by Kathi Daley
“Not really. My parents died in late December when I was thirteen and Val died almost exactly four years later. Most of the time I just want the holiday to pass. But I have to say I’m finding this town charming. I guess being able to help Faith’s family has given me a bit of the Christmas spirit this year.”
“So, are you going to tell me how you did that?”
I hated for Shredder to see me as a freak. After what he’d witnessed, he most likely already did, so I didn’t see the harm in telling him the truth. “I have the ability to connect psychically with people I’m supposed to help. Usually, it’s a one-way connection; I can see and feel them, but they can’t see or feel me. Occasionally, I’m able to achieve a two-way connection, and the person can feel my presence. I’ve never before been able to actually converse with the person I connected with the way I did with Faith. She could hear my voice in her head and I could see what needed to be done, so I told her. It was pretty spectacular.”
“That’s amazing.”
I shrugged. “There are times, like tonight, when I consider my ability a gift. But there are other times when all I can do is stand by and watch and feel the person I’ve connected to die. Then I know my gift is really a curse.”
Shredder turned into the parking lot in front of the lodge. He parked and turned off the vehicle, then turned and looked at me. “Can you control it? Can you make the choice to connect or not?”
I unbuckled my seat belt. “The ability to connect seems to be somehow predetermined. A picture just pops into my head and I know I’m supposed to stop and pay attention. I’ve been working on making intentional connections, but it doesn’t always work. A week or so ago I was at the bar and we got a call about two women lost in a storm. I hadn’t felt them up to that point, but I got as much information as I could, then sat down and focused. I was able to make a one-way connection with them. I could see and sense them but not vice versa. It turned out they were okay, but the man who was with them died.”
“If you connect to someone you know you can’t save, can you turn it off?”
“I don’t know; I’ve never tried. I know my ability to connect is important. If I can’t save them and they’re destined to die, maybe I can bring them a sense of peace in their final moments.”
“You’re an exceptional woman.”
I blushed but didn’t respond.
Shredder opened his door and stepped out into the snow. I did the same. The exterior of the inn was decorated in colorful Christmas lights and the trees near the front entry were covered with little white twinkle lights. By unspoken agreement, we headed inside to register first. We could come back for our things once we knew which rooms we were assigned to.
“It’s really beautiful with all the fresh snow,” I said as we walked into the log building. “I know we’re here to dig up information on Tim, but it would be fun to walk around town after we check in.”
“I’m fine with that,” Shredder commented. “This will be the first white Christmas I’ve had in years.”
“Do you think you’ll still be in Alaska at Christmas?”
Shredder paused. “I’m not sure. But we’re here tonight and the town is all decked out. I say we enjoy the festivities.”
He opened the log door and motioned for me to precede him.
The lobby was cheerfully decorated with holly and red ribbons, and a huge tree was artfully decorated in the seating area near the huge, floor-to-ceiling fireplace. Christmas carols played in the background, and someone had left coffee and Christmas cookies on a table nearby.
“Check in for Mr. Jones,” Shredder said.
The woman opened her reservation book and frowned. “It says here you were supposed to arrive before five. It’s almost seven.”
“We ran into an auto accident on the way and stopped to lend a hand. Is there a problem with checking in now?”
“Not if you don’t mind sharing a room. I’m afraid we gave away one of the rooms you reserved when you didn’t arrive when indicated.”
Shredder looked at me.
“Are there two beds in the room?” I asked.
“Two queens,” the woman replied.
I turned to Shredder and nodded.
“We’ll take the one room,” Shredder informed the desk clerk.
After we’d been given our keys and room number, we returned to the Humvee to get our bags. We both had blood on the clothes we were wearing under our jackets, so we wanted to wash up before heading back outside. Our room was actually very nice. The two beds were situated one on either side of a small, white brick fireplace. The carpet and curtains were white as well, and the bedspreads were a cheerful Christmas red. There was a white dresser on one wall and an adjoining bathroom with both a shower and a tub.
“Nice room,” I said aloud.
“It’ll do. Why don’t you use the bathroom first? I need to make a couple of calls.”
I grabbed my bag and placed it on one of the beds. “You don’t have to offer twice. I can’t wait to shower the blood off my arms.” I grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom. I turned the water on hot, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the hard spray. I felt myself relax as the water massaged my shoulders.
I thought about the family we’d helped as I squeezed shampoo onto my dark hair. It seemed the mother and daughters would be fine, but I wasn’t as certain about the father. He’d been in pretty bad shape when they’d taken him away in the ambulance. I hoped he’d survive the ride to the hospital. The woman had given Shredder her contact information. Maybe I’d have him call her later to see how the family was doing.
As I rinsed my hair I turned my thoughts to Tim. I supposed Shredder and I should come up with some sort of a plan to obtain the information we were after. I could lie and say Tim was my brother who had disappeared and I was trying to retrace his steps, but that could be tricky. As long as we didn’t come across anyone who knew what had really happened to Tim we’d be okay, but if whatever he was involved in had happened here, it would be hard to know who we could trust.
