Alaska Adventure (16 page)

There, in the midst of the clearing, parked a few hundred yards behind Jim Whitehorse’s cabin, was a plane.

* * * *

“It was the exact same kind of plane John Torvold told us the poachers generally use,” Laurel said breathlessly. “A supercub, one of the PA-18s with those big tundra tires.”

“We have to be careful,” Russ warned. “A lot of people in Alaska own planes.” Thoughtfully, he added, “They’re very common ... just like red plaid jackets.”

He pushed aside the mosquito netting and gestured for her to go into the cabin ahead of him. Just as she’d hoped, the others were still out. After the three of them paddled back to the cabin, Danny had gone back to his own house, leaving Russ and Laurel alone to talk.

“It’s so hard not to jump to conclusions.” She sank onto the couch. “We don’t have a lot of evidence ... but so far everything we do have seems to point to the same conclusion: Jim Whitehorse is responsible for the bear poaching.”

“Maybe it’d be helpful if we talk to someone at Fish and Game about it,” Russ suggested, sitting down at the table. “They might be able to give us some insights.”

“Good idea. Let’s talk to Ben Seeger the first chance we get. In the meantime, we should probably keep a careful record of all the clues we come across. I have an extra spiral notebook I brought along. Let’s keep a log, writing down what we do and when we do it.”

She headed into her bedroom to get the notebook. She was lost in thought, trying to make sense of all that was unfolding. It was so hard to imagine the possibility that someone who lived right here at Wolf Lake— someone who the Torvolds knew, who the Torvolds
trusted
—could be involved in something so despicable....

Suddenly she stopped. Lying on the floor in front of the bunk beds was a white envelope. Written on the front in a large, almost childish scrawl, were the words, “To the blond-haired girl.”

“What on
earth
... ?” Laurel’s voice trailed off as she bent down to pick up the envelope. She held it for a few seconds, examining the peculiar handwriting. As she did, a strange, sick feeling rose up inside her. Slowly, with trembling fingers, she opened the envelope.

Inside there was a single slip of white paper. It was unusually thick, unlike any she’d ever seen before. One edge was jagged, the sharp irregular triangles a sign that it had been ripped out of some kind of book.

On it, in the same unusual handwriting that had been on the envelope, were written four simple words:
“Keep out of it!”

Chapter Fourteen

Laurel’s heart was pounding as she walked into the living room and handed the note to Russ.

“Read this,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

He glanced at the note, the muscles of his face tensing. When he looked up at Laurel, he was flushed. “Who do you think sent it?”

“There’s only one person who could have.” She swallowed hard. “Jim Whitehorse.”

Shaking her head slowly, Laurel sank into the chair opposite Russ. “He must have seen us prowling around his cabin this morning. I didn’t say anything about this before, but when you and Danny were looking at that spider and I was walking around by myself, I got the feeling somebody was watching me. I thought it might have just been my imagination, but....”

“It all adds up,” Russ said, nodding. “Somebody wants to keep us from discovering who’s responsible for the bear poaching—and that somebody appears to be Jim Whitehorse.”

“We’ll have to tell Dr. Wells about this note,” said Laurel, studying it. In here, the light was much better. She saw it had been written with a very fine pen, one that made a very narrow line with breaks here and there. “Maybe all three of us should talk to Ben Seeger about the fact that it looks like Jim Whitehorse is our man.”

Russ frowned. “There’s one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“We don’t have any proof. So far, all we’ve got are a few pieces of circumstantial evidence. A swatch of fabric that matches Jim Whitehorse’s jacket—and a few hundred other people’s jackets, as well. The fact that he owns the kind of plane a lot of bear poachers use. And now a note—a note we have no way of tracing to him.”

Laurel sighed. “You’re right. We’re still making assumptions, aren’t we? Jumping to conclusions we have no right to make—”

“Conclusions about what?” Trip had just come striding into the cabin, wearing a big grin. “What’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” Laurel replied quickly. “We were just ... gossiping.”

“How did your little expedition go this morning?” asked Marian, coming in right behind Trip. “Catch any bad guys?”

“Actually, it was rather uneventful,” Russ returned with forced heartiness. “You were probably right to keep out of it. Playing private investigator is turning out to be nothing but an exercise in frustration.”

