He’d rather face a mother bear than his sister-in-law’s contempt, but it had to be done. “Do you know where she is? I’ll go talk to her now,” he told Chet.
“You can’t. She flew to Seattle this morning. She won’t be back in Anchorage until next week. In the meantime, you’d better find a lawyer.” He shuffled and looked away. “For more than just the custody thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s got connections at the department. She talked Ed Bixby into taking another look at Leigh’s death. Sorry, buddy.” He blinked moist eyes.
The Alaska Department of Public Safety was Alaska’s primary law enforcement and public safety organization. It comprised four divisions: the Division of Alaska State Troopers, the Division of Fire Prevention, the Division of Statewide Services, and the Division of Administrative Services. In towns too small for a police department or in rural areas, the Alaska State Troopers held jurisdiction, and unlike most states, there was no sheriff ’s department. Tank had thought the DPS probe was behind him. Trooper Ed Bixby, sent to Stalwart from Anchorage to investigate Leigh’s death, had been loud and vocal in his opinion that Tank murdered Leigh, but most people knew it for the sour grapes it was: Leigh had broken off her engagement to Ed when Tank moved to Stalwart. Bixby took a post in Anchorage shortly after. He’d managed to get her body exhumed two months ago for an autopsy, though the results weren’t back yet. With Marley pushing him, he was apt to get louder still.
“When is Ed coming?”
“Probably tomorrow. He’ll be wanting to take a fresh statement from you.”
“I have nothing to hide.”
“You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
Was Chet’s staunch assurance too hearty? Tank examined his father-in-law’s face and found nothing but unswerving faith. Tank wished he could be as certain that he was blameless in the unhappiness that led to Leigh’s death. “Marley’s attorney will be formidable. Even though she’s an old school chum, Marley doesn’t settle for second best. I’ll have to run up to Anchorage and see who I can find.”
“I’d recommend Garth Jagger. He’s pretty good. Young and full of passion.”
Tank took a notepad off the counter and jotted down the name. “Thanks. I’ll give him a call.” Could this day get any worse? He had to babysit Pretty Boy Nowak, and now this. But no one was taking his baby girl from him. If he had to disappear into the bush, that’s what he’d do.
Chet nodded. “Check with the office. We probably have his number on file.” He hesitated. “You haven’t seen Joe around, have you?”
Dr. Joe Wooten was the town doctor. Tank shook his head. “Not since I stopped by the office last week and asked him about the sleeping pills Libby found under the area rug.Why?” Libby had found a brown, unmarked packet of pills under the large rug when she was moving the bedroom furniture. Dr. Wooten had identified them as a common sleeping pill. It raised questions among them all that maybe Leigh killed herself, that she deliberately took sleeping pills and then walked into the water. He didn’t want to believe that. Neither did Chet.
Chet frowned. “His wife says he’s been gone for two days. She expected him back from a fishing trip late last night. He never showed up. What did he say about the pills?”
Tank shrugged. “That he never gave them to Leigh, and that he didn’t believe she was in a state of mind to hurt herself. He suggested maybe they dropped out of her mom’s purse one day when she was here.” Queenie had died of a heart attack while taking a bath three months before Leigh died.
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Queenie took them occasionally when she had trouble sleeping. Well, if you see the doc, tell him his wife is gunning for him.” Chet grinned.
Tank nodded, only half listening. He could hear a commotion outside—birds squawking, the sound of metal falling. He went to the door and threw it open. A brown bear nosed the bear-proof trash bin at the end of the driveway. Tank recognized the notch on the bear’s ear. Miki. He hadn’t seen the bear he’d raised from a cub since last fall. Miki’s fur was mottled and scruffy from hibernation, and he was thin. Tank was tempted to find the bear some food, but that wasn’t the best thing for Miki. This was the bear’s second summer on his own, and he needed to learn to be wild.
He grabbed an old garbage-can lid he kept handy to scare the bears off and banged on it with his fist. “Get out of here, Miki!”