I turned off the shower, rang the water from my long hair, and wrapped a thick towel around my body. A quick inspection of my hands and arms confirmed that I’d managed to get off all the blood. I wasn’t certain my clothes would be that lucky. I only had blood on the blouse I’d been wearing under my coat, but poor Shredder, who had carried the injured man from the car, had blood on his jacket and his sweater. Fortunately, he had an extra jacket in his luggage and had changed into it after the ambulance arrived. I’d asked him why he had two jackets and he’d said you never knew when you’d need to change your look to evade a tail.
Pretty much everything Shredder said convinced me he was a spy of some sort. He seemed strong and decisive, and I had no doubt he could handle any situation. I could picture him shooting someone if he had to, yet he had a gentle and tender side that kept me guessing. Who was this man I’d agreed to an overnight adventure with? Could I trust him? Or had he been lying to me since the first moment I laid eyes on him? All the uncertainty surrounding his past and even his present didn’t sit well with me.
Once I’d dressed in a red flannel shirt, a warm pullover sweater, and a clean pair of jeans, I gathered my things and went out to the bedroom. Shredder was writing something in a small black book, which he slipped into his suitcase when he noticed me watching him.
“All done?” he asked.
“The bathroom’s all yours.”
“Great.” He picked up his change of clothes and shut the lid of his suitcase.
I waited until I heard the water go on in the bathroom, then wandered over to his suitcase. I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but I couldn’t help it. I tried to open the bag, but it was locked. I should have known Shredder wouldn’t make it that easy.
I put my soiled clothes in the plastic bag the inn supplied for laundry and began to comb out my hair. Then I pulled the inn’s landline toward me and dialed my home number. Justine was there and answered the phone on the sec
ond ring. She assured me that my entire animal family were fed, exercised, and tucked in and I didn’t have a thing to worry about. Justine loved animals and I knew she’d take good care of them.
After that I called Jake. He was happy to hear from me, though not quite as happy and reassuring as Justine had been.
“What do you really know about this guy?” Jake asked.
“We’ve already been over this. I don’t know a lot about him, but he seems legit, and he wants to find Tim’s killer the same as I do. We came across an accident on the road and he was really great. He knew just what to do. The father of the family we helped is probably only alive because Shredder had some medical training.”
“I hadn’t heard about the accident. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I paused, then said, “I made a two-way connection. The clearest one yet. I could sense the family was in trouble and managed to connect with their five-year-old daughter. She could hear my voice in her head. I told her what I needed her to do and she did it.”
“Wow. That’s really something. Your abilities seem to be evolving,” Jake said. “Are you sure you’re okay? That had to be intense, and you didn’t have Moose with you.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “The girl I connected with wasn’t injured. Just scared. I think we helped each other.”
“If you could master the ability to communicate with rescue victims, do you know what that would mean?”
“I could help people who are in trouble help themselves.”
Jake and I both took a moment to let the significance of that sink in.
“I guess I should go,” I said. “Shredder and I are going out. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay. Have fun, but be careful.”
“Always.”
I hung up, then turned to see a shirtless man dressed only in soft, faded jeans, watching me.
“Was that Jake?” Shredder asked.
“Yeah. I told him I’d check in. He worries about me. I was thinking pizza for dinner. How do you feel about pizza?”
Shredder pulled a baby blue T-shirt over his head, then adjusted it over his well-defined chest. “I like pizza.”
“Great. There used to be a good pizza joint in town. We can see if it’s still there.”
“Sounds good. I’m starving.”
The inn was situated at one end of a strip of mom-and-pop shops, so we decided to bundle up and walk. There were flurries in the air, but the harder snow had passed and the temperature hovered around the freezing mark, which was warm by Alaskan standards. The energy created by the visitors as they walked around the little town, browsing through the quaint shops and enjoying the store windows, caught me up in the Christmas spirit.
I grabbed Shredder’s hand. “Oh, look. Santa really is in town.”
Shredder glanced in the direction I was pointing.
“We should get a photo of you sitting on Santa’s lap,” Shredder said.
I laughed. “Not for a million dollars.”
“Come on. You don’t have to sit on his lap. I’ll take a photo of you standing next to him.”
I’m not sure why I agreed, but Shredder could be very persuasive. He took a photo with his phone and we went on.
The pizza pub I remembered from my trip with my family was in the same place, and we grabbed a booth near the brick pizza oven and ordered a couple of beers. I’m something of a pizza purist, liking plain cheese or pepperoni over pies with multiple toppings, but Shredder liked the works, so we ordered two smalls, figuring we could take the leftovers back to the room for a late-night snack or breakfast.
“So, about the investigation…” I began after we’d ordered. “Do you have a plan?”
“I spoke to the desk clerk while you were in the shower.”
“How did you have time to do that?”
“You took a long time. Anyway, she said Tim had reserved a room there seven times over the past several months. She didn’t know why he was here or who he might have met, but she did say he never showed up for his last reservation.”
“But the charge for the room was on his credit card,” I argued.
