As dawn turned the surroundings from black to purple and eventually deep blue, Alex could see herself. Her shirt and pants clung in scorched shreds. She was cut, bruised and burned. The flames had chased thousands of flying insects from their forest homes. Along with soot and dirt, bee and wasp stings covered her skin where exposed. Throbbing pain took attention to her hands and fingers. Her perfectly sculpted acrylic nails had been ripped off and several fingers bled through black filth.
Glancing to read the time, she discovered her Rolex gone. No telling when or where she had lost it. It didn’t matter.
In the dawn’s pink light, she stared out on the smoking ruin. The people below her seemed to be moving in slow motion, their voices sounding muffled and far away. For a long while she had been functioning from an abstract place, seeing the disaster from somewhere above it all, as if this assault on her psyche were happening to someone else.
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Oh, God. Charlie. I’m so sorry.
****
Daylight. When Doug had volunteered to help fight fire, he hadn’t expected to be called on so soon. Yet here he was doing something that a few months ago he hadn’t dreamed he would ever do.
The landscape had taken on a drastically different appearance from when he had seen it a little more than twenty-four hours ago. Smoke, choking and thick enough to taste, swirled in the glade. His nose ran, his eyes watered. Voices weakened by exhaustion murmured here and there. The temperature had cooled down to chilly and he shivered a bit. He hadn’t been in Callister long enough to grow accustomed to the sharp differences in the daytime and nighttime temperatures.
His left arm and shoulder felt as if they had been seared by the flames he had battled. The minute he had climbed down from Ted’s truck and pulled on the yellow fire-retardant shirt and pants, somebody had shoved a chain saw into one of his hands and an axe into the other. He hadn’t faced such a challenging physical test since leaving UCLA hospital. He had always respected firefighters and rescue squads. This morning, he felt new and even deeper appreciation.
The grocery store and one of the churches had sent up water, cookies and a large urn of coffee. Gretchen, the receptionist Doug had met in the Forest Service offices was drawing Styrofoam cups of coffee for the fire fighters.
Doug munched on a cookie and sipped coffee as he watched a guy some fifty feet away hovered over a charred body lying in the ashes of Alex McGregor’s old cabin. Pretending to assist was a small man under a large hat that rested on his ears and eyebrows. He wore a badge and a tan uniform, so he had to be the county sheriff. He appeared to be trying to stay as far away as possible from the corpse. Typical small town cop, Doug thought.
“Who is that?” he asked Gretchen.
“The victim or the other guy?”
“Both.”
“The live guy is the only doc in town. He’s also the coroner. The dead guy, they think, is Charlie McGregor.”
An odd squiggle traveled across Doug’s gut, but before he could give its meaning much thought, a bearded man approached and stuck out his right hand. “Pete Hand. We never got introduced. I’m a friend of Ted’s.” Doug shook hands. “Looks like we’re about wrapped up here. ’Preciate you helping out.”
“No problem.” Doug nodded toward the activity around the corpse. “Quite a shock for somebody.”
The new arrival accepted a cup of steaming coffee from Gretchen. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
Doug paused for a moment, assessing what that reply could mean. “You know the vic’s identity for sure?”
“Yep.” The bearded man’s attention was on the sheriff who was walking toward a well-used white Blazer that had an encircled gold star on the door.
Doug, too, watched the sheriff as he slid behind the steering wheel, picked up a clipboard and began writing. “So what’s the story? The sheriff got any ideas what happened?”
“He says it was an accident. A lantern turned over. Gal named Cindy Evans and Charlie McGregor were up here partying. He said he’s already talked to Cindy down at the hospital.”
Now a wave of queasiness joined the squiggle as Doug recalled the look in that pissed off blonde’s eyes as she charged him head-on with a jack handle. His breathing even stalled. Shit.
“’Course you gotta remember that Jim ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He’s probably got no idea what really happened.”
“The woman was hurt?”
“Naw. A little fire wouldn’t hurt ol’ Cindy. She’s tougher’n a boiled owl. She’s just shook up. Hell, who ain’t?”
