Down River (9 page)

They had to raise their voices slightly to be heard over the spa motor and gurgling water, so she looked around—even straight up at the veranda over them—to be sure they were alone, then moved closer to him on the curved tiled bench.

They discussed Jonas and Vanessa. She told him she remembered that Jonas might be in debt not only from medical bills but from gambling. He told her Vanessa had not composed her face fast enough upon realizing that they were safe. “You don’t think the two of them could be in cahoots, do you?” she asked.

“Probably not,” he said, sinking down a bit so his
chin nearly rested on the water. He hadn’t shaved yet after their ordeal; the stubble shadowed his face. His eyes were deep in darkness. Although he had eaten enough for two men at dinner, he had a sort of gaunt-faced, hungry look. He didn’t seem to be moving or even listening, but his hand touched her thigh, then took her hand and held it. Their fingers intertwined. That simple, strong but gentle gesture hit her harder than if he’d grabbed her and kissed her again.

“Working on this, together, we’ve got to remember that the walls—even the trees—have ears and eyes,” he said. “We’re looking for someone, but someone may be watching us.”

“I know. I feel it, too. Like that time we were both being tailed when we were on that money laundering case—the one Graham took away from us because he was afraid we were going to get hurt, even that organized crime might be involved. I wanted him to keep us on that, but he said our safety came first.”

“Yeah. Or second at least, after the firm’s good name.”

“I can’t believe you said that.”

“Graham’s a great guy, just like Ellie’s father was, but they didn’t get where they are, with all those powerful clients, just playing patty-cake. Hardball, more like.”

She sighed. “I know.” She was surprised at his criticism of Graham because the older man had seemed to fill the void in Mitch’s life left by his
yearning for his parents’ and his older brother’s approval. “But,” she went on, trying to stay on track, “when the Bonners were raising money for Ellie’s brother to run for state senate, they did everything aboveboard—no big lobbyists or other donors who would want a favor later—and look how well he’s done. I suppose Graham’s told you that Merritt’s on the short list to get a cabinet position if the Democrats take back the White House.”

“Ellie told me. You think I don’t read papers or see the news up here?”

“You pooh-poohed my watching TV, but let’s not get into that again.”

“What should we get into again, sweetheart? Other than a hot tub?”

“When you rub your thumb on my palm like that, I can’t think. At least it’s better than our yelling at each other.”

“Yeah, and I don’t think a bull moose is going to rear up out of here, but you never know about a bull of a man. As I recall, you once called me a bull in the china shop of your life.”

She laughed, but her voice sounded rough, low. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to tease her or seduce her, but she had to get out of here, and now, because she was getting crazy—crazed—enough for him that she didn’t care who saw them do what. “Your memory is too good,” she said. “But I need to ask you one quick thing. How are we going to set things up for tomorrow so we can keep an eye on everyone? I
could say more memories are starting to come back to me, then see who reacts how or tries to corner me.”

“I’m going to tell everyone at breakfast that we’re going to see Spike’s sled dogs, even ride behind the teams, see how everyone does learning something really different.”

“Without snow—the sleds have wheels?”

“It’s how they work the dogs in the warm weather. Yeah, you go ahead and say something like that, but then don’t get out of my sight in case someone does try to corner you.”

“There are risks involved, Mitch, and we—I—may have to take them. Whoever shoved me in the river is hardly going to take out a gun and shoot me. I’m going to have to get alone with them individually, give them a chance to make a wrong move. And that reminds me, even though the site where I was pushed has surely been compromised by now, we should look at the scene of the crime, but I’m not going back there alone.”

“I’ll give it a quick early-morning search, but I probably obliterated footprints or anything else when I shoved that kayak up and over the ridge. I’ll watch you walk to your door and you try to get some sleep,” he said. “I’m hitting the rack really soon.”

They stood, and he gave her a hand as she climbed out. She wrapped her robe around herself, then bent down to whisper, “I’m glad the lodge is online even if cell phones don’t work here. I’m going to do background checks on our possibilities.”

“Fine by me.”

“Mitch, I—I think that should include your staff bec—”

“Whoa—”

“—because they might have been panicked I’d try to take you away or angry because I hurt you before. They’re very loyal, at least Spike and Christine, especially Christine—”

“They wouldn’t shove a guest in that raging river,” he said, forgetting to keep his voice down. “Christine and I are just friends and coworkers who admire each other.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he was blind if he thought Christine only admired him. Another woman could tell she adored him at the very least. Besides, he was so protective of the woman, just as he had been of her. But she just nodded and said, “Good night,” and walked away before they could argue more.

