by Sue Henry
“My God, Anne. That’s too much. So what finally
happened?”
“Oh, Tatum couldn’t ever get enough evidence to
prove I had anything to do with it, because I didn’t.
Honest, I didn’t, Jessie. I don’t know who did. Somebody with a grudge—her—Buzz, maybe. I really did think that maybe she and him were—you know—so it could have been her. But Tatum was—like—obsessed or something. He wanted someone to pay and I was an easy target, so he tried really hard to make sure it was me. Even after it was over, he followed me around. I’d see him watching me everywhere I went. Finally, when I married Greg and moved out to the cabin, he couldn’t find me. But I still saw him a time or two in town. He’s a real bastard. It was all so stupid—and scary.”
She plopped back down on the sofa and sat still, looking at Jessie with her chin in the air defensively.
“Now. Let’s go out to the cabin right now—this afternoon, okay? How do we know Greg isn’t on his way here at this very minute?”
Jessie sat staring at her, astonished at the repeated demand and what she had walked into by agreeing to give Anne a place to stay and listening to her troubles.
Could this possibly be the same person in whose com-
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pany she had taken casual pleasure ten years before?
How much worse was it going to get?
“No, Anne, we can’t. This afternoon I’m running my dogs. But, if I can arrange for my handler to stay here and take care of them while I’m gone, we’ll go tomorrow. There’s stuff to do before we can take off, and you’ll have to help.”
“Oh, I will—anything you want. Thanks, Jessie. I knew you’d say yes. You won’t regret it. I promise.”
Jessie already regretted it, but she would just do it, get it over with, then, like it or not, Anne would have to leave.
On the road to Wasilla, as Tatum took a corner too fast in the fire department car, Phil Becker gave him an anxious, quizzical look, then covered it with his usual boyish grin.
“Hey, Mike. Never seen you treat a suspect quite like that before. I assume you don’t think too much of Jessie’s friend. What’s the deal?”
Tatum eased his foot off the gas a little, shrugged in rueful apology, and frowned.
“Sorry about that. Marty Gifford is the last person I expected to see back in Alaska—and in Jessie Arnold’s house, for Lord’s sake.”
“Who the hell is she?”
“Old news— bad news—is what she is.”
Lifting his scarred right hand from the wheel, he held it up for Becker’s attention.
“I can personally thank her for this, Phil. But worse—she should be locked up because two kids died in a fire over ten years ago—a fire she set.”
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“Why wasn’t she?”
“There wasn’t enough evidence to take it to trial. It didn’t help that the police still tend to view fire as an occurrence, not a weapon—a circumstance surrounding a death—but the kids who died weren’t the intended victim.”
“Who was?”
“The owner’s wife, Shana Mulligan. Gifford was
having an affair with Mulligan—wanted his wife out of the way. How well do you know Ms. Arnold?”
“Very well,” Becker informed him, irritated. “Don’t get any dumb ideas about Jessie, Mike. She’s the real thing—totally reliable. She was in a close relationship with one of the guys that was in our division until a month ago.”
“Yeah? Smart. Maybe too smart. But Marty Gif-
ford’s another thing and the company you keep . . . you know. People cover things. She said Gifford was an old friend.”
“Jessie’s friendly with a lot of people. She’s okay.
Believe me.”
“I’ve learned the hard way to believe what I know and can prove, Phil. Sorry, if that crumbles your cookie, but it’s the way I am.”
“Well, you’re wrong about this one, Mike. I don’t know anything about Anne Gifford—Holman—whatever her name is. But I do know Jessie—who’s no cookie, by the way—and you’re wrong. You’ll find out.”
“We’ll see.”
They rode the rest of the way into town in silent disagreement, Becker thinking that perhaps he should have a private chat with Jessie about the situation and
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Tatum’s negative attitude. The next time he saw her, however, so many things had happened that he forgot.
By the middle of the afternoon, Jessie and Billy were several miles from her kennel, each gliding along a trail on the back runners of a sled behind their two teams of dogs. The new snow that covered everything looked like a soft fuzzy blanket and was not melting, for, though the temperature had risen a little, it was still below freezing. The sky was pale as milk with an even cloud cover that hinted at more snow on the way.
Though she’d been unable to locate her favorite blue knit training hat, Jessie’s mood had grown lighter with every bend and turn they followed. She had determinedly left Anne’s troubles and last night’s fire behind her and was almost singing as they climbed a gentle hill and wound to the right around a small stand of birch. On the crest, she whistled to Billy, who was ahead of her, whoa’d her dogs to a halt, and paused to take an appreciative look at the tremendous landscape that flowed away to the west as far as Mount Susitna, the Sleeping Lady, that rose to dominate the horizon beyond the wide reach of the Susitna Flats.