“You’re sure McGregor’s the victim’s name?”
“Afraid so.” Pete wiped his eyes on his shirt sleeve. “Bound to happen. He’s been racing toward the edge of a high cliff ever since I’ve known him.”
Doug leveled a long look at his new friend, surprised at the lack of sympathy in his tone. He wanted to ask a hundred more questions, but he didn’t want someone he had just met to know he had even scant knowledge of the McGregors.
Pete turned and looked toward the hillside behind them. “That’s his ex-wife. Or whatever she is these days. She’s the one called in the fire.”
Doug turned, too, and stared up at a woman sitting near the burned out mountainside and looking small against its immensity.
“This is her property,” Pete added.
“Then what was her ex-husband doing partying here?”
“That, my friend, is a long story.”
Exactly what Ted had said yesterday. So more than just Ted seemed to know the blonde had a long story.
Pete watched the activity around the cabin ashes for a few beats. “Well, I’m going to the house. Done all I can. I expect this fucks up our fishing trip this weekend. Things get settled down, we’ll still do it.”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Doug said.
As Pete sauntered away, he turned back to staring at the blonde. Even with the activity generated by the fire’s aftermath and two dozen people milling around the glade floor, no one had gone near her. He had never seen anyone look so alone. He thought of approaching her, asking if she needed help, but before he could act on the impulse, Ted came out from the trees left standing near the pond. He looked unsettled and pale even through the layer of grime covering his face. “You okay?” Doug asked him.
“Yeah.” Ted’s voice came across weak and croaky. He turned away and spit on the ground, then Doug realized he had probably gone into the trees and thrown up.
Years of investigating homicides had left Doug largely numb to violent death. He had grown the same sanity-preserving shell most cops did—not allowing themselves to be touched in a personal way by the horror they dealt with routinely. Civilians, however, were profoundly affected. “Don’t beat yourself up, Ted. A burned body’s not a pretty sight.”
Ted wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. “Man, oh man. I thought I was tough. I’ve seen animals burned up in fires, but it’s not the same as looking at someone you knew.” He wobbled toward one of the trucks.
Doug glanced up the hill again at the McGregor woman, then asked Gretchen for a couple of bottles of water.
****
From her vigil on the charred hillside, Alex watched Ted’s friend, filthy and bedraggled, trudge up the hill toward her, carrying two bottles of water. His gray eyes looked like mirrors against his filthy face. His whole body seemed to sag from fatigue.
He unscrewed the lid on a water bottle and handed it to her. “You must be thirsty.”
She nodded, only now noticing that her mouth felt as parched as the mountainside looked. From somewhere she dredged up a fragile thank you as she reached for the water. Bracketing it with trembling hands, she sipped.
With a groan, the stranger eased himself down beside her and peeled off his hard hat. Resting his elbows on his bent knees, he looked at her across his shoulder. “You all right?”
She nodded again, unable to find the spirit to speak.
The stranger looked down at the ground betwe
en his feet. "You know about the body?” His voice was low, guarded.
A lump sprang to her throat. She bowed her head and swallowed, not wanting to risk looking him in the face. “It’s my ex-husband. Do—do I need to identify him?”
“You won’t be able to. Just stay put. Let the doc and the sheriff finish.”
She swallowed again. The lump wouldn’t go away. “I have to see. I have to know—”
“They have ways of identifying him. There’s nothing you can do.”
Logic told her that was true. She nodded.
“The sheriff will probably want a statement from you,” he added.
From what Ted had said about Doug Hawkins’ history, she believed he would know the procedure. Still, she glared at him, her mind resisting absorption of the horror that had befallen her former husband. She hadn’t been able to live with Charlie, but she had never wished him dead.
A flaming vision of Charlie’s last agonizing moments filled her head. Had he called out to her, as he had always done when he needed help? Imagining that he had was almost more than she could bear. A part of her wanted to break down and wail. She fought back a sob and said, “Jim Higgins is an idiot.”
