The End of The Road (11 page)

“Here’s to lasting friendships,” she said, lifting her glass.

“And the friends that treasure them,” I gave back.

We sipped and Jessie leaned forward to set down her drink and rest both elbows on the table.

“Now,” she requested, “tell me why you’ve run away from home. What’s wrong?”

I hesitated and thought for a long moment before answering her.

“You know,” I said finally. “If you’ll wait awhile for an answer to that, I’d much rather tell it just once and I’d like Alex to hear it, too. He may have some ideas to contribute to the strange and puzzling situation I’ve inadvertently become part of and run away from.”

“Interesting,” she returned. “But wait if you want. Alex should be home soon anyway. When he heard you were coming today he decided to play hooky himself and take a couple of hours off this afternoon.”

“Good. And thanks.”

“No problem for me—but it sounds like you may have one.”

“Sort of,” I answered. “Tell me how your kennel is stacking up for racing this year. Are you going to run the Iditarod again—or the Yukon Quest?”

Less than an hour later we heard a truck in the drive, footsteps on the stairs and front porch, and someone whistling “She’ll Be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain When She Comes.”

The door flew open and Alex Jensen appeared through it with a grin and a hearty, “Hey there! Hello-o-o, Maxie! What a treat to find you here keeping company with my favorite girl.”

He leaned to give Jessie—who had risen and hurried across the room—a one-armed hug and a kiss from under his handlebar mus tache, then handed her a grocery bag.

“Good to see you, too, love. Here’s the stuff you wanted from the store.”

“Thanks,” Jessie told him, and headed for the kitchen with the bag.

After removing his coat, hat, and boots, he crossed the room sock-footed in long strides to share a hug with me as well.

“Did you come to help me solve crimes again?” he teased as he sat down at the table. “I’ve not got much that’s really interesting just now.”

“Well,” I told him, “I just might have something that will pique your curiosity at least.”

“Fire away,” he told me, leaning forward to reach for the bottle of Killian’s Jessie had brought from the refrigerator to set on the table in front of him.

“Wait a minute,” she called from back in the kitchen. “I want to hear, too, and need to do a couple of things in here first.”

When she came back to the table and sat down, Alex nodded in my direction. “Go ahead, Maxie. Have you been stirring up trouble in Homer, or just playing detective again?”

“Neither,” I told him. “I’d much rather this thing had never landed in my lap, but . . . It all started a week ago when Stretch and I went for a walk on the spit and met a man who said he was just visiting and had hiked out from town. A storm was on its way in, so we gave him a ride back to town when it started to rain. Then . . .”

As they both listened attentively, I told them everything I could think of about John Walker, how I had met him and that he had come to dinner that Saturday night and fit in well with the group, but left son Joe wondering why he was vague about where he had come from and been doing. I related how he had left the two books on my doorstep Sunday night and that I had assumed he had caught the Homer Stage Line back to Anchorage, the phone call I had received from Trooper Alan Nelson, my subsequent visit to the Driftwood Inn, our interview and my identification of John’s body. I fin ished with the belt buckle Stretch had found under the table on the spit, then my shock at finding his name on the whiskey bottle, and having it backed up by his way of signing the guest book at the inn.

“After that my phone rang constantly from people asking questions, and I decided to run away for a few days. So here I am and more than grateful for this port in a storm.”

Alex had leaned back in his chair as I talked, a thoughtful frown lowering his brow as he listened closely until I was through.

“I know and respect Alan Nelson,” he told me. “He’s good at his job, so you can count on his doing it well and thoroughly. The dead man’s body would have been brought up to the crime lab in Anchorage yesterday or the day before, and they may have been able to identify him by his prints, if he’s ever had them taken. It’s one of the fir st things they’ll do. I can check with a phone call in the morning, if you like.”

I nodded. “I’d very much like to know who he really was and where he came from.”

“It’s interesting that he would take a name from a brand of whiskey,” Jessie said. “He must have had a sense of humor.”

“If he used that one, he might have used some of the others,” I told her. “I found that there’s a lot of whiskey named after the people who made it.”

She had also been listening intently while I told my tale and now, as she reached to pour us all another shot of Jameson, she ventured a question concerning something I wondered about, but had not really considered, given that I had no way of knowing, or finding, the answer.

“Do you suppose he might have been in New York when the towers fell and got the belt buckle there? If so, given his obvious intent to hide his identity and where he was from, it would make sense that he would get rid of it.”

“That’s possible, I guess. Given where and how it was found, I imagine they’ll check that out as well,” Alex told her. “But, as Nelson said, those buckles were probably sold nationwide and it could have come from anywhere. Hard to follow up, I’d say.”

After a few more questions and speculations, Jessie called a halt to the discussion.

“Maxie’s clearly had about all she needs of this right now. Let’s change the subject. How are Joe and Sharon?”

I was pleased to tell them about the current temporary move to Portland and that they had decided on a wedding in the spring.

“They’re coming up for Christmas, so we’ll make plans then, but it’s possible we’ll have the ceremony on Niqa Island across the bay if Becky and her sister are agreeable. You’ll come down for it, yes?”

