MURDEROUS MORNING: A heart-stopping crime novel with a stunning end.

by Bernadette Calonego

  Yes, Savannah was right. Tessa had to admit that to herself. And Harrison couldn’t stand Fran. He’d rejected her as a person and resented that she married his son.

  Tessa didn’t comment. She needed time to think about everything. Did Harrison blackmail Fran with something? Had he driven her into a corner? Did he want her to leave Hank? One hypothesis after another went through her head. She heard Savannah’s voice as if it were far away.

  “I think that Fran had him, Harrison, wrapped around her little finger. That’s what she did with everybody, right? And she was always successful. She always got what she wanted.”

  Savannah’s words dripped into Tessa’s thoughts like water onto dry soil.

  She wanted Hank and got him.

  She wanted a farm in the wilderness. Hank gave in.

  She wanted to have a third child, even though she was really overwhelmed with two kids. She got her child.

  She wanted to move away to a farm that might soon be flooded by a dam.

  Only this time, Hank didn’t go along with it.

  Where the hell would she get the money for a farm in Grouse Valley? Certainly not from Harrison Miller. The mayor wanted to buy an outfitter license and then build a lodge. He wanted to have Hank nearby. If Savannah’s observations were correct, then there was a question: What did Fran want from her father-in-law? What was so important that she was ready to meet him and let him embrace her?

  “I’m wondering what the cops think about this,” Savannah interrupted Tessa while she was trying to think.

  “When did you tell them about that?”

  “Yesterday.”

  That meant that the police would have confronted the mayor with this. She assumed that Harrison Miller would deny that they had met. That’s what ruthless politicians do at first, and then when they are caught, they come up with some half-truths.

  She needed some fresh air to clear her head. And a place where she could really sob without someone seeing her. Or hearing her.

  “Are the dogs with him?” she asked and stood up.

  “With whom?”

  “With Harrison Miller.”

  “Did Dad take them over to him?”

  Tessa shook her head. “We’d better find out.” She picked up her cell phone and sent Lionel Miller a text message because she wanted to avoid the mayor. Are Hank’s dogs with your father? They’re not here.”

  Savannah got up and placed her teacup in the dishwasher. “I’m going home briefly. I’ll be back soon.”

  Tessa heard the door slam shut and her car driving off. Aside from the humming of the fridge, it was completely quiet in the house. Even the cats weren’t making any sound. Tessa found the quiet to be scary; it felt like the calm before the storm. Curious, a cat sauntered into the kitchen. If only the animal could talk and say what had happened on Fran’s farm. Tessa understood why many people considered animals to be messengers from the far side. Messengers of the gods. Like the Sitklat’l. Send me a message from Fran, she silently begged the cat. But this cat only rubbed her legs.

  There was a message, Tessa suddenly realized. The cat collar. If she only knew how it had landed on the path to Whitesand Bay. She put on her sneakers and windbreaker and opened the front door. She took a deep breath of the cool morning air and sucked it into her lungs. The birds were singing. She listened carefully as if on behalf of Fran, Hank, and the children. A gray jay flew from branch to branch. As kids they had let the trusting birds pick breadcrumbs from their hands. Tessa remembered exactly how the birds’ claws felt on her fingers. Everything was just as it used to be: the birds, the woods in front of her eyes, the distant screeching of a chain saw. Like before, when Fran and her family were still alive. Tessa trembled. Why couldn’t she just wake up from this nightmare?

  A sudden noise. She gave a start.

  A man was standing at the edge of the forest.

  31

  As if pulled by invisible strings, she walked over to him.

  “You scared me!”

  “I want to talk to you,” Tsaytis Chelin answered.

  “Why didn’t you come into the house?” That was an unnecessary question; she already knew the answer. Tsaytis didn’t want anybody to hear them.

  “I don’t want to bother anybody.”

  “Then let’s go to my cabin.”