She and the stranger watched in silence as the exhausted firefighters zipped the corpse into a body bag, then carried it uphill to the ambulance parked on Old Ridge Road. Her eyes stung, but she fought the tears and swallowed another sob.
As the ambulance rolled away, the stranger stood up and offered her his hand. “I’ll walk down there with you.”
She looked up at him for a few beats, then took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. Inside she was shaking so violently, she thought her bones might shake apart. She steeled herself and walked beside him down to the smoking ruins, hugging her elbows to hide her shaking.
The sheriff asked her questions; she answered. Dr. Thornton offered her tranquilizers; she rejected them. Someone offered to take her down to the hospital to have her burns and her injured hands treated, but she declined.
Eventually, Ted came over. “I’m sorry, Alex.”
She nodded.
“I’ll drive you back down to the house.”
She nodded again.
The sun had climbed high in the sky by the time Ted drove the Jeep into her garage and parked it. His friend, Doug Hawkins had followed them down from Granite Pond in Ted’s pickup. It sat idling in the driveway leading to the garage.
“Come to my place,” Ted said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think you should be alone right now. I’ll make you some breakfast. You can use my shower and crash in my spare room. I’ll bring you back home tomorrow.”
She shook her head. “I’m okay, Ted. Really. I just need to rest. I’m so tired.”
“C’mon. At my apartment, you can sleep as long as you need to. No one will bother you. I’ll unplug the phone.”
She shook her head again. “Really, Ted.”
“Alex, come on,” he said gently. “Let me help you.”
“I appreciate it, Ted, but I’m just going to clean up and go to sleep.”
“Then how about I stay here with you. I can still make you breakfast. I can flop on your sofa.”
“You have to be exhausted, too, Ted. Just let me go inside and you go home. We can talk tomorrow.”
On a sigh, he slid from behind the wheel, rounded the rear of the Jeep and opened her door. “You’re a hardheaded woman, Alex McGregor.”
She managed to smile up at him as she scooted out. “So I’m told.”
She stood at her backdoor, hanging onto the knob as Ted walked away. She heard his pickup door slam, heard the sound of the engine as his pickup drove away. Perhaps she should have accepted his offer for help, but she really did want to be alone. She had never relied on others for comfort and support. Through most of her life, there had been no one on whom to rely.
No, she would find her way through this in her own way and in her own time.
Chapter 6
Alex went straight to her bathroom where she showered and washed her hair. Afterward, she fell into bed exhausted, but she didn’t sleep. Her eyelids refused to stay closed, as if they were being propped wide open by sticks. She dozed sporadically, only to be startled awake by nightmares filled with flames.
She stayed in bed until the afternoon, when hunger drove her to the kitchen. She fed her two demanding cats, made tea and a sandwich of peanut butter and honey and took her cup and plate to her chair in front of her living room window.
The cats followed her, pacing and purring, waiting for her to finish eating. Finally, she set her dishes aside and allowed them on her lap, where she murmured to them and stroked them. “What would I do without my feline babies?”
She sat there for an immeasurable time looking out, but seeing little. Her grip on her emotions was tenuous at best.
As the sun began to wane, a pickup she didn’t recognize inched up the driveway. She shooed the cats away, hurried to her bedroom and dressed in slacks and a loose blouse. When the doorbell rang and she opened the door, she recognized Leland Sprague, the owner of the Rusty Spur Saloon. As far as she knew, the man had never been to her home.
“Leland. What can I do for you?”
“Uh, hi, Mrs. McGregor.” He yanked off his bill cap and held it in a tight-two handed grip. “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re grieving.”
Alex knew Leland casually. He was, after all, the competition. But she had barely a speaking relationship with him. She shook her head. “What is it? Why did you come?”
“I wanted to say, Mrs. McGregor, I’m sorry about Charlie. I know you two got divorced, but you were married a long time.”
“Thank you. Can I help you?”
“It’s Charlie’s car. It’s parked in my parking lot downtown. Right in front of the door.”
