Alaska Twilight

by Colleen Coble

  “Now you sound like Augusta.” Haley stirred her melting ice cream.

  “God loves you,” Joy said. “I don’t think you know that, but he does.”

  “If that’s love, I don’t need it,” Haley said. “He let my sister die though I begged him to save her. He doesn’t listen.”

  “God never said we wouldn’t have sorrow,” Tank said. “I find it odd that you’d excuse your parents but not God. He is the ultimate judge and makes correct decisions on everything, unlike our earthly parents. He was with you in that dark hole, and he’s with you now. He can turn even this out for your good if you’d let him.”

  “I don’t want good to come out of it—that would make it worse. Besides, the difference is that God could have done something about Chloe, and he didn’t.”

  “Your parents could have chosen to forgive your childish acting out too, and they didn’t.”

  Haley stood and tossed her warm ice cream in the trash receptacle by the door. “I’d better go check on Augusta. Thanks for listening.” She grabbed up her crutches.

  “Can I meet our grandmother?” Joy asked.

  “It’s getting late,” Haley pointed out. “How about later? If you can get permission, call me, and I’ll come get you.”

  Joy stood and rushed to hug her. Haley let the girl enfold her in her arms, but it was as though she stood outside the scene watching it through her viewfinder.

  Tank wasn’t sure how to breach the awkward silence. Haley swung along on her crutches without looking to the right or the left. Her face was set and strained, and he knew revealing her past had taken a huge toll on her mental state. Poor kid. She was beating herself up over a foolish childhood mistake, and it looked like she intended to continue for the rest of her life.

  He cleared his throat. “That took guts to tell us.” She glanced up at him, then quickly looked away, but not before he saw the moisture in her eyes. She didn’t answer, so he tried again to break past the wall she was busy erecting. “Talking about it helps. Keeping the pain bottled up just makes it hurt worse.”

  She didn’t look up from her scrutiny of the path in front of her. “I don’t notice you talking about things much. You never mention your wife’s death.”

  He winced. She knew how to turn the tables on him. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s not easy to talk about things you feel responsible for.”

  She stopped and looked at him then. “I thought she drowned. How can you feel responsible for that?”

  Her amber gaze pinned him in place. He shuffled his feet and looked away. “I should have realized she needed more of my time. Brooke’s birth threw her for a loop, and she wasn’t herself after that. When I wasn’t catching up on my research, I was doting on Brooke. I think Leigh felt left out. Just before she died, she said she needed some space, that she needed to talk to her dad about it. She was unhappy, and I didn’t do what I needed to fix it.”

  He took off his floppy hat and rubbed his head. “I got home late that night, and she wasn’t there. Brooke was sleeping like a baby. I went out to look for Leigh. I never found her, so I called in help on the radio. Early the next morning, I found her in the lake.”

  “I’m sorry.” Haley put her hand on his arm. “I know it’s hard to think about. But you still have Brooke.”

  He covered her hand with his. Being this close to her somehow eased his pain. “The autopsy report just came back. Leigh had a high amount of a sleeping aid called Seconal in her blood. Ed Bixby thinks she killed herself.” Or worse, that Tank killed her, but he bit back the words.

  Her fingers tightened on his; then she pulled her hand away. “Will that hurt your custody case?”

  He hadn’t considered the possibility. A sudden pain flared at his temple. “I’d better let my lawyer know. Brooke is my life. I can’t lose her.” He checked his watch. “Libby should be here with her any minute. I thought they’d be here by now.”

  They reached Chugach Street. A few beat-up trucks rumbled past, and Tank pulled Haley out of the way of the mud that came slinging up from the tires. Some light, appealing scent rose from her hair. The sunshine made it glow with even more fiery red. It was all he could do to resist bending down and pressing his lips to the top of her head and inhaling.

  She looked up at him, and her eyes widened. He wondered if she felt the same pull he did. It was useless with so much separating them. He’d never live in a big city, and she would never live here. There was no way to reconcile their differences. Her spirit and courage drew him, but he had to resist it.