Jimmy, a promising pup just over a year old, in-
stantly, and not for the first time that day, sprang over the gang line to be next to his teammate, Tux, who finally lost patience with this misbehavior and nipped at the transgressor’s closest ear with a warning snarl. The pup yipped and tried to move away; but, caught between Tux and the line, he couldn’t get back to his place. The older dog ignored him and lay down to take advantage of a few minutes rest, leaving Jimmy to cast
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an apologetic and imploring look back at Jessie, the accepted alpha leader of this pack. She couldn’t help being amused. Tux was easygoing but would tolerate only a limited amount of such nonsense. She managed to keep a straight face as she stomped in the snow hook and walked forward to assist the culprit.
“No, Jimmy,” she told him, as she took him by the loose skin over his shoulders and rump and gave him a light shake as she lifted him back over the line. “No jumping. Sit down and stay on your own side.”
He gave her a soulful, embarrassed glance, knowing he had been literally out of line, and sat down obedi-ently. Before the rain interrupted the training, he had almost given up this bad habit. Now he was backslid-ing, which wasn’t totally his fault, but must be corrected. He liked to run in front of the sled and was an energetic team member who pulled strongly and well, as long as they were in motion. Now he simply needed a firm reminder to forget about playing enthusiastic games when they stopped.
Part of what Jessie enjoyed most about raising and racing Alaskan huskies was training the young dogs. It was a satisfying pleasure to socialize puppies; teach them obedience and good manners; accustom them to line and harness when they were six to eight months old; then, at almost a year, when they were big enough, gradually to show them what it was all about by adding them to the experienced teams and watch them realize the delight of swift running through the northern wilderness that she loved. The puppies she had brought into the cabin the day before already had individual collars bearing their names and hers, and they were
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being trained to leash and picket line. Their minds were wide open, so the best ones caught on fast; required little correction; and were quick, intelligent, and good-tempered. But discipline was sometimes necessary, and it had to be applied quickly before the canine transgressor forgot what behavior had precipitated it.
Believing in positive reinforcement rather than p
unishment, she very seldom felt a need to discipline a dog physically. When she did, it was limited to a flat-handed swat on muzzle or rear, depending on the situation, and was reserved for the most serious offenses, like fighting or willful disobedience. A sharp “No” was usually enough. Though puppies were allowed a lot of leeway as they learned, only a few older dogs pushed the limit—and that rarely—or they didn’t last long in her kennel or on teams. Most tried their best to please her and were rewarded with an abundance of petting and verbal approval.
Now, as she walked back to the sled, she doubted Jimmy would jump again—at least today. Sweet and smart, he was quickly outgrowing his grasshopper inclinations.
Billy had stopped thirty feet beyond her on the crest of the hill and was shifting the position of two dogs in his team. She drove forward and stopped again just behind him.
“Problem?”
“Naw. Tom and Sunny aren’t working out like we
thought. Maybe he’ll do better by his mom.”
“Worth a try. Sadie’ll let him know if he’s slacking.
Ready?”
“Yup.”
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Jessie drove her team on past to take the lead for a while. They were soon winding through the trees near one of the small lakes that dotted the flat near Big Lake. The new snow on the trail had already been packed by the runners of other mushers’ sleds. Practically everyone who had been trapped by the rain must be out running today, she thought, and she was glad to be one of them. They had passed several teams headed the opposite direction and one taking a break in a clearing a mile or two back.
She wondered what Anne was doing back at the
cabin, but resolutely refused to follow that line of thought, glad to be away from her friend’s demands and histrionics for the moment. Instead, she began to determine what would need to be done so they could leave in the morning for a quick overnight to the wilderness cabin. A trip to the grocery wouldn’t be necessary, since she had plenty of food already on hand, prepared and frozen for training runs. She would have to take a big sled, for Anne must ride in it, but it wouldn’t take long to pack enough for an overnight—
or possibly two; a couple of expedition-weight sleeping bags, cooking gear for humans and dogs, first-aid kit, and a few other necessities like ax, handgun in case of threatening moose, odds and ends. Only what was necessary, but even that was considerable.
She was mentally sorting her dogs and considering the practicality of taking along two or three of the young ones that were doing well and would benefit from a camp out away from home, when her current team of eight came up over a small rise and was suddenly strung out along the top of a bank that fell off to
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the left for about ten feet into snow-covered trees and brush below.
All would have been well, had it not been for Smut, a slightly skittish young dog in the second pair on the line, who looked down and misstepped, frightened by the unexpected steep drop. She lost her footing and tumbled over the edge with a panicked yelp. Just in front of her, Pete, the leader, was jerked off his feet and slid over after her before he had any idea what was happening, which took his young running partner Taffy along, too. Behind Smut, experienced Tux dug into the snow with all four feet, but the momentum of the front half of the team yanked him very close to the edge. When everything stopped, three of the team hung in their harnesses, threatening to draw down the rest and the sled with them.
“Whoa. Whoa up,” Jessie called, stomping on the
brake and jamming in the snow hook, which halted the sled just in time to keep it from hitting Darryl One in his usual wheel position next to the brush bow. He stopped abruptly to keep from crashing into Tux.