Miki’s head swung around. Black flies hung around the bear’s head, but he didn’t seem to notice. He lumbered toward Tank as if the noise didn’t bother him. Tank backed away. Miki had never shown any sign of viciousness, but he was still a wild animal. Tank had been careful not to try to domesticate the bear, but Miki was a lovable beast. The bear continued on, and Tank gave up the fight and stepped into the cabin.
“He still doesn’t get it that he’s a bear and you’re a man,” Chet observed. “I hope it doesn’t get him in trouble at the park. The first time he charges a tourist, the rangers will shoot him.”
It was Tank’s big worry. He had to find some way to help the young bear forget his human contact. If it could be done. Most bear biologists recommended destroying orphaned brown-bear cubs because of the danger they posed to humans after being inured to contact with them. He’d disregarded that order and bottle-fed Miki after his mother was shot by poachers, but was it the right decision? Tank watched out the window as Miki nosed around the front door, then ambled back toward the woods and the lake. Good. Maybe he’d see fishing was a better way to get food than to raid the garbage can. He’d better follow, staying downwind of Miki.
He opened the door. “Eat some cookies with Brooke. I’ll be right back.” He pulled the door shut behind him and moved downwind of the bear. He kept Miki in sight as the bear made a beeline for the lake. Traveling this route took him within sight of the cabin where the four visitors were staying. Seeing Kipp and the older lady wandering the partially thawed meadow angered Tank again. He didn’t know how he was going to get rid of them.
He skirted the clearing and walked for about fifteen minutes. A movement caught his eye, and he saw the pretty young photographer walking toward the burned cabin at the edge of the lake. She had her head down and was watching where she put her walking stick instead of looking where she was going. That kind of behavior could get her killed in this land. He changed course to intercept her.
Three
Several birds called from the evergreen trees to Haley’s left. She thumbed through her wildlife book. Killdeer. She craned her neck and looked up at the birds, then fumbled in her pack for powdered-sugar donuts and nibbled on two of them before throwing the birds some crumbs. The powdery sweetness melted on her tongue. The birds chattered and flew down to eat the bits of donut. She looked around for her dog, but he’d vanished under the tree boughs.
Haley looked around. She’d always heard things were smaller in reality than children perceived them to be, but that was wrong. To her, reality was larger. The trees were bigger, darker. The sky was bluer and wider. She didn’t remember the spruce having such a sharp scent or the air having such an edge.
Where had Oscar gone? “Come on, Oscar. Stay with me.” Oscar raced out of the trees, then threw himself onto the ground. He wiggled himself into a position for a back scratch on the cool mat of spruce needles. She wanted to laugh at the expression of doggie delight on his face, but she was too tense. She patted her leg, and the little wiener dog trotted happily to her. She laid down her walking stick and picked him up, taking courage from his warm body and the energetic kiss he gave her. Cradling him under one arm, she picked up her stick and continued on the familiar trail.
She crested the hill, and some burned remains came into view. Fireweed grew through the charred logs. A part of the roof still stood, though most of it had fallen into the center of the cabin. Green moss grew on much of the spongy remains. It was the same and yet different from what she’d expected. The last time she’d seen it, window boxes held bright flowers waving in the summer breez
e, and a pile of freshly cut logs lay heaped around the tree stump where her father chopped wood. If she closed her eyes, she might still be able to hear the ring of his axe and smell the sharp tang of wood smoke. Maybe even ghostly laughter would reach her ears as the little girl she used to be played hide-and-seek with Chloe. It was so long ago, and yet just yesterday.
She put down the dog and pulled her camera to her face, then snapped a few pictures. Her wild imagination cooled, and she could see the cabin for what it was again—the sad remains of what once was. She dropped her camera to her chest and advanced to the doorway. It probably wasn’t safe to go farther. It wouldn’t accomplish much either. These blackened ruins held no trace of what she’d hoped to find here. There wer no mementoes, no long-lost chest of old pictures or belongings. No whisper of the spirits of her parents.