  Tsaytis followed her through the woods. It was the first time in two years that Tessa had seen her hideout. Her father took care of it. The key was in its usual hiding place that only he and she knew about.

  The inside smelled like cedar. It came from freshly cut kindling her father must have recently stacked up by the stove. Here he found peace and quiet, as she had back in her teenage years. Her books were still lined up on the shelf. Tessa suddenly became aware of the fact that she and Tsaytis were taking a step into their shared past. At the same time, she also knew they were not the same people they were back then.

  Tsaytis sat down in the old armchair. He was no longer the shy teenager he had been, but rather a confident, charismatic man who demanded respect. She had done everything she could to separate herself emotionally from him, in order not to stay trapped in the old days. She shivered lightly. The colorful past with Tsaytis stood like an elephant in the room. Tessa sat down on a ripped leather footrest.

  Tsaytis looked at her. He spoke first: “You must really be heartbroken. I wish that I could make it easier for you, but nobody can relieve your pain.”

  She looked through the window at the furrowed trunks of the cedars. “If only it would have an end,” she heard herself say. “I feel like a robot. I can’t really mourn before they find the murderer.”

  Tsaytis brushed hair off his face, a gesture she remembered well. “I don’t know anybody who isn’t shaken to the core. I’m sure that the police know more than they are saying. Maybe I can give you some answers, Tessa. But first, something personal.”

  She looked at him in anticipation.

  His eyes focused on the rustic bookshelf. He had read many of the books on it while staying at the family’s house.

  “I have a strong suspicion about who killed the grizzlies. It is very probable that two of our young guys did it. I’m on their trail right now.” His face darkened. It must be very hard for him to report this, she thought. “Both of them see themselves as warriors. They don’t accept the path I’ve blazed for the Sitklat’l. They don’t accept the results of the land treaty we negotiated with the government. They want complete self-government and our own laws on Sitklat’l territory. Not the laws of the white people.”

  Tessa understood his internal conflict. The arrival of the white settlers had not been good for the indigenous people.

  He looked her right in the eyes. A fire burned in his. “But that doesn’t explain everything. The young people wouldn’t kill grizzlies unless somebody had fired them up. I belong to the Grizzly Clan, and my ancestors honored and respected the grizzly. It belongs to us like the woods and the lakes and the wind and the ocean. The grizzly connects us with the Great Spirit.”

  Tessa sighed. Where was the Great Spirit hiding? Whatou Lake was plagued by evil spirits. She asked: “Do you have any idea who’s behind it all? Is it the ranger?”

  Tsaytis got up. “No, I don’t think so. Somebody with much darker plans. My feelings tell me that I’m on his heels. You can help me to stay on his track.”

  She put two and two together. “You want the photo memory card from me, right?”

  He looked down at her. “Which memory card?” He didn’t seem to know what she was talking about. Hadn’t Lynn Prett told him anything about what she had seen? About the video? The bear researcher wanted to confront Noreen Chelin with it. At least, that was what she had said.

  Tessa’s hand moved quickly to the breast pocket of her windbreaker. She searched through the pocket several times. Her fingers never found anything. She went through all of her jacket pockets. She looked in the inner pockets, too.

  Then in the side pockets again. Nothing.
/>   “I’ve lost the memory card,” she mumbled confused. “Didn’t Lynn Prett tell you anything?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t know anything about a memory card.”

  She tried desperately to figure out where it could be. If it was no longer in her hands, it was senseless to tell Tsaytis what had happened. “It’s not important,” she said quickly. “Why do you think that I can help you? I’m only interested in Fran and Hank and the children, Tsaytis. I want to find their murderer. Whoever is pushing the young people to become bear poachers, you’ll have to find out yourself.”

  “Don’t you think all of these events are connected?” Tsaytis sat down on the edge of the old chair, his hands clasped. “First somebody kills the bears, and then . . .” Once again he didn’t finish his sentence.