From her room upstairs, Lisa looked down to see if she could tell if the underwater hot tub lights were still on. They weren’t, so Mitch must have quickly followed her inside.

The sunset was smeared across the sky again, but not quite as colorful as the one she’d never forget. The twilight it cast was about that of a full moon. But then she saw a form move in the dusk, coming from the corner of the lodge, the same spot where Ginger had hovered when they’d returned. She couldn’t tell if it was Ginger or not. Wouldn’t she have gone back
to her cabin at the other end of the lake by now? Her boat wasn’t in sight.

It was just dim enough outside and the deck slanted at such an angle that she could not make out who it was. Probably not Spike or Mitch—too short, though the figure was slumped over and her perspective from this height distorted things. Wouldn’t Graham’s or Ellie’s white hair show up, though the person could have on a hoodie or hat. He or she seemed to retrieve something from near the hot tub, then moved slowly back inside. Perhaps someone had been down to use the spa earlier and had left a watch or something, at least on one of the other benches she hadn’t used.

Still in her bathing suit and robe, barefoot, Lisa tore into the hall and went partway down the stairs, stooping to see who had or would come in from the stone patio. No one. No one, at least, she could see.

Then Christine passed from somewhere below and went down the short hall into the kitchen with something in her hands. Such strong hands. She moved so silently.

As exhausted as she was, Lisa went upstairs, locked her bedroom door, looked in her closet and under the bed—even behind the shower curtain. Then she wedged a chair under her doorknob and took out her laptop to search the Internet for “Christine Tanaka” + “Yup’ik” + “Bear Bones, Alaska.”

L
isa found nothing about a Christine Tanaka in her search, but then newspapers seemed scarce here on the Alaska frontier. Of course she hadn’t seen the nearby little town of Bear Bones yet, and they were not going into larger Talkeetna until Saturday for something called—of all things—the Mountain Mother Contest, but she had seen no newspapers around the lodge. Small Alaska towns might have weekly papers or even monthly ones, she thought. She could try accessing the extensive personal information banks the law firm paid for, but then her search would be recorded for her coworkers to see.

Frowning, her bloodshot eyes almost crossing from exhaustion, she skimmed down through later pages of search entries. One had hit on Christine and Yup’ik. A Yup’ik woman, Christine Kagak, had been tried for the murder of her husband in a trial where she claimed to be an abused woman.

Lisa clicked on the article and watched wide-eyed as it filled the screen. Could it be the same woman?
Yes—a photo of her, leaving the courtroom in Fairbanks four years ago. Damn! Mitch said her husband died, not that he’d been murdered by Christine! Acquitted. She’d been acquitted! Her heart thudded as she forced herself to read slowly.

YUP’IK WOMAN ACQUITTED OF SHOOTING HUSBAND

By Sara Whitehead

Lisa realized she wasn’t breathing. She exhaled slowly to steady herself. Now she knew what Mitch had called Christine when she greeted them today—
Cu’paq,
her Yup’ik name. And she knew who made the exquisitely detailed dolls in the little library off the great room.

But beyond all that, she now knew what Mitch wasn’t telling her. Could she trust him to help her, or was he withholding other things she should know? At least she’d found the truth about Christine’s past. Lisa’s heart went out to her for being a battered woman rejected by her people. But she had killed a man to protect herself. Would she try to kill a woman to protect the possibility of losing Mitch or the safe haven she’d evidently found here?

Lisa kept going back to one line of print, one thought. When Christine’s first attempt to stop her
husband didn’t work—shoving him down the stairs—she had found another foolproof way.

Mitch came late to breakfast as everyone—including Lisa—ate heartily. She knew she’d need her strength today. Despite being upset about Mitch’s covering for Christine, Lisa had eventually fallen asleep last night, but had plodded from nightmare to nightmare, not about her mother this time, but of herself tumbling down stairs into the river.

“Sorry to join you late,” Mitch said as he seated himself at the head of the table, facing Graham at the other end, and reached for one of Ginger’s huge blueberry muffins. Christine immediately appeared from the kitchen to pour him coffee, leaning close over his shoulder from behind. That move seemed so intimate to Lisa. And strangely nostalgic, too, for her grandmother had been a wonderful baker of muffins, pies, cookies and breads. She’d taught the art to Lisa and handed down her recipes, but Lisa hadn’t had the time to bake those favorite old pastries for years.