“Hate to say I told you so, but....” Marian had already lost interest. She’d gone over to the refrigerator and was poking around inside. “Anybody have any ideas about lunch? I’m starved.”

Trip bounded over to the kitchen. “That leftover sandwich from last night is mine. Keep your hands off it.”

Laurel took advantage of her moment alone with Russ to lean over and ask in a quiet voice, “What now?”

“We need to find out more,” Russ replied. “Let’s give it some time.”

* * * *

“What’s up for today?” Cassie asked over breakfast the next morning. “Fish, bugs, or birds?”

“I’ve decided to make today a holiday.” Dr. Wells set his coffee mug down on the table. “You deserve a break. Why don’t the five of you take the Jeep and go somewhere? There are some spectacular glaciers just north of here, with valleys that are great for hiking. Or you could drive to the coast and check out some of the tiny villages there. The churches are particularly interesting. They were put up by the Russians who were the first to settle this area—”

“How about renting a room at the local Holiday Inn?” Marian suggested. “Imagine, a steaming shower in a luxurious bathroom. A heated swimming pool. Room service. Now that’s my idea of a break.”

Dr. Wells laughed. “No such thing, I’m afraid. That’s not exactly Alaska’s style.”

“I’m with Marian,” said Cassie. “I crave civilization. I’d like nothing better than the chance to spend the day in the company of other human beings. Poking around shops, walking on a real sidewalk ... maybe even eating in a restaurant.” With a sigh, she added, “I’d give anything for real, live French fries!”

“The closest thing to what you’re describing is the town of Homer, nicknamed ‘the end of the road,’ “ said Dr. Wells. “Not exactly a booming metropolitan area, but I suspect you can find French fries there.”

“In that case, I make a motion we head into Homer.”

Mariah raised her hand into the air. “I second the motion.”

The two boys responded with a grimace.

“Uh, oh,” said Cassie. “Two to two.”

“Laurel, it looks like you’re the tiebreaker,” said Dr. Wells, chuckling. “What’s it going to be?”

She looked around at the others, blinking. “How can you compare eating French fries with the chance to see an actual
glacier
...?”

Cassie and Mariah groaned.

Still, everyone’s spirits were high as the five of them set off for Byron Glacier in the Jeep. Trip insisted on driving. Laurel sat next to him in front. Russ, Mariah, and Cassie were crammed into the backseat. Stashed in back was all the gear they’d need for their all-day hike: maps, a camera, food, water ... and a big bottle of sun block.

“How’s the shoe situation back there?” Trip asked, looking at Mariah through the rearview mirror.

“Fine, thank you,” she replied evenly. “Fortunately, L. L. Bean even ships to Alaska.” She raised her foot upward, showing off her new tan suede hiking boot.

“Hey, look out!” Cassie cried. But she was laughing as she pushed Marian’s foot away, shoving Russ even further into the corner. “This isn’t a fashion show!”

“I want to prove to Trip that Beverly Hills girls aren’t completely lacking in common sense,” Mariah teased.

“Or credit cards,” Trip shot back.

This is
fun,
Laurel reflected, glancing around at the others, all of them laughing together like the best of friends. For the first time since she’d come to Alaska, she actually felt as if she were part of a team.

The drive up the coast to Byron Glacier was nothing short of spectacular. On one side of a narrow two-lane highway the turquoise Kenai River rushed south toward Cook Inlet. Salmon fishermen stood shoulder to shoulder, their fishing poles clutched in their hands. On the other side of the road, glaciers in high mountain valleys hung above rounded slopes.

They headed along the shore of Turnagain Arm, a tremendous inlet cut into the mountains by glaciers millions of years ago. In the distance, far beyond the glassy water, were snowy mountains, their white tops blending into the thick white clouds that hovered above making it impossible to see where the mountains ended and the sky began.

Every mile or so, Trip pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road so everyone could scramble out and get a better look. Along the beach, Laurel and Cassie collected interesting rocks. Russ and Trip had a race up a pile of ominous-looking boulders that had tumbled down from the mountains during an avalanche aeons earlier. By the time they actually reached Byron Glacier, they’d already put in a solid half day of sightseeing. Yet, instead of being tired, they were exhilarated over the prospect of a long, challenging hike.

