"I'm good."
"I'm glad."
"Thanks," she said, and meant it, for the tact that kept his concern
brief. "How's the mine?"
He flapped a dismissive hand. "Price of gold what it is, I oughta pay
people to buy what I dig out." A sly grin kept her from taking him
seriously. He jerked his chin in Anne Gordaoff's direction. "You working
for her?"
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"Sort of," she said, realizing for the first time that her presence on
the Gordaoff campaign trail could be taken as an endorsement by
Ekaterina Shugak's granddaughter. She caught Darlene watching with a
smug expression, and cursed herself for her own naivete. A political
animal she was not, that gene of Emaa's having passed her by.
"Well, hell, introduce us," Burt said. Kate did; Anne seduced him by
knowing that day's price per troy ounce of gold, silver, and platinum
and per pound of lead, and Darlene looked even more smug. For just an
instant Kate debated heading for the first flight out. Her most recent
paycheck crackled in her pocket. She gritted her teeth and carried on.
One memorable evening in Tanada members from the congregation of the
Chistona Little Chapel picketed the opening of a new branch of Planned
Parenthood, to which Anne, to her credit, was lending her presence. Kate
looked for Pastor Seabolt and wasn't surprised when she didn't find him.
Seabolt's self-imposed role was always as the man behind the curtain,
the unseen hand pulling the invisible strings. She wondered about his
grandson, which led inevitably to thoughts of Johnny.
She'd seen him twice, on flying trips into Niniltna. He still looked at
her like he hated her guts. He still refused to leave. Ethan said they
were getting along fine, just fine. "No, his mom hasn't been around.
Word is she had to go back to Anchorage so she didn't lose her job." He
looked down at her and his face softened. "The best thing you can do for
him is to leave him alone," he told Kate.
"I don't want to leave him alone so much he starts to think I don't care."
"First thing you do when he gets here is take a job that'll keep you off
the homestead and all over the Park. He's thinking that already."
Kate set her teeth. "I explained, I told him why-"
"He's fourteen. Explanations don't mean shit to a
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fourteen-year-old. Leave him alone, Kate. He's going to school, pulling
down okay grades in spite of not liking it much. He's tall for his age
so Bernie's after him to try out for the junior varsity basketball team.
That'll help."
"You're getting along okay?"
Ethan grinned. "Oh yeah, we're getting along fine. He hates women almost
as much as I do."
She laughed in spite of herself.
"You should do that more often, Kate," he said, looking down into her face.
"What, totally screw up a fourteen-year-old boy, and get myself arrested
for kidnapping while I'm at it?"
"Laugh," he said. "You look good when you laugh."
"Johnny," she yelled toward the stairs, "I'm leaving!"
Johnny didn't come down to say good-bye. Ethan shrugged and raised a
brow. "Give him time."
She knew Ethan was right, but it didn't make any difference. She felt
like she was letting Jack down.
The murderer of Jeff Hosford was still at large. Brendan McCord had been
unable to add much to his initial report of the dead attorney. He'd been
in the state seven years, for five of those years working for Seese,
Dischner, first as a clerk and then, when he finally passed the bar, as
an attorney. He owned a condo in Park Place, an uptown Anchorage
neighborhood with very high rents. He'd been unmarried and something of
a ladies' man. "I'm sorry, Kate," Brendan had said. "Hosford was
practically the invisible man. I ran a check on him through Motznik and
he owned one car, a Ford Explorer; he voted in every election; he paid
his taxes in full and on time. He wasn't a member of any political party
that I can discover. I went over to his condo and talked to a few of his
neighbors. They said he was out of town a lot."
"Out of town where?"
"They didn't know."
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She reported on this happy state of affairs to Kenny Hazen.
His response was predictable. "I really do not like this, Kate. I really
do not like it at all."