“At least,” Mitch went on with a nod Lisa’s way, “I finally got everything settled with the Talkeetna sheriff and the state troopers. The
Talkeetna Good Times
wants to do an article, but I told them no interviews now—though they may show up anyway. I’ll talk to them later. The article won’t be out until Lisa’s long gone—back in Florida, that is.”

Graham, halfway through a stack of sourdough hotcakes, said, “I knew you could patch things
over, handle it all without a ripple. You always were good at that.”

Lisa saw Mitch’s face light up. The two men had always had a mutual-admiration society going. She knew Graham and Ellie had once hoped Mitch might link up with their daughter. But surely, the fact he’d chosen Lisa instead was not motive enough for murder. No, that was too far-fetched.

She wondered how was she going to get Mitch alone with everyone around and a full day planned. She had to confront him with his skirting the truth about Christine. Or should she not bring that up and just see how far he went with half truths when he had vowed to help find her would-be murderer? Lisa had seen how he’d protected her in the river and on their trek back, but now that they were here, maybe he was protecting someone else.

“I was able to smooth things over with the authorities because it was an accident,” Mitch said, ladling strawberry jam on his muffin while Christine put a plate of eggs and venison sausage in front of him. “Of course, if there were any hint of foul play, the Talkeetna sheriff—and I—would be all over things.”

“Foul play?” Jonas said, with a sharp clink of his fork against his plate. “You’ve got to be kidding. Who would push or throw Lis—”

“No one here would,” Mitch cut in. “That’s why it’s back to normal today.”

Mitch’s mere mention of foul play had taken Lisa,
as well as everyone else, by surprise. But she’d looked carefully, quickly at each face, exactly as she had last night when they’d told everyone the details of their ordeal. Mitch’s ploy was a tactic she’d seen him use in court more than once. An apparently off-the-wall question, a bolt from the blue, the sudden reversal of direction. She should be used to it by now, especially since it was exactly the way he’d handled telling her he wanted to move to Alaska.

She noted that Graham had merely frowned. Spike looked so shocked he still held a big piece of his sourdough hotcake on a fork halfway to his mouth. And she’d seen that Jonas and Vanessa had exchanged swift looks.

“Lisa’s falling in the river’s a sad and bad enough event as is.” Spike broke the silence. “So, thank God, it was just an accident and not deliberate. No one here would hurt any of our guests.”

Lisa noted Christine said nothing but went back into the kitchen. Ellie, ever the upbeat, complimentary hostess, even when it wasn’t her party, said, “Let’s put that potential tragedy behind us, as Lisa has been brave enough to do, and treasure this day and this lovely place. I always like to look at the bright side of things. We are in a beautiful place with a fun day ahead. Breakfast has been hearty and delicious. Why, these pastries and breads are fabulous. I’d like to have a chat with Ginger about some of the recipes, though I’m sure it’s the local ingredients that make the difference. Lingonberry tarts—it’s a whole
new world here. My, but she’s a clever one to turn all this out each day, because I saw she has a hurt hand.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spike said, obviously relieved at the change in topic. “An injury when our dad cut a tree down years ago. She uses a wood-fired cookstove and oven, too, pretty much one-handed.”

That probably eliminated Ginger as her assailant, Lisa thought. Whoever had pushed her had used two strong hands.

“Ah, her kitchen would give a glimpse into the pioneer past,” Ellie said with a sigh. “I’d love to see Ginger’s cabin, if she wouldn’t mind a visit. I believe she is rather a private person. Perhaps you can tell me more about her later, Spike.”

Lisa downed her coffee and peered over her cup rim. You’d think that Ellie, instead of Mitch, had been enlisted to investigate suspects. Though Ginger hadn’t pushed her, she might inadvertently provide more background on Christine or Spike. “I’d love to see her place, too,” Lisa said, “if you want someone to go with you later, Ellie.”

Evidently not to be outdone, Vanessa chimed in, “Me, too, but I’d be even more excited about seeing how Christine makes those gorgeously detailed little Eskimo dolls in the other room. I’d love to buy one or two.”

The conversation segued to their walk to Spike’s place about a mile away. When he described it as being in the woods, Graham excused himself and went upstairs. He quickly returned with a wooden-
framed picture he’d obviously taken off a wall—no, Lisa saw it was a framed quotation.

“Mitch,” Graham said, “I hope you don’t mind if I share these lines with the others. Mitch has this hanging in his suite upstairs.”