She pulled up her camera and snapped a few more shots. Beyond the cabin, she could see the lake. Its blue shimmer would have been the last thing her mother saw. The thought didn’t move her in spite of her deliberate attempt to make herself feel something about the death of her parents. She moved to the tree stump that poked up through the snow. Axe-blade gouges marred the top of it. She stepped on top of the stump and gazed at the view. The hum of insects buzzed around her in spite of the repellent she wore. She felt alone. Abandoned for the final time. But what else had she expected?
Oscar began to bark, as ferocious a sound as she’d ever heard the little guy make. She heard an odd snuffle to her right and turned to look. Her eyes widened. A bear nosed at a rotten tree. Bees buzzed around its ears. The characteristic hump behind its head—a head as big as her back—told her it was a brown bear. The claws digging at the tree looked razor sharp. There was no place to run, no place to hide. Besides, it would do no good. A brown bear could run thirty-five miles per hour. She couldn’t move anyway—she could only stare as the bruin took a step toward her. Any minute she expected it to stand on its back legs and roar at her.
She only hoped she was already dead before it began to eat her.
The bear moved toward her again. Oscar launched himself between the bear and her. “Oscar, come,” she whispered. One swipe of the bear’s paw would be the end of the little dog. The bear moved its head back and forth, then huffed. Oscar cowered and yelped, then tucked his tail between his legs and leaped into Haley’s arms.
She held the quivering dog close but didn’t take her eyes off the bear as it advanced slowly. She’d seen documentaries on TV that said bears wouldn’t attack if you played dead. The information she’d read and heard said to either play dead or to make a lot of noise. She couldn’t have pushed a squeak past her closed throat, but she could play dead if she could get her frozen muscles to obey.
Her eyes burned from her unblinking stare at the beast. She stepped down from the tree stump. Her movement caused the bear to stop. She knew she should fall to the ground and lie motionless, but she wanted with everything in her to run. She sank to her knees, then toppled facedown on the ground. She tucked the dog under her neck and covered her head with her arms. Oscar squirmed, and she tried to snatch him back, but he slipped out of her grasp. Barking, he ran around the bear, then stationed himself a safe distance away. She didn’t dare call him back.
Breathing in the fresh scent of melting snow and wet mud, she lay motionless. The bear grew closer, and the pleasant aromas that had filled her nose were pushed out by its pungent stink. She heard it snuffle near her head. The dog continued to bark, but from a safe distance. She expected to feel the bear’s sharp claws on her back, to have its hot breath waft down her neck before it bit into her. She wanted to cry to God for help, but he hadn’t been listening for years. Today would be no different. She closed her eyes and waited for death. Her heart pounded in her ears so loudly she could no longer hear the sound of the bear’s inquisitive movements or Oscar’s frantic barks. Something yanked hard enough on her sleeve that she yelped.
Then she heard a shout. “Get back, Miki! Go, shoo!” A shrill whistle pierced the air, then another longer one that hurt her ears.
The bear snuffled loudly, an agitated sound. He released her sleeve. She wanted to turn her head to see what was happening, but she was still too terrified to move. Moments later she felt a warm hand on her back.
“Are you okay?” The man’s voice was rough with concern. He rolled her over gently.
She lay in a snowbank and looked up into the face of the Paul Bunyan she’d seen earlier. Tank Lassiter. A worried scowl hovered on his face. “You need a haircut,” she said, then felt idiotic.
His scowl was replaced with a look of surprise that faded to amusement. “I’d guess you’re all right if you’re criticizing my hair.” He grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet.
“Sorry. I think I’m suffering post-traumatic stress disorder.” She tried to smile and found it a bit wobbly. Her face crumpled, and she rubbed her forehead, willing herself not to cry. She couldn’t think with Oscar continuing to bark. “Hush, Oscar. Come here.” She patted her leg. Oscar snapped his jaws closed and scurried over to her as fast as his stubby little legs would allow. He plopped down at her side and looked up at her like an adoring lawn ornament.