Five days later, or maybe it was thirteen, Kate had lost track of time,
Anne and Company were back in Ahtna for yet another appearance, this one
the opening game of the basketball season in which the Ahtna High School
was heavily favored to win the Class-B state championship, at which Anne
tossed up the jump ball. The game was followed by yet another rubber
chicken dinner, although this one was rubber salmon, with the Chamber of
Commerce, only this one was with the Kegturyaq Native Association's
board of directors. Kate checked out the gym and the dining room for the
usual suspects, as usual didn't find any, and ducked out early for the
hotel with the uneasy feeling that she was not earning her keep. There
had been no more letters, no one had so much as sneezed in Anne's
direction, unless you counted the drunk in the Alaskan Bar in Cordova
who pinched her ass and propositioned her with her husband standing
right next to her, and nobody did.
Darlene hadn't said anything about letting her go, though.
And here she was again, in beautiful downtown Ahtna, once again checking
into the Ahtna Lodge. Tony simply beamed when he saw her coming, and
this time he was ready for Mutt, a package of beef jerky open and
waiting. Mutt accepted a piece, laid it down carefully on the floor,
trotted behind the counter to rear up, place both paws on Tony's
shoulders and give him the traditional salutary tongue bath. "You are so
cheap," Kate said when she came out again. Mutt wagged her tail
furiously and went for the jerky.
"How's life out on the campaign trail?"
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"Pretty dull," Kate said, signing the receipt he handed her.
"Probably you'd like to keep it that way." By now Tony, an inveterate
gossip, knew more about Anne Gordaoff's campaign than Anne did.
"Probably," Kate agreed. "Is the water hot?"
He pretended to be puzzled. "Hot water? What would you need with hot water?"
"Don't toy with me," she told him, and he laughed and gave her a key.
"Same wing, same room. Restaurant's pretty full this evening, might be a
wait." He cocked an eyebrow. "I could bring a sandwich to your room."
By this time Kate had met and bonded with Tony's cook, Stanislav, who
was also his partner, in business and in life. She shook her head.
"Forget it. I've been looking forward to one of Stan's steaks for... how
long have I been gone?"
"Eight days," Tony said, grinning.
"Whatever. I'll stand in line for Stan."
"Be our guest."
She dumped her bag in the room with the two twin beds, television, and
communal bathroom down the hall. "You coming?" she said to Mutt, who
gave her a look of disdain and curled up on the second bed in the room
with her beef jerky
.
At the restaurant a waitress said, "Do you mind sharing a table?" and
without waiting for an answer grabbed a menu and led the way to a table
against the far wall, next to a window that overlooked the river. "Do
you mind sharing a table?" she said to the woman already sitting there,
and also without waiting for an answer slapped the menu down in front of
the seat opposite her before heading at high speed for the bar.
"I guess I don't," the woman said, looking up at Kate.
"I guess I don't, either," Kate said, and they both laughed. Kate held
up a book. "We don't have to talk."
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"Good," the other woman said, indicating a three-subject notebook with
the pen she held in her hand. "Sit down, it doesn't look like my date's
going to show."
They smiled at each other again, and Kate sat down. Eventually the
waitress came back with water and took Kate's order, and went away again.
Kate didn't open her book immediately, as the moon had risen and was
painting pictures on the surface of the river as it flowed past. It was
low and slow at this time of year, all the fish up the creek, all the
meltoff out in the Gulf, but it was still beautiful. Kate had grown up
next to it, on it, sometimes in it, and still it never failed in its
allure. One of her favorite books as a child-it was still one of her
favorite books, she reread it every spring-was The Wind in the Willows
by Kenneth Grahame. Now there was a writer who understood rivers.
She wondered if Johnny had read it, or Life on the Mississippi. The last
time they'd had a civil conversation on the subject of books, he'd been
head down in the collected works of Robert Heinlein.
Her steak came, a porterhouse with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed
broccoli topped with toasted almonds. Kate had difficulty in repressing
a moan of ecstasy. The other woman had been served before her, and they
ate in not incompatible silence. Other people finished meals and
adjourned to the bar, which got even noisier as the restaurant emptied
out. Music started from somewhere and the four-by-eight dance floor
filled up.
Kate pushed back from her empty plate with a satisfied burp, and raised
her eyes to see the other woman smiling at her. "You were hungry."
