears can be dangerous if they’re spooked.”