  Thirteen

  Someone had been cooking in the hotel. The odor of sausage and sauerkraut filled the hallway. Haley wanted to fling open the windows at the end of the hallway, then caught herself. It wasn’t the sauerkraut that made her feel she was walking through a nauseating mist. It was her own self-loathing. Telling the story to Joy and Tank had brought it all back.

  She was thankful the hallway was deserted. Haley wouldn’t have been able to smile and greet another soul. She wanted to get to her room and curl up on her bed. Pull the covers over her head and forget where she was and why she was here. The warm sunshine of Phoenix seemed distant, though the cold she felt had little to do with the gray, cool air. She didn’t belong in this hallway with its faded green wallpaper that was peeling and bubbled in the corners. She longed to lift her face to warm Arizona sunshine, to pick up the threads of the life that had helped her to forget what had happened in this land of wide spaces and cold hearts.

  But she was stuck now. She’d have to see it through. She fumbled with the key in the door. It slipped from her stiff, cold fingers and dropped onto the worn gold carpet. Balancing herself with the crutches, she stooped to retrieve it. Before she could try the lock again, the door swung open.

  Augusta stood looking down at her. “You were gone so long, darling. I was beginning to worry. Where did you go?”

  “To meet Joy.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine.” Haley stepped past Augusta and advanced to the bed.

  “What was she like?”

  Haley tried to ignore the eagerness in her grandmother’s voice. The hollow feeling between her shoulder blades wasn’t jealousy, she told herself. She looked at the faded bedspread and wondered how many people had sat on it other than herself. She folded it up and moved it to a chair. At least the sheets were clean and white. Pulling off her boot, she lay down on top of the bed.

  “Don’t you dare take a nap when I’m dying to know everything that happened!” Augusta sat on the bed beside her.

  Pinned by her grandmother’s blue-eyed gaze, Haley realized she wasn’t going to be able to escape in sleep. Hugging the pillow, she sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “She’s perfect, okay? Wide-eyed, innocent, and totally deserving of my parents’ love.” She softened her tone at Augusta’s stricken face. “She wants to meet you. She looks just like Chloe, Augusta.”

  Augusta leaned forward, and the familiar scent of Augusta’s peppermint breath whispered over her face. Augusta cupped Haley’s face in her hands. “Haley, you will always be my special one. You don’t have to worry about anyone taking your place in my heart. But there’s room for more in our family. Don’t let fear keep you from doing the right thing.”

  Her cheeks burned. Augusta’s face blurred, and Haley blinked rapidly. “I want to go home, Augusta.”

  Augusta straightened, and Haley recognized the Doris Day determination. “No, Haley. Running away won’t solve anything. I want you to face this, to forgive yourself once and for all.”

  Haley pulled her face free. “I thought I might be able to do that here, Augusta. I would chronicle Chloe’s short life, face my fears and all the things I’d done like my shrink said, and be done with it, but she was wrong. The guilt is still there. I am to blame. My sister is dead because I wanted to hurt her! How can I forgive myself ?”

  “You know why you can’t forgive yourself, Haley?”

  Augusta asked, her voice quiet. “Because if yo
u do, you think that will make it okay that Chloe is dead. You think you’ll be letting Chloe down a second time. But listen—forgiving yourself doesn’t make it okay. When you recognize you’re part of the human race with all our foibles and frailties, you can let it go. When we sin or make a mistake, we try to learn from it. We don’t hold on to it and nurse our feelings of unworthiness. God loved you when he formed you in your mother’s womb, though he knew even then every choice you would make. If he can love you—and me—in spite of our faults, can’t you learn to love yourself a little too?”

  “It always goes back to God. If he loves me so much, why do I have this?” She slammed her palm down on her stump. “Why did he let my parents reject me? Why did he let my sister die?”

  “We have no easy answers this side of heaven, Haley.” Her grandmother’s voice was so quiet, Haley had to strain to hear her reply. “Romans 8:28 says we know all things work together for good to those who know Christ and are the called according to his purpose. We can’t see the big picture on this earth. We can only trust he’s got it all in hand.”

