by Karen Harper
"I hope you don't mind if I record our conversation," he said. "I borrowed Ellie's recorder."
"She's always been like a silent partner, a home-based senior partner, too," Lisa said, forcing a smile. Despite all they'd been through together, even after how supportive Graham had been over the years, she suddenly felt uneasy with him. She had a feeling if she blew this interview, she could kiss the senior partnership goodbye. Strange how her passion for that had faded after the events of the past few days.
"So, first of all, Ellie and I want you to know again how sorry we are that you had the accident with the river, but, thank God, Mitch realized what had happened and had the skills to save you. But that brings me to my first inquiry. No doubt, facing Mitch here in Alaska--being civil to him, after how he let you down--was one thing you had to overcome that the other two candidates for this position did not. Yet you seem to be getting on well with him, to have buried the hatchet, so to speak."
"I was angry and hurt by his decision to move here, and we both reacted emotionally. I couldn't understand why he'd throw everything away--until I came here."
"An appreciation of the place or a real reconciliation of sorts?" he probed. She could read nothing in his expression.
"A peace treaty at least," she said, choosing not to elaborate. Just answer the questions, she told herself, at least until the closing argument. Besides, she wasn't exactly sure what the terms were between her and Mitch, because they'd talked of everything else--survival in the wilds, who tried to kill her, Ginger's death, their past, but not their future. Because, of course, there was no future for them, not together.
"Did being with him under extreme circumstances remind you at all of when you were both under surveillance during the casino case--the stress, threats and danger?"
In a way, she thought, she was under surveillance now. By the Bonners and her two rivals--as well as Mitch for a different reason, and the ever-watchful Christine. And now she was being recorded. Could the unidentified person she saw from the window the night she and Mitch talked in the hot tub have come down to retrieve a voice recorder that had been left there? That possibility would never have crossed her mind, but mention of the casino case reminded her that her condo and car--Mitch's, too--had been bugged.
"Quite honestly, Graham, nearly drowning in the river and then our struggle to get back here reminded me not of the casino case but of the terrible time when I lost my mother and sister."
"Yes, of course. Again, I'm so sorry, and I do understand," he said, tapping his clasped fingers against his lips. "Still, you've worked your way out of that trauma and instability before, and you evidently have again, but a senior partner position adds a lot of stress. And then for you to be the one to find poor Ginger drowned like that--what was your immediate reaction?"
"Shock and horror, of course. Disbelief at first. I screamed for Vanessa to come out on the dock and look."
"Just screamed her name?"
Her eyes bored into his steady stare. Vanessa must have told Graham that she'd screamed her mother's name. But had she really done that or had Vanessa made that up?
"Just screamed--no one's name," she insisted. "But I also recovered myself quickly enough to tell Vanessa we should not pull the body up as she'd asked at first. Whether it was an accident, suicide or murder, we needed to preserve the scene. And I recalled what Mitch had said about the sign for summoning help from a distance, so I managed to climb onto Spike's plane to get their attention."
"So I heard. Ellie and I were in the sauna and missed all that. Spike and Mitch didn't even tell us they were leaving, but jumped in the boat and took off. You do realize I'm not questioning your judgment or ability to be calm in tough situations? You've proved that both in Lauderdale and here. I just wanted to hear things in your words, just as I've interviewed Vanessa and Jonas a bit ago about their experiences here so far. His back's hurting from his fall off the sled, but he's a trooper. Vanessa, of course, is always tough as those acrylic nails of hers. Is there anything you'd like to say about either of them in this competition?"
"I won't presume to judge them, since that's your business--yours and Ellie's. I would not have wanted this position so badly if it wasn't for you, Graham, your kindness over the years, your eye for talent and opportunity, your example, and, of course, your amazing rainmaker talent for attracting influential clients. I certainly trust you to make the right decision for who can best help Carlisle, Bonner and Associates to be even stronger and better, not only for your attorneys or yourself, but for your daughter, when she joins us."
He nodded and reached over to switch off the recorder. "You always had a way with words and with people, Lisa. I regret the hard times in your life, but I believe they have made you stronger. What's that Nietzsche quote about that?"
Again she looked straight at his deep-set blue eyes, and a shiver snaked up her spine. He knew that quote, so why did he want her to recite it? What else was he setting her up for? Was this some sort of message to her--even a threat--or was she making too much of things again?
"I know the one," she said. "'That which does not kill us makes us stronger.'"
The moment Mitch came downstairs from his office to wait for Lisa's interview to end, Jonas waylaid him and motioned him toward the windows over-looking the river. Mitch and Lisa had decided to meet at the spot where she'd been pushed in so she could perhaps recall more about what had happened. She hadn't wanted to go near the place before, but she was obviously desperate enough to do it now. Mitch knew he'd have to make this quick with Jonas, because he didn't want her going alone.
Jonas waited in the corner of the great room where Mitch had left a few of his uncle's many hunting trophies hanging, a pursuit he did not choose to follow. Mounted heads, most done in Gus's taxidermy shop, used to dominate the walls all over the lodge. When Mitch was a kid, the ones that hung in his bedroom used to give him the creeps at night. A moose head with a huge rack of antlers and a caribou gazed down on them now as they huddled together.