"I was starving," Kate admitted. "I think I'll live now."
The other woman's notebook was open. It looked to be almost used up, as
well as stuffed with scraps of paper and envelopes and flyers, all with
notes written on them.
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The waitress appeared. "Coffee?" she said, gathering up their plates.
"Yes, please," Kate said. "With cream."
"Twice," the other woman said.
"All we've got is creamer," the waitress said, and was gone.
The other woman went back to her notes, Kate to her book, a novel set on
another world where the human settlers left their ship in orbit to
control the weather and had bioengineered angels to fly up to talk to
it. The only problem was that hundreds of years had passed, and the
people on the planet had come to believe the ship was a god. It was a
terrific book, and Kate was going to look for more by the same author as
soon as she possibly could, but it was failing to hold her attention
this evening. Maybe it was the noise from the bar. Maybe it was the
woman sitting across from her. She was a large, untidy woman with eager,
inquisitive eyes, carelessly dressed in blue jeans a size too large and
a teal turtleneck sweater a size too small. She wore no makeup and no
jewelry that Kate could see.
The woman said abruptly, startling Kate, "I'm a writer."
Kate had never been one for small talk, but a writer was interesting.
"What do you write?"
"Books." The other woman flushed, laughed a little. "Well, I'm writing
one book."
"A novel?"
"Yes." She nodded at the book in Kate's hand. "Not science fiction."
"You don't like science fiction?"
"I like just about anything," the woman said. "You should see my
library. My trailer is mostly books."
"My cabin's insulated the same way," Kate said.
The woman grinned. "Wonder what the R factor is on books. My name's Paula."
"I'm Kate."
"Where do you live?"
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"Niniltna. You?"
She jerked her head. "Right here. Ahtna."
"You writing a book about Ahtna?" The idea amused Kate.
"Yes. Well, no, only sort of." The other woman gave a self-conscious
laugh. "That sounds like I really know what I'm doing, doesn't it?"
Kate looked up to see Mutt standing outside the door with her nose
leaving prints on the glass pane. Evidently the allure of beef jerky had
worn off. She only hoped Mutt hadn't scared the maid who must have let
her out of the room too badly to make the bed the next morning; they
were staying two nights in Ahtna. She let Mutt in, and Mutt followed her
back to the table, sitting next to Kate's chair and looking at the other
woman with inquiring yellow eyes.
"God, he's gorgeous," Paula said.
"She," Kate said, knotting a hand in Mutt's ruff and giving it an
affectionate tug. "Don't tell her that, she's already got enough ego for
ten."
"She looks like a wolf."
"Only half."
The woman's eyes widened. "You trust her around people?"
"She's very well trained."
"I guess." The woman looked doubtful but didn't run screaming for the
nearest exit, either. She pulled her notebook toward her as the waitress
showed up with the coffee pot. "We'll be closing soon," the waitress
told them.
"Leave the pot and bring us our checks," Kate suggested. Mutt stirred
beneath her hand. Hunting birds along the Kanuyaq was lousy in
September, and lousy in Ahtna all the time. "Have you got a steak left
back there?"
"What kind?"
"Raw."
The waitress looked at Mutt. "Sure." She smiled for the first time. A
dog person. "And maybe some bones."
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Mutt got a slab of prime rib and a nice little pile of bones besides,
and lay down to munch with a contented expression. The waitress charged
Kate only for the cost of the meat, not the full dinners. Kate doubled
her tip. What the hell, it wasn't her money.
The lights in the restaurant, never bright to begin with, dimmed. The
crowd at the bar began to mellow, and the songs they danced to got
slower and sexier. A short plump man in the standard Park uniform of
jeans, checked flannel shirt, and boots drifted over. "Would you like to
dance?" he asked Kate.
She shook her head. "No, thanks."
He looked at Paula. "Sorry," she said.
He drifted off again mournfully, to be received back at the bar by his
friends with commiserating backslaps and another round of Heineken.
Kate's eye moved down the bar, checking faces against a mental database
of known felons, the invariable habit of the practicing policeman and
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 11 - The Singing Of The Dead Page 14