“Apparently, Tim wanted a specific room: number ten. The inn will only guarantee a specific room if you guarantee the room with a credit card, which is charged whether you show up or not. Tim didn’t cancel twenty-four hours in advance, so his card was charged.”
I could see the credit card guarantee from the inn’s perspective, but that meant we had no way of knowing if Tim had ever made it to his destination the day before he died. If he didn’t arrive at the inn, where had he gone?
“Why room ten?” I asked.
Shredder shrugged. “I don’t know. The desk clerk said he asked for that room every time. The last was the only time he didn’t show.”
I bit my lip as I considered that. “We know Tim got a job as a courier. Maybe he arranged to meet the person he was picking up or dropping off merchandise to in room ten. Or…” I paused as I got a really good idea. “Maybe the room was a drop point.”
“So, the person who booked the room before him each time left something for him, or the person who booked it after him picked something up he’d left behind.”
“Exactly. If that’s what was going on, we need to find out if the same person booked the room either before or after Tim every time he was there.”
Shredder took a sip of his beer before responding. “What if the person he was dropping off or picking up from was different each time?”
“Then there wouldn’t be a pattern,” I realized.
“We need to get a look at that room. If the occupants are already settled in for the night by the time we return, we’ll have a look tomorrow. In the meantime, we can find out who rented the room before and after Tim each time he stayed at the inn.”
I picked a piece of pepperoni off a slice and plopped it into my mouth. “If Tim never checked into the inn on his last trip north, I wonder if he completed his transaction?”
Shredder nibbled on a piece of pizza as he considered my question. “We know Tim headed north on the day he was supposed to arrive at the inn, but he never arrived. Considering we found the receipt for the fuel he purchased on his way out of town in his home, I have to assume that for some reason he made the decision to head home instead of going north. Now, it’s possible he met his contact elsewhere and completed the transaction before heading home. Given the fact his place was tossed, it’s reasonable to assume he either picked something up and headed home without delivering it or he was supposed to drop it off but never did, and the person who was to receive it went looking for it.”
I sat quietly as I tried to make sense of what was turning into something very complicated. If Tim was a courier who picked up an item, such as a thumb drive, then dropped it off elsewhere, that would require two separate trips. “We need to find out what Tim was doing on the days immediately before and after his trips to the inn,” I said. “If he was picking up information Pickard had stored on a thumb drive at the inn, he would have needed to arrange for a second meeting with the customer who was to receive the information on the other end. Do you think Pickard was personally delivering the drive to Tim?”
“The intel we have indicates Pickard breaks into secure databases and downloads the information he’s been contracted to provide directly onto thumb drives, heavily encrypted. The customer pays for the drive, then is given the code to decrypt the information. As far as we can tell, Pickard doesn’t save the information anywhere else, like a hard drive, and never forwards it via the internet. It seems like a cumbersome process, but by doing it that way he’s so far managed to avoid detection and capture. The question of whether his courier has direct access to him isn’t known. Until the photo Tim sent Harley, he was a virtual ghost.”
“Tim has to have met him face to face at least once because he had the photo,” I pointed out.
Shredder took the photo out of his pocket and looked at it closely. “Pickard is in a windowless room t
hat could be located almost anywhere. I’ve been assuming he must be or have been in Alaska because Tim was working for him, but that may not be true.”
He took out his phone, dialed a number, and waited for someone to pick up. “Hi, love; it’s Shredder. I need a favor.”
He laughed at something the person said. “Alas, not that kind of favor. I want you to pull travel records for Tim Maverick for the past year. If he boarded a plane, train, ferry, or spaceship, I want to know about it. Check passport records as well.”
Shredder hung up without saying good-bye. When it came to work, he tended to forgo pleasantries.
“I wonder what Tim did—or didn’t do—that got him killed,” I said.
Shredder shrugged. “He knew weeks before he died that his death was a possibility. We suspect he didn’t complete his last job. He could have had a plan to get out from under Pickard that backfired. Maybe he suspected it might fail, so he sent the letter.”
“That would fit.” I nodded. “The letter he sent Harley indicated he’d gotten himself in a bad situation and he planned to get out of it, but if it didn’t work, then the man in the photo had killed him.”
“It sounds like Tim made that last reservation at the inn but never intended to keep it. It may have been just a smoke screen. The question is, if he had the thumb drive and didn’t deliver it, where is it?”
“Maybe we should show Pickard’s photo around town,” I suggested. “If the inn was a pickup point, Pickard must have been the one to meet Tim there to drop off the information.”
“Not necessarily. He could have had another courier deliver the drive. It would be my guess he rarely leaves wherever it is he’s holed up.”
I supposed if you were an international fugitive it would make sense to stay well-hidden, which made me wonder how Tim had managed to get the photo in the first place.
After we left the pizza parlor, Shredder and I took a walk around town. I had a photo of Tim from a party we’d both attended and Shredder had the photo of Pickard, so we decided to show them around on the off chance someone had seen them. It was a long shot for sure, but it was a festive night, with the snow flurries and the Christmas decorations, so even if we came up empty, it wouldn’t be a total waste of time.