"I just want to assure you again," Jonas said, "that, despite back and neck pain, I won't be bringing any sort of action for the sledding accident against you or Spike, the poor guy."
Mitch chose not to ask him why he'd brought it up then. He nodded. "We appreciate that," he said and started to turn away, but Jonas grabbed his arm.
"I was going to ask Graham if I could have my interview in the spa or sauna because that helps my pain, but figured I didn't want to push my luck with him--that he'd think I was trying to play on his sympathies. But if anyone can do that, it's Lisa with all she's been through."
"Are you accusing her of that for some reason?" Mitch countered. "Spit it out, man. I told you more than once when you were new at the firm that, between colleagues, straight talk is the way to go."
"Okay, okay," he said, holding up both hands. "I know Graham thinks a lot of you and vice versa, just like I always looked up to you, and you helped me get grounded in the firm, taught me a lot. Now I'm asking for your continued help and support. If the Bonners ask you for a recommendation for the senior partner position, I'm hoping, since I was your protege, you'll put in a good word for me. Vanessa's volatile, and Lisa shaky at times. You know that."
"Shaky?"
"Yeah, about her past, about her life's disappointments."
"And your quest to help Emerson, the fear of possibly losing him, the stress of all that care and money hasn't shaken you up at times?"
Jonas suddenly looked frustrated and furious, but Mitch could tell he fought showing it. And he'd called Vanessa volatile? Suddenly, Mitch was certain Jonas had rigged that fall from the sled, but he'd probably never prove it. Could that mean this man he'd liked, trusted and groomed could have been desperate enough to push Lisa in the river?
"So, what do you think of these trophies?" Mitch continued with a nod toward the mounted heads. "My uncle was proud of them, but my trophies in life are a different kind. Not head-hunting, but I share with him his goal of helping peopl
e to find a beautiful place and find themselves. Jonas, your real trophies in life are your family and the career you've worked hard to build--helping people that way. It's admirable, and whatever happens, you've got a lot going for you. I'm not a senior partner for the firm anymore, and the decision about the new one is up to Graham, so let's leave it at that."
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," Jonas said, his voice cold and hard as he frowned up at the mounted heads, wiping his big, strong hands on his jeans, repeatedly. It was as if he wanted to wipe away something he'd said. Or done.
Lisa wanted to wait for Mitch, meant to wait for him, but he wasn't in sight yet. She didn't want someone to see her standing on the patio and join her. Besides, she had to prove to herself she was not afraid of the river, however much she'd been avoiding it, even when its continual rumble reminded her of its power. Mitch had checked the area where she'd been pushed for clues, so she'd told herself she didn't have to go there. But now, she felt she did.
She slowly left the lodge behind and strolled the ridge path between the lake and the river, sure he'd soon catch up. She looked behind and ahead constantly, even glancing down both slopes below the path. Bird sounds were muted; the breeze through the branches became muffled; only the roar of the river filled her ears and her head.
Lake Dukhoe, now looking fairly placid, had probably taken Ginger's life, whether she was the victim of an accident or of a murderer. Lisa felt certain she had not committed suicide. But was it coincidence that Ginger drowned, or was it a second and intentional attempt at murder by water, this time a success for someone?
She went a bit farther on the path and glanced back to where she knew Ginger docked her boat near the lodge. Either from the lake or on her way into the lodge after she put in, Ginger could have seen someone on this path, maybe saw someone push her, or at least later learned Lisa had fallen in and had drawn her own conclusions. Lisa squatted and checked the sight angles again. Yes, that was possible.
She looked back toward the kitchen windows to see if Christine might have noted anything from there. No, she could have seen Ginger but not the spot where Lisa had stopped to spray herself with mosquito repellent and where someone shoved her.
Though she'd avoided doing so before, Lisa glanced down at the white water beneath her. It still frightened her, like some monster in a fairy tale. She leaned against a young tree and clamped her arms around it to anchor herself. Ginger's anchor chain--did it just snag her, or did someone wrap it around her leg to hold her down?
Again she looked back down the path and then ahead. Still holding the tree, she glanced down toward the spot on the lake where Mitch had left the red, two-person kayak for their trip that day--could it be only four days ago? Mitch had been forced to abandon the kayak back in the river canyon. She hadn't offered to pay him for it, but she should. She owed him so much--so much....
The roar of the river riveted her. Just ahead, she saw the general area she'd been shoved in. Maybe if she stood there again, tried to reconstruct, to recall...But she wanted Mitch here first, someone with her.
She had to admit that water was mesmerizing. It made the Wild River look not only wild, but wider, deeper than it must actually be. Over the years, it would probably grow in her imagination, in her nightmares. The rush of the white-water current, the swirling eddies were compelling, like a huge, living creature beckoning her to come into its arms, to come along....
She let go of the tree and took a step along the path. This was the very place she'd tumbled in--she recognized the sapling she'd tried to seize, but it had only bent under her weight. Bent but not broken, bent but not broken...
"Lisa! You said you'd wait!"