It hadn’t yet occurred to Alex to wonder how Charlie had reached Granite Pond. “Oh. I didn’t know. Would—would you mind asking someone to bring it up here?”
“No, ma’am, I wouldn’t mind at all. I’ll drive it up here myself. Charlie was a good customer.”
“I’m sure he was. If you could do that, I’d be grateful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” An awkward grin tipped up one side of his mouth. “You know, I’ve never drove a fancy car like that.”
Alex was sure that was true. Charlie’s bright red El Dorado was probably as close to luxury as Leland Sprague would ever get. She nodded.
“Would you know where the key might be? Was it with…Charlie?”
“The key?” Alex blinked in confusion before the question registered. “Oh, the key. Wait. I’ll look and see if I have one.”
She quickstepped back to the kitchen and rummaged in a drawer where the spare key had once been kept. Sure enough, it was still there. She carried it to Leland at the front door. “Thank you again,” she told him.
****
Saturday. Doug began his day with a two-mile run, followed by his usual hearty breakfast. Three days had come and gone since the fire on Wolf Mountain.
Though still sore from his firefighting experience, he set out cleaning the outbuilding he intended to fix up and turn into his workshop. To remodel his tumble-down house, he had to have a place to store his tools and supplies and do woodwork. The 20 x 20 building looked to have been a maintenance shop, probably for farm equipment. He intended to gut it and rebuild the interior. He had laid out a plan for the work to be completed before the onset of winter and made an estimate of the cost.
Eager to return to productive work in a familiar venue, he had also faxed resumes to Boise and Spokane law firms offering his services as a private investigator and/or jury consultant. His phone had remained quiet all week until yesterday when a call had come from the law firm of Henderson, Crowe & Culpepper, inviting him to Boise for an interview on Monday.
At noon, he went into the house to grab some lunch and as he was making a sandwich, Ted called. “I’m on my way to Boise,” he said. “If I hurry, I can catch a ride on a j
ump plane headed to Montana. They got a fire up north of Butte.”
“Yeah? How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. At least a week. Look, keep an eye on Alex, will you?”
“Why? Something else wrong?”
“We buried Charlie’s ashes earlier today. Nobody showed up for his body, so they called Alex and asked her to take care of it. It’s been hard. She says she’s okay, but I don’t like leaving her alone right now.”
And Doug didn’t like being assigned as her baby-sitter. But how could he say no to Ted? “What do you want me to do?”
“Just drive up and check on her. Make sure she’s okay. She tries to be tough, but I know ol’ Charlie frying in that cabin had to have torn her up inside. They were together since they were kids.”
Okay, he would baby-sit and at the same time, maybe satisfy his curiosity. Even as busy as his days had been, the aloof woman on Wolf Mountain had lurked in the back of his mind. Also on his mind was a haunting hunch the cabin fire was no accident. His hunches about crime had always proved to be accurate.
And there was his dented fender, which still rankled him, and which had not been addressed. He hadn’t taken the time to obtain repair estimates, but he didn’t need one to know it would cost at least a thousand dollars. “I’ll handle it. You just take care of yourself up there.”
****
Charlie’s El Dorado sat in Alex’s garage beside her Jeep. “What will I do with Charlie’s car?” she asked Robert Redford. He meowed.
She had no legal right to anything of Charlie’s anymore. The divorce had taken care of that. Her name was not on his car title. She knew of no will, doubted if her former husband had ever bothered to make one. Selling his car or any of his belongings would be a legal hassle if not an impossibility.
Being asked to take charge of Charlie’s remains had been no surprise to Alex either. Who else would do it? He had no family she cared to hunt down. His associates—if there were any true friends, she didn’t know them—had been mostly hangers-on who would have melted away at any time if he had ceased to pay the bar tab. For all their lives, Alex had been the one to pick up the broken pieces he left behind. Was it any wonder she was expected to take responsibility for him in death as she had so often done in life?
The Love of a Stranger Page 5