  “I stopped believing that when he killed my sister,” Haley said.

  Augusta plowed on. “Deep down, you know I’m right, Haley. You’re angry with God and angry with yourself. I know you sometimes feel aimless and wonder why you’re here on this earth. You need to get in touch with God’s purpose for your life. He has one. You just need to let him reveal it to you.”

  Haley didn’t want to feel jealousy toward her newfound sister, and she hated upsetting her grandmother. Augusta had done so much for her over the years, and she didn’t deserve this. “You want to meet Joy now? We could go back to her house.” She rubbed her eyes. “I want you to see what she’s living in now. We probably ought to do something to help her.”

  “Not now. You’re tired. Take a nap, and we’ll take a walk later. I saw a cute park on the way home from the café. Some fresh air might blow out the cobwebs.”

  Haley nodded, then lay down and pulled her knees to her chest. If only there was some way to be absolved of her guilt.

  The radio squawked once, then died. Chet swore and threw the receiver down, making Tank’s ears ring. “Radio gone again? I wanted to check in with Libby and see if they’re on their way yet.”

  “Piece of junk,” Chet muttered. He sighed and picked it up again, then rattled it. It surged back to life with the high-pitched squeal of an incoming call. He answered it and listened, then hung up slowly. “Got the autopsy back on Joe Wooten.”

  Tank studied his father-in-law’s face, which was set and hard. “And?”

  “And he was shot. The bear got him after he was dead.”

  Tank inhaled quickly. Murder. While violence always loomed just around the corner in Alaska, he hadn’t expected this. It was in his neck of the woods too. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Who could have killed Joe—and why? It seemed like death had stalked the area for a year now. First the Walshes, then Leigh, and now Dr. Wooten. It left him looking over his shoulder, even though he knew the incidents weren’t related.

  “Mind if I use the radio?” Tank asked.

  “If you can get it to work.”

  Chet moved out of the way, and Tank took his place. No one answered. “Libby and Brooke must be on their way to town.” He disconnected, then swung around to watch Chet going through paperwork on his desk. “Do we have any idea what happened to Joe? What caliber gun, any information?”

  “Yeah, but what we have doesn’t tell me much. He was shot through the temple with a shotgun.”

  “Ugh. It’s going to be hard to figure out whose gun did it.”

  “Probably why the perp used a shotgun. It will be harder to trace.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want to tell Sue about this. It was hard enough announcing her husband was dead.”

  “So where do you start with Joe’s death?”

  “The usual places. Talk to his acquaintances, see who saw him last. I’ll probably start with Sue.”

  “She’s not a hunter.”

  “No, but she can give me details of what he was doing the last time she saw him.”

  Tank glanced at his watch. He had some time to kill until Libby and Brooke showed up. “Want some company?”

  “I’d better handle this. Thanks anyway.” He nodded toward the window. “The park is hopping today. Go take a stroll, and let me worry about the murder.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little odd that we’ve had all these deaths lately?” Tank said.

  A shadow darkened Chet’s eyes. “You don’t have to tell me. When we found Leigh, I didn’t think I could go on living. I was drinking myself into oblivion when Joe Wooten dragged me into the bathroom and pushed me into a cold shower. He poured all the booze down the drain and came over every night for a month to play cards and drink coffee until I got my feet under me again. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.”

  Chet kept his grief for his daughter very private, and Tank never realized the trooper had nearly unraveled. “Sorry, Chet,” Tank said quietly.

  Chet waved his big hand in the air. “I’ll find out who did this.” The radio squawked. Chet held up a finger in Tank’s direction. “Hang on a minute.” He went to the radio.

  Tank glanced at the pictures on the wall while Chet was on the radio. A burned-out cabin arrested his gaze. The Walsh cabin. While death was a part of life out here, he couldn’t remember another period of time where so many people had died unnaturally. Could they all be related? He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? They had nothing in common.

  Only Joe Wooten’s was murder. But the thought lodged in his brain like a burr. Maybe he’d ask around a little about the Walsh fire. It couldn’t hurt. If he found something, he could ask Chet to test for accelerants.