  She stayed silent. Everything seemed confused and impenetrable to her. Who was telling the truth, who was telling half-truths, and who was dishing out lies? She didn’t know anymore. But Tsaytis had never lied to her. He was sometimes so open that it actually hurt. He had driven her into a rage with his honesty. So much that she wanted to leave Whatou Lake.

  “You weren’t really searching for Fran, right? Not yesterday or when you showed up at Beaver Lake? You were tracking the two guys who killed the bears.”

  They stared at each other for a few seconds. Then a shadow fell across his face, and the spell broke. “That’s not true. I did look for her,” he replied. “I wanted to see who was going to show up at her cabin.”

  “Why?”

  “Maybe somebody was looking for something there.”

  “I showed up. Were you waiting for me?”

  “It was a possibility. But actually I was waiting for someone else.”

  “So tell me!”

  “Telford Reed.” He paused. “I had seen him there a week before. Him and Fran.”

  She looked at him silently while her brain tried to absorb this new surprise.

  After she had collected her thoughts, she said: “I think you’re on the wrong track, Tsaytis. Fran met Telford because she had heard that Harrison Miller wanted to buy the outfitter license for Hank. She told Telford that Hank wasn’t interested in it. That they were going to move to a farm in Grouse Valley. She wanted to convince Telford not to make a deal with Harrison Miller.”

  Suddenly she realized that something was wrong with the timing. According to Telford, the two of them had met a month earlier. “When did you see them at the cabin?”

  “About ten days ago.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “I saw both of them coming out of the cabin. Fran got on her ATV and Telford on his, and they drove off together in the direction of the V4 forestry road.”

  Tessa thought about it feverishly. Where had the children been on that day? Was Hank taking care of them? Or Dana? She quickly abandoned the thought. Suddenly everybody was claiming that they had seen Fran with other men. First with Harrison Miller in the pickup in Whatou Lake. And now with Telford Reed at the cabin on Beaver Lake.

  Fran had not gotten to know many men in her life. Before Hank came along, there had been something going on with a guy from the baseball team. Nothing serious. And then there had been, as far as Tessa knew, just Hank. Hank and once again Hank.

  For a few seconds both of them were silent. Then she spoke up again. “Tsaytis, have you . . . discussed this with Telford?”

  “No, I’m just giving you this information. Maybe you can get more out of him.”

  “Did you tell the police about this?”

  “They got an anonymous tip. And I hope you don’t give me away.”

  Of course, Tessa thought. Tsaytis didn’t want to ruin it with the guy who wanted to sell his outfitter license to the Sitklat’l. According to him, the alleged encounter happened ten days ago. So who was the person Kratz Hilder had flown in the floatplane to Beaver Lake seven days ago, two days before the murders? She simply had to find out more about this.

  From out of the blue, she was submerged in a tsunami of despair. A chasm opened up in front of her. She closed her eyes and held on tightly to the cold stove.

  “Tessa, what’s the matter?” Tsaytis jumped up and stood in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulder and let go of them just as quickly.

  She could only speak in fragments: “Is this our punishment . . . for . . . Jenny’s death, Tsaytis? Has the Great Spirit abandoned us?”

  Tsaytis stood still, like the cedars around the cabin. At some point he went over to the window and looked out. After a long time, he turned to her. “I’ve often thought about the Doles, about what losing Jenny must have meant to them. The nightmares, which they must have had . . . or might even still have. Imagining what kind of terrible death their daughter must have suffered. “ His voice was rough and emotional. “Especially since I now have kids myself.” He cleared his throat.

  “You and me, we have to live with the memory of her screaming and dying. We were so young back then. What a traumatic event. There was nothing that we could have done, Tessa. People shouldn’t feel guilty about things they have no control over. Jenny decided to lie to her parents, take the ATV secretly, and follow us. Every day we make decisions, and sometimes we make mistakes. And if you have bad luck, a mistake can end fatally.”

  She stared into nothingness. She would gladly have answered him, but her feelings were too complicated to put into words.