Jessie nodded thoughtfully and a little hesitantly, then gave me a smile.

“Of course,” she said. “Past experiences aside, I really like that island. It’ll be good to replace old memories with pleasant new ones.”

Then I remembered that before we had met she had hidden out on the island far from home, where a stalker she thought she had escaped had managed to find her anyway. But she assured me it would be fine, as I knew it truly would.

“I wouldn’t miss their wedding for anything. And please tell Joe and Sharon that we’d love to see them while they’re here in December, right, Alex?”

“Yes, of course we’d
like
to, but you’re forgetting that we’ve planned to go to my mother’s in Idaho for the holidays,” he reminded her. “I’ve already put in for time off.”

“You’re right and I must have fluff for brains in forgetting. Give them our good wishes instead, Maxie. And tell them we’ll surely be there with bells on in the spring.”

“I’ll make sure you get an invitation with the dates.”

We had a good dinner and a pleasant evening with a little wine, soothing background music, and much laughter as we caught up on what we had all been doing since the last time we three had seen each other. As Alex had to work the next day, we made it an early evening and I fell asleep with Stretch lying comfortably on a rug next to my bed.

It was a definite relief to be away from Homer for a few days that would have been full of questions for which I had no answers. I knew Stretch was happy to be back with his old friend, Tank, who Jessie had taken out to his box in the kennel for the night.

“Can’t make the rest of my guys jealous by letting him stay inside at night,” she told me with a grin. “Besides, he snores sometimes—enough to wake me up. Would you believe it?”

“I would. Stretch does, too, at times. So did my Daniel, whose dog he was first. A time or two after Daniel died I found myself half awake waiting to hear that familiar sound and hearing Stretch instead.”

As I drifted off I had to smile as Stretch reminded me of that fact with a couple of gentle snores, then rolled over and they stopped, or if they didn’t I slept soundly enough not to hear them.

ELEVEN

I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to the welcome scent of coffee and could hear Alex down in the kitchen, singing as he made breakfast.

Stretch was gone from his place on the braided rug next to the bed, so I knew Jessie had brought Tank inside and the two dogs were probably now downstairs and happily ensconced in their usual spot by the stove.

I rolled out of bed, washed my face, combed and pinned my hair up in its twist, and dressed comfortably for the day in slacks and a sweater, glad to find the sun shining brightly in the window. I smiled, knowing that Jessie would see it simply as another day without snow for taking her dogs out on the local trails, unless she used her four-wheeler, as many mushers did before the snow fell and grew deep enough for sleds.

“Good morning,” she called, coming from the cupboard with plates to set the table as I came down the stairs.

Alex leaned around the corner of the kitchen to greet me with a grin. “Sleep well?” he asked. “Sorry if I woke you with my off-key warbling.”

“Not at all. I’ll take your warbling over an alarm clock any day. And I enjoy hearing it anyway.”

In short order he was setting a platter full of French toast, bacon, and eggs over easy on the table between Jessie and me.

“Help yourselves to syrup or jam before it gets cold,” he encouraged, reaching to fill our coffee mugs before setting the pot back in the kitchen to keep warm and coming to the table with his own mug in hand.

“I called the crime lab in Anchorage earlier,” he told me between bites. “They’re still at it, but so far have had no joy in finding a match to your John Walker’s fingerprints. It takes a fair amount of time to search all those millions of prints, so I’ll check again later, but don’t hold your breath about it. I’ll call if I find out anything.”

He finished his breakfast in short order and was on the porch calling good-bye on his way to work a few minutes later, leaning back in before he shut the door to make a suggestion to Jessie.

“Ask Maxie if she’d like to go over to Oscar’s for chili tonight. Last week he predicted that tonight would be the night, but you might call and make sure.”

Oscar’s was a nearby local pub that had been replaced and renamed after a fire destroyed it several years earlier. I knew that Oscar also owned a pub in town that was simply named Oscar’s and had intended a different name for this one. The local people, however, had always called it Oscar’s Other Place no matter what he intended, so he cheerfully gave in and put up a sign making the name official, acknowledging their feeling of ownership in having helped with the rebuilding of it.

It was frequented by many of the local sled dog racers, their handlers, and their followers, and at least once a month Oscar offered homemade chili and the place was always more crowded than usual. I had been there once before on a visit to Alex and Jessie’s and was definitely agreeable to repeating the experience.

Jessie made the confirming phone call and came back to the table with a grin.

“Alex almost never forgets chili night at Oscar’s. I assume you want to go?”

“You bet,” I agreed. “Oscar makes better chili than anyone I know. Besides, he runs a good bar and, as you’ve told me, never has a bad word for anybody.”

“Well—hardly ever,” Jessie said, and grinned. “Just don’t get him started on his feelings for the guy who burned down the old one. They aren’t so good-natured and friendly.”

“I wouldn’t be either if someone destroyed my house,” I told her. “Neither would you.”

“Right. I wasn’t when mine burned,” she said, recalling another past arson.

Before sitting back down she poured us both more coffee and removed our now empty plates to return to the kitchen. Coming back to her place at the table, she paused to stare out the window for a few seconds, a frown on her face as she turned away.