Lisa put her cup down with a too-loud clink. Graham had not only been in Mitch’s quarters, but had felt he could go back up without permission and take something out. Maybe they’d planned more than just sporting activities. Maybe Mitch
was
helping with the Bonners’ selection process and this was somehow a setup.

“Sure,” Mitch said, “but I’ll bet some of you know this already. It’s my favorite quote.”

“Thoreau, from his
Walden Pond,
” Graham said, turning it toward himself to read, “‘I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.’ No doubt,” he said, “Lisa and Mitch learned a lot about themselves these last difficult days, facing life and death.”

Though Lisa was strangely touched, she noted Vanessa narrowed her eyes—an almost feral expression flitted across her face.

“I believe,” Graham went on in his deep, oratorical tones, “we’ll all learn a lot—and Ellie and I will learn what we need to know to decide.”

“Alaska does that,” Lisa said, almost before she realized she would speak. “It teaches you about
yourself—but a lot about others, too.” She leveled a look at Vanessa, then Jonas, then Christine, who was refilling Jonas’s coffee cup, but looking up for once. Lisa looked at Mitch last. No one blinked; they all seemed frozen in a tableau as if waiting for her to add something else. Finally, Vanessa looked down at her empty plate. Mitch dared a nod and a smile at her, but it was Jonas who finally spoke.

“Anything that’s a challenge does that—my son’s illness has made me do things I never thought I’d do.”

“Emerson’s a brave kid,” Graham said, somehow managing to break the tension as he reached over to squeeze Jonas’s shoulder. “Let’s make sure we get some pictures of you with Spike’s huskies, because your boy will love that. Maybe we can even send some to him online before you get home. Okay, everyone, see you on the front porch in about fifteen minutes, then off we go into a part of that other world Ellie mentioned.”

It’s another world all right, Lisa thought, recalling her hallucinations about being in the land of Oz when Mitch rescued her from the river. No one was in Kansas—or South Florida—anymore.

Christine had no intention of going along with the guests to Spike’s place, but both he and Mitch invited her. At least with so many other people around to see the huskies, it would be an opportunity to try to get over her nervousness. Clay had often abused his dogs, and they’d been snarly and nasty. She could
understand why, but they’d been frightening to feed. If animals reflected their master’s personalities and the treatment they’d been given, surely Spike’s dogs would be happy and well-behaved. Still, she had a big knot in her stomach.

“I’m glad you came along, Christine,” Lisa told her, dropping back to walk with her. Vanessa looked at them, but stayed next to Jonas. “I hear you made those beautiful Inuit dolls on display in the library and wanted to tell you how amazing they are.”

“Did Mitch tell you that? Most visitors don’t know to say Inuit instead of Eskimo.”

“He told me about saying Inuit or Yup’ik, but not about the dolls. Vanessa mentioned it. So, you seem very content here at the lodge. Are you from this area?”

Mitch had told this woman she was Yup’ik, so what else had he told her? Christine wondered. “From Fairbanks,” she said, “but I like looking forward, not back. And yes, I’m more than content here. I’ve finally found a good job—a home.”

She glanced ahead at Mitch, leading the group with Mr. Bonner beside him. They were strung out on their walk to Spike’s place along the forest path lined with thick birch and alder, overshadowed by the occasional tall Sitka spruce. This was one of the hiking trails groomed for cross-country skiing in the winter. It was at least ten degrees colder here, and she shivered. Ahead, Mrs. Bonner was now walking between Vanessa and Jonas. Other than snatches of
conversations, Christine heard only birdcalls and the crunch of last year’s leaves underfoot and the bear bells Vanessa carried, though bears would never bother a group of people. And she heard her own heartbeat and too-rapid breathing, not from the walk but from this talk.

“I hope,” Lisa said, “you can give me a little advice about Ginger. She seems to like her solitude, so do you think she’d mind if some of us visit her, or should we ask her first—maybe have you do it for us?”

“Most Alaskans value their privacy and independence. But I’m sure she’d like the extra money, too, if you’d want to buy some of her baked goods to take home. She’s saving money to pay Spike back for all the wood he cuts for her, though I don’t think he’ll take a dime, even with the cost of airplane fuel. I’ll ask her when she brings tonight’s things—late this afternoon.”

“Late afternoon? Oh, yes, I saw her boat just before I fell in the river. I remember that much. But I’d appreciate it if you ask her. I’ll try to head Ellie and Vanessa off at the pass if they plan to visit her earlier. Please tell her we’d like to place an order for some items—which reminds me again, as Vanessa mentioned, do you sell your dolls?”