  “There’s no consolation I can offer you,” he said softly. “A lot of times there’s only pain and despair.”

  Tessa remained silent. Her throat felt like a knot was tied around it.

  Tsaytis suddenly went to the door. “I have to go,” he said. “We’ll meet again.”

  A second later the door shut.

  She stood there, unable to clear her head. Instantly, she was catapulted back into the past, back to that day, five and a half years ago, when she had sat with Tsaytis in the main office of the Sitklat’l. She had been in a terrific mood; the national broadcast network wanted to send a TV crew to document the successful land claims hearings and to learn about the Sitklat’l’s plans for the future. It was all thanks to Tessa, who had used her contacts with a film producer in Toronto. Back then she told Tsaytis euphorically about what a great chance this film offered the Sitklat’l. It would also be great advertisement for Watershed Lodge.

  Tsaytis had listened to her patiently, all the way to the end of her exuberant presentation. Then he said soberly: “We are certainly interested, but we want to have control over the film’s content.”

  “These are independent journalists, Tsaytis; you can’t control them completely, but I will make sure that you will always be heard.”

  “We don’t want that.”

  “What is it that you don’t want?”

  “For you to have your fingers in it as the contact person. We can speak for ourselves.”

  “Of course you can; I just want to make a contribution by—”

  “Tessa, we don’t want your help. Just like the journalists, we’re independent. We don’t want any white heroes in the film playing the role of our saviors.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “Do you possibly mean me by white heroes?”

  Unmoved, he returned her gaze. “We hired you as the lawyer for the land claims hearings. You did good work. Very good work. I’ve let you know that many times. But now a new era is starting up that we want to take charge of.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Deep down she suspected that he was about to say something crucial. Something that would be critical for her. And not in a positive way.

  “Our hereditary council has decided we no longer require your services. Some of the members feel that you’re pushing yourself too much into the spotlight.”

  She felt that she had been struck by lightning. For a couple of seconds, she was speechless. Then she looked at him and asked: “And what do you think? You don’t have to hide behind the elders.”

  “Times have changed, Tessa. You should unde
rstand that better than the others.”

  Upon hearing this, an anger rose up in her. It was aimed at the man who sat across from her, her former boyfriend, who—as she believed at this moment—didn’t want to have anything more to do with her. “Do you know what I think? You are behind this. You orchestrated the whole thing. Turned everybody against me. And I also know why.” She jumped up. “Because every time you see me, you are forced to remember Jenny Dole and Whitesand Bay. Because you don’t want to feel guilty about this anymore. Because you”—her voice almost shrieked—“because you feel like a coward for not helping Jenny.”

  She had gone to the door. “And you know what, today I see that you really are a coward. You’re throwing me in the garbage like a piece of worn-out furniture. Just because some of your people want it. Thank you, thank you very much. You did a good job here, Tsaytis Chelin!”

  And with these words she had slammed the door shut.

  A few months after that, she had moved to Vancouver. She wanted to start a new life in a new place. She didn’t want to see Tsaytis Chelin again. And there was another reason: without work from the Sitklat’l, she couldn’t survive as a lawyer in Whatou Lake.

  Tessa blinked and was once again aware of the trees in front of the cabin. A raven on a branch clucked loudly.

  She’d had a childish meltdown back then, a disgraceful scene, but she no longer criticized herself for it. Her anger had actually helped her to cut the ties with Whatou Lake . . . from her hometown, from her parents, and from Tsaytis.

  She stopped in front of the cabin and breathed in the smell of damp wood and new buds. She would have gladly walked through the forest for a while just like she used to, with a light step on the soft ground. But there was no time for that.

  32

  When she returned to the house, Tsaytis was nowhere to be seen. The meeting with him already seemed as vague as a mirage.

  Even before she could open the door, her cell phone beeped. She looked at the display. A text from Cindy: Harrison wants to know what you are telling the press today.