Mitch hurried toward her. Then came the flurry of something nearby, a sharp scream, a shrill cry. She saw a blur between them with white wings vibrating, a neck and head of shining copper in the slant of sun.
The scream, Lisa realized, had been hers. She fought hard to push away the memory of herself tumbling in the river, of Ginger beneath the water. Worse, her mother in her mind's eye.
A bird! Mitch had startled a bird, that's all. The roar and rush of the water--the monster river would not devour her this time.
"Sweetheart, I said to wait for me!" Mitch said, taking her shoulders in his hands before he pulled her to him.
They held on to each other. "It just happened, step by step," she said, her voice shaky, her mouth near his ear before they stepped apart. "But what was that bird?"
"A ptarmigan."
"Never heard of it."
"It's Alaska's state bird, and they're proud of it. Special--unique."
"I guess so! It--it actually sounded like a really loud frog."
"They have feathered feet and don't migrate. If Alaskans say a person has feathered feet, they mean they'll stay, not go back to the lower forty-eight. A special bird, special people who stay. You sure you're all right?"
"Absolutely. At least I did better than when that moose rose from the lake. Mitch, I'm sure this is the place, right here, where I went in."
"Yeah. I can tell from the smashed vegetation and scraped lichens where I shoved the kayak up and down. Did anything come to you?"
"Just the magnetism of the river. I really think, if someone stared into it long enough, it makes you feel you're moving with it--or want to be."
"Yes, I can see that. You can get almost dizzy. But are you certain that's not what happened to you? Stand right there a moment and remember once and for all," he said, stepping behind her.
Reluctantly, she turned to look at the fabulous but fearsome river again. Although Mitch stood behind her, just like whoever had pushed her, with him here, she was not afraid.
"I couldn't hear anyone because of the roar, because I was fascinated," she said over her shoulder, raising her voice to be heard. "I was remembering when I lost Mother and Jani, but I did not leap toward it. If I wanted to jump in, I would have gone down this bank, gotten closer first. Mitch," she said, turning to face him, "I have wavered on this, I know I have. You have, too, wondering what really happened. Like Ginger, I hit my head--the shock of the water...But I was pushed, and I'm going to find out who did it."
"I'm with you. I always have been on this."
"I need your help. Even if the sheriff says we have to stay here a few days longer until the autopsy results are finalized, we don't have much time. I've got to do something to make someone come to the surface."
"What are you thinking?"
"Maybe I could tell Vanessa I think Jonas pushed me in--divide and conquer, swear her to secrecy. Maybe tell him just the opposite. But then Vanessa and Jonas might both tell Graham I'm trying to play one against the other--which would be true. Let's see what the coroner and sheriff say about Ginger. If it's murder, we'll tell him what happened to me and let him take over, though that would be the end of me at the law firm. But this has become more important, when I never thought anything could be. Alaska and your love for it have helped me to put things in perspective."
"It means everything to hear you say that. I'd like to think you could forgive me for leaving you the way I did. And remember about feathered feet--just don't let them get wet."
18
"I
finally got some sleep," Lisa told Christine the next morning. She poured herself a glass of orange juice as Christine set the breakfast table. "I guess I was too wound up before, because I've been exhausted ever since I--I fell in the river." "Iah, emotional exhaustion's awful. You're so tired, but your mind keeps going. So, if you need a jolt of carbs, I bought some muffins and rolls while we were in Talkeetna," she said, arranging some on a plate. "Still, nothing's going to replace Ginger. One of a kind."
"For sure. When my grandmother, who also made great baked goods, died, I couldn't bear to bake for the longest time, though she'd taught me everything I know about that, and I loved to do it. As for Ginger being unique, it seems most things and people in Alaska are one of a kind."
Christine nodded at that, her eyes sparkling
with approval. "You're still black and blue," she observed. "You ought to use the sauna like Jonas has since he got hurt. Good for what ails you."
"I've been meaning to. I'm sure it would help, but I've just been so busy and distracted. I will later today. I guess after the memorial service for Ginger, we're all going ziplining. Have you done it? I never have."
"Sure. Good for clearing out the cobwebs and lifting the soul. In Ginger's honor, I'll do it today if it's okay with Mitch."
"You two are a good team here at the lodge," Lisa said.
"With Spike, a trio. Look, I got something to tell you, 'cause Mitch said I should."
Lisa put her glass down. With her empty tray in front of her, Christine sat across the table, so Lisa sat, too. What was coming next? A confession about something? She sensed some sort of warning in the air.
"Don't think I believe all this old lore," Christine said, keeping her voice low, "but I got to tell you about a legend, the kind of story my people call suktus. A lot of the old tales have the same hero, but he's really evil, a trickster, the raven, called chulyen."
"An evil hero?"
Christine nodded. "Raven gets away with everything in the stories--lying, conning people, stealing, even murder. And the stories, to teach our children to beware of two-faced people, all end with something like, 'the raven was very wise but very crooked.'"
"But I don't see--"
"You and Mitch watch all the others. If I note it, someone else might, too. You're studying their faces, how they act. You are both trying to see who did something very crooked, but remember, raven is also wise, so you must be careful."