They parked in a small lot at the edge of the park that surrounded Byron Glacier. There were fewer than a dozen other cars parked there, mostly vans and campers. After packing up and pulling on their backpacks, the five of them started up the dirt path that cut through the dense woods and into a valley.

A few hundred yards beyond was a view so breathtaking that Laurel let out a gasp. Triangles of white snow zigzagged across black mountains, rising up dramatically on either side. The valley in between was a mixture of green and fields of snow. Down the middle was strewn a path of dark, angular boulders, most of them huge. Meandering through was a stream, its white water tumultuous.

“Look at the snow!” Laurel exclaimed.

“Look at those boulders!” Cassie cried. “How are we ever going to get across this valley?”

“Easy,” Trip returned. “It’s called rock hopping.” To demonstrate, he scrambled onto one of the rocks, almost as big as he was, then leapt onto the one next to it. “Piece o’ cake.”

Cassie wasn’t convinced. “It looks dangerous.”

“I’ll walk right behind you,” Laurel offered.

“That’s okay,” Cassie said quickly. “I’ll manage.”

Laurel felt as if she’d been slapped. Here she’d been thinking things were going so well, that the members of the group were finally getting along ... and that the tension she’d felt between Cassie and her could well have been nothing more than her own tendency to be overly sensitive. Yet the prickliness in Cassie’s tone was unmistakable.

Rock hopping turned out to be more strenuous than Laurel had anticipated. Conversation came almost to a halt as the group made its way across the valley: Laurel and Trip in the lead, Russ following, Mariah and Cassie lagging behind. The three in front stopped every now and then to give the other two a chance to catch up.

“Are you two managing okay?” Russ asked congenially.

“I’m glad I had my Wheaties today,” Mariah puffed. “Otherwise I’d tell you to leave me on one of the rocks to contemplate the melting snow while the rest of you went ahead.”

But even she claimed it was worth it when the group finally made it to Byron Glacier. Laurel paused on one of the rocks, taking a moment to catch her breath and take in the incredible view. The glacier was a luminescent shade of blue-white. What struck her even more than the beauty of the color, however, was its monumental size. It cut through the mountains, easily as formidable a presence as the highest peak. Gazing at it, she had a sense of how it had plowed across the forbidding terrain through the ages, taking on even the tremendous mountains that in the end proved no match for its determination.

“Wow,” Trip said breathlessly. “Now
that’s
what I call an ice cube.”

“Let’s hike all the way up to it,” suggested Laurel.

Russ frowned. “Going up to it is fine. But I think we’d better turn around once we get up there. It is solid ice, after all.”

“So what if it’s a little slippery?” Mariah said with a shrug. “I’ve got good hiking shoes.”

“Marian,” Russ insisted, “I really don’t think—”

But she’d already gone ahead. “Come on, Trip,” she called over her shoulder. “Or are you also afraid of a little ice?”

“Who, me? Afraid?” Already he was leaping from boulder to boulder toward the glacier. “Last one up is a scaredy-cat.”

Glancing over at Russ, Laurel saw him shake his head disapprovingly. “You’d think they would’ve learned by now.”

“Well, you certainly don’t have to worry about
me
doing anything that stupid.” Cassie plopped down on a rock and took a small plastic bag out of her jeans pocket. “Trail mix, anybody?”

Laurel sank down next to her. “Great. So now we sit and wait for the two of them while they show off.”

“We might as well take advantage of the opportunity to take a little rest. We’ve still got the walk back to the car.” Russ stretched out on a small patch of grass, folding his arms under his head. “Any more letters from home, Laurel?” he asked conversationally.

“No. Things have been pretty quiet. But thanks for asking.”

“Asking what?” Cassie demanded. “I don’t get it.”

“Oh, Russ happened to walk in on me once when I’d just gotten a letter from my mother, discussing her general disapproval of my entire life.”

Surprised, Cassie glanced at Laurel, then Russ. “Gee, Laurel, are you and
every
male up here—?”

Before Laurel was able to hear her question, a sharp cry cut through the valley. Automatically she raised her eyes upward, toward the glacier.

Instantly she saw what was wrong. Mariah had slipped. She was lying on the smooth surface of the glacier, her face twisted in agony. With one hand she clutched her ankle.