“He was a lot of help,” Tank said.
She gulped past the rock that had formed in her throat and looked around for the bear. “What happened to Big Ben?”
“That was Miki. I don’t think he would have hurt you, but you never can tell with a bear. He’s still a wild animal.”
“Miki? You know this bear?” For a wild moment she imagined him as Ranger Smith chasing Yogi and Boo Boo through the forest. She began to smile and had to cover her mouth with her hand.
He stared at her with his hands on his hips, a puzzled expression on his face. Oscar jumped up and began to yip and race around their feet. “Lucky for the mutt that Miki wasn’t particularly hungry for wieners today.”
She giggled harder and tried to stop. He would think she had a loose screw. There was nothing funny about almost being eaten by a bear.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
He was beginning to sound annoyed, and she knew he thought she was laughing at him. She snagged Oscar as he passed and finally managed to get her laughter under control. “I’m fine,” she said. “Sorry about that. Laughter is my usual response to stress. Stupid, I know, but there it is.”
“Hey, laughing is better than crying.” His lips quirked up on the ends. He had a nice mouth. Not too full and not too thin. Firm, like he knew what he wanted out of life. She realized she was staring and looked away. “How do you know the bear?”
“I found him after his mother had been shot by poachers. Once he was old enough, I turned him loose. He’s about three now. He still thinks he’s half human, but wild animals are never truly tamed and can revert to their wild nature without warning.”
The dog was wiggling in her arms, so she put him down again. Tank was going to think the dog was a yo-yo. She didn’t like the way she felt stupid around him. “I’ve always heard bears that get too used to humans can be dangerous. Miki was yanking on my arm hard enough to hurt.”
Tank frowned. “It’s never safe to trust a wild animal. What are you doing out here?” he asked. “These ruins are dangerous.”
“I was just looking around.” She folded her arms across her chest. Turning to stare at the cabin again, she realized he might know something. “I heard a couple died in the fire here.”
He propped a boot on the tree stump. “Yes, it was bad. A couple of archeologists who had worked this site for years died in the fire. Luckily, their daughter escaped injury. She’d gone fishing.”
“Their—their daughter?” Haley stammered out the words. She was the only living daughter, and this was the first time she’d set eyes on this cabin in twenty years. “I thought their only child lived in the Lower Forty-eight.”
Tank shrugged. “The father’s daughter, I guess I should have said. Joy. She showed up about two years ago. She was about ten, I think. A lawyer
brought her to the Walshes and told Grady she was his daughter. To Maggie Walsh’s credit, she took the girl in and loved her like her own. I heard she looked a lot like the Walsh girl who died in a cave-in when she was little.” He nodded toward the burned cabin. “Joy always maintained the fire wasn’t an accident, but some folks say she’s been a little touched in the head ever since.”
Someone had taken Chloe’s place. Haley knew she should feel something at the revelation that she had a half sister, but nothing stirred beyond mild curiosity. “How old is this girl?”
“About twelve now, I think.”
And she looked like Chloe, according to Tank. Haley didn’t see how that was possible. No one could be as beautiful as her little sister. Chloe was the perfect child, obedient and kind to everyone. Quite unlike Haley. “I’d better go,” she said. She called Oscar, then turned and hurried away.
Tank watched the woman snatch up her walking stick and rush off. Her auburn curls blazed as they caught the sun. He frowned as he realized he’d been thinking about the vulnerability in her amber eyes. She aroused his sympathy, but he wanted nothing to do with this group of glory seekers. He didn’t trust her any more than he would trust Kipp.
He retraced his steps to his cabin. Several times he caught sight of Miki following him from the safety of the brush. He wished he knew what to do about that bear. The animal’s persistent desire to be around humans was going to get him shot. Tank winced at the thought. He had to figure out a better way to orient Miki to being on his own. The bear was still too young to mate, so that angle wouldn’t work. Right now Miki was solitary.