  The park’s tranquility washed over Haley. A Native, his face brown and wrinkled, carved tiny ivory seals and swans from a cigar box full of seal tusks. His legs crossed and his back straight, he sat on an old army blanket in the middle of a field of wildflowers. To the man’s right, Haley saw a woman with salt-and-pepper hair drawn back into a tight bun. She was mounting some kind of little creature on a wooden plaque. Boughs of spruce lay heaped in a basket beside her.

  They’d been moving toward the park when Libby and Brooke pulled up in a pickup truck. Brooke had begged to go with them to the park, and Libby had seemed happy to oblige. As they walked, she told Augusta how much she loved her books.

  Haley paused to watch the Natives work. Libby saw Haley staring. “That’s a hoofaboo,” she said. “It’s made from a caribou hoof. You’re supposed to hang him on a south-facing wall, and he’ll bring luck to your home.”

  “Charming,” Augusta said.

  Haley stared at the cute little hoofaboo and wondered how it would look on her pale-lemon walls in the elegant home that looked out on White Tanks. Probably ridiculous, but the little face was cute. Oscar nudged her chin with a wet nose, and she pushed him down then put him on the ground.

  A crowd began to gather. A dachshund ran over to rub noses with Oscar, then more wiener dogs yipped and tore across the park. “What’s going on?” Haley asked Libby. She loved to watch the dogs. Dachshunds always looked like they were smiling.

  Libby’s delighted smile spread across her face. “I’d forgotten. It’s our annual wiener-dog races.”

  “I’ve heard of them but never seen one. Joy mentioned it.”

  “You should put Oscar in it.” Augusta patted the dog’s head. “He’s fast.”

  “Oscar wouldn’t know what to do. He’s never raced before.” Haley shielded her eyes with her hand. “Here comes Tank now.” He strode across the park and joined them.

  His smile broadened as he looked around at the dogs. “The wiener-dog races! Brooke loves them.”

  “Oscar is eating up the attention. Augusta wants me to enter him.”

  He rubbed Oscar’s head, and the little dog wriggled with delight. “Go ahead. You might as well enjoy the e
vening. You may never see another wiener-dog race.”

  A small boy of around ten tugged on her sleeve. “Hey, lady, we need another dog in the race. Can we race your dog?”

  “He doesn’t know how,” Haley told the child.

  “The dogs are good at figuring it out. You stand at the end of the run and call to him. He’ll come running to you.”

  “Go ahead,” Tank said. “Me and Brooke will cheer you on.”

  “Okay. Show me where to stand.”

  The boy took Oscar. “Right there,” he said, pointing toward a gnarled spruce tree. “You’ll be able to figure out when to call him. I’ve got to get a numbered shirt on him.”

  Tank and Libby went to stand with Augusta and Brooke. Haley joined the group of dog owners. They ranged from women about her age to men with long, straggly beards who looked like they’d be more comfortable mushing across the snow with huskies. A few teenagers talked excitedly as they waited to call their dogs. She stood beside a young couple with a big handsome German shepherd.

  “Nice dog you’ve got,” she said.

  “This is Samson. He’s a search dog,” the woman said. She had hair a little lighter than Haley’s own coppery locks and an open, friendly expression. “I’m Bree Matthews from Rock Harbor, Michigan.”

  “You’re a long way from home,” Haley said. She introduced herself. “My dog is in the race, and we have no idea what we’re doing.” She pointed him out as the young boy brought Oscar to the starting line. He wore a tiny red shirt with the number ten. Smiling, she moved to the left directly across from her dog. Oscar liked to run. Maybe he would do okay.

  A man with a bullhorn stepped up. “We’re about ready to start. Our prizes this year range from hoofaboos to free dinners. The grand prize is five hundred dollars.”

  The crowd cheered. The woman to Haley’s left poked her in the ribs. “I’ll take the money and splurge on a rug for the living room in my cabin. The floor gets mighty cold in the winter.”