“Back. Come back, guys. Come on back,” Jessie encouraged, not letting go, pulling back with all her weight, while easing off just a little on the brake to see if she could move the sled backward and keep the gang line taut at the same time. Fortunately, Pete was the only experienced dog that had fallen over. Tux, Darryl One, and Lucky all responded by trying to back up, but the two remaining trainees, Shorts and Jimmy, confused by the situation, forgot anything they might have learned about reversing direction and simply stood still or tried to pull forward. The sled stayed where it was, and Jessie couldn’t move it an inch.
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Vainly looking around for a tree—or anything avail-able to anchor a line—she was about to try to work her way forward to rescue the dogs, afraid they would strangle in their harnesses, though as long as she could still hear them yelping and whining complaints she knew they were merely uncomfortable and afraid,
when Billy’s team, with Tank in the lead, stopped behind her.
“Good one,” Billy called. “Didn’t think you’d taught
’em that yet.”
“Oh, stuff it. Get up here before the rest of us slide over, too.”
He came, grinning, and helped retrieve the dangling dogs, while Jessie held the sled.
In a few minutes, both teams were back on the trail with no injuries, though Pete cast cautious looks back at Smut for a time. Jessie would have sworn he felt insulted and knew exactly who was responsible for the indignity of the accident.
You’re not paying enough attention, she told herself.
Training required more concentration than she had been giving it today. It was time to forget about Anne and trips into the wild, and focus on what was going on in her team. Trouble would have to wait.
At the end of a long access road near Big Lake, a pickup pulled off into the afternoon shadows of a turn-around space in the trees. Its motor died, and a window was rolled down so the driver could watch and listen intently for a few minutes. Seeing no one, hearing nothing but silence, a figure in dark clothing, with a face-covering ski mask, climbed out and moved
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quickly down the drive toward a double-wide house trailer, walking only in tire marks on the road and carrying a small canvas bag.
Carefully keeping to the tracks previously left in the snow, the figure tried the door to the double-wide with no success. Still cautiously leaving no new tracks, it moved around to one end of the trailer, where the marks of tires indicated the parking space of a now-absent vehicle. From there it took one long leap across snow empty of any mark to land behind the trailer, where it began to examine the windows. Removing the screen from one that was open a crack, the figure pushed it wide enough to allow entrance, pulled itself up, and crawled through onto a bed, conscientiously removing snow from its boots to avoid leaving telltale damp spots on the floor.
Inside, it went along a hallway to the living room, then directly across to a small television set on a low table near the door. Dropping to its knees, it lifted and turned the set around with gloved hands, careful to leave no marks in the dust on the table. Opening the canvas bag to retrieve several items, the quick hands efficiently used a screwdriver to remove the back and attach a device to the on/off switch. Other wires were linked to a plastic container of explosive accelerant. Replacing the back and turning the set to its original position, the figure rose and checked both television and table for any suggestion of tampering.
Finding none, it went back the way it had come, slipped out the window, closed it to a crack, replaced the screen, and retraced its path around the trailer,
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once more making the leap to the vehicle parking space, then walked swiftly along the road to the pickup. Climbing into the cab, stripping off the ski mask, the driver started the engine and backed onto the public road.
In minutes, only someone who was knowledgeable and looking for signs of an unwelcome visitor might have determined that a break-in had occurred. No one was.
No one was there to see the unsuspecting owner come home that evening a little later than usual, after a couple of hours in a Wasilla bar. Parking a little crooked in his
usual space next to his double-wide trailer, he climbed out and sorted through his keys.
Going in, he tossed his coat on a chair, took a beer from the refrigerator, and reached for the switch on the color television, with nothing particular in mind to watch. For him the talking pictures were company—a voice in the otherwise solitary house.
The result was colorful, but not what he expected.
With a deafening explosion the set blew up and, instantly he and everything around him was on fire.
Blinded and screaming, he whirled and thrashed in agony, trying to escape the intense heat and fierce pain that clung to his flesh, seared the clothes from his body, consumed his skin. Direction totally lost, he stumbled over the chair that held his burning coat and fell heavily to the floor.
No one was there to hear when he drew a breath that sucked nothing but flame from the carpet into his lungs, and his shrieks abruptly stopped. But the trailer
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continued to burn, eventually attracting the attention of another resident, who looked out the window of his lakeshore home, caught sight of the blaze, and called the fire department.
6
Q
BY SEVEN O’CLOCK THE NEXT MORNING, JESSIE WAS
loading dogs into the compartments of the dog box on the back of her pickup. Custom designed for mushers, the compartments faced outward on each side, two high and six wide, and were constructed for safe transportation of sled dogs. They had holes in the doors to let each dog look but not jump out and to allow plenty of ventilation. Large enough to let the dog stand up, lie down, turn and move around in safety, they were lined with straw for individual comfort and warmth. Filled to capacity, Jessie’s dog box would carry twenty-four dogs at once, a traveling doggie motel of sorts.
Billy, who had come early to the kennel to discuss the training schedule he would keep while she was gone, had helped to lift the large empty sled on top of the box and secure it for travel. In a space between the two lines of dog compartments, Jessie and Anne had loaded harness, gang lines, and all the other equipment and supplies they would need for three days away, with some extra food and clothing for emergencies.
