Spring into Murder (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Wendy Meadows

  “Ah, another good question,” Amanda mused. “And this little London gal is wondering if Mr. Hopski's will might have some type of clause in it stating that if he was murdered his fortune would not go to his wife or three children?”

  “Now who is the brilliant one?” Sarah asked, turning to gape at Amanda’s insight.

  Amanda felt her cheeks turn red. “Well, it was only a thought.”

  “Modest, too.”

  “Stop it,” Amanda told Sarah and blushed even redder.

  Andrew returned carrying three brown paper cups. “Okay,” he said, “here are the cups.”

  “I'll pour,” Amanda told Andrew and took the three cups from him. “You've been itching like a dog infested with fleas all day. One scratch while pouring coffee and you're likely to burn yourself and spoil Sarah’s best brewed coffee, too.”

  Andrew scratched at his legs again. “Darn starch,” he complained. “From now on I'm going to let my wife iron my uniform.” Andrew looked at Sarah, who had crossed over to examine a map of the area that hung on his office wall. “Okay, Sarah, talk to me. What are you thinking?”

  “I'm wondering, where was Mr. Hopski's campsite located?” Sarah asked Andrew. “Or more likely, where is the poor man's hunting cabin? Surely he was too rich for a mere tent in the woods.”

  Andrew leaned against his desk. “We haven't located Mr. Hopski's hunting cabin yet,” Andrew confessed. “I figured you'd get around to asking me about that sooner or later. Truth be told, Mr. Hopski was found pretty far out, Sarah. His body wouldn't have even been spotted if the folks hadn’t wandered off the trail a bit to search for a certain type of bird.”

  “How far out were they, anyway?” Sarah asked.

  “Far enough to make the moose feel lonely,” Andrew assured Sarah. “The old Snow Bear Trail shoots straight north through that little valley you see there on the map, and eventually the trail fades off into the land. The trail was created by the native Alaskans who lived and hunted in this area forever, though nowadays it’s mainly used by moose and birdwatchers.”

  “How far down the trail, Andrew? I need a mile count,” Sarah asked again, examining the map closely.

  “Oh, I'd say...seven or eight miles north from the trailhead. The bird watching group that found Mr. Hopski's body was being driven down the trail by Burt Sterry's boy. Burt Sterry bought his boy an old truck last year and it seems like the boy raised it up on a four-by-four kit and found a way to make a few extra dollars in the backcountry.”

  “I see,” Sarah said. “Did you get the names of everyone in that group?”

  “Five locals I have known for years,” Andrew assured Sarah. “Not a killer among them, unless you want to consider Mrs. Aspen's cooking a threat against humanity.” Andrew smiled. “Poor Mrs. Aspen, the poor thing can't cook to save her life, but she sure tries.”

  “Mrs. Aspen, the old lady who lives out on Willow Whisper Road?” Sarah asked.

  “The very same,” Andrew answered. “Mrs. Aspen lives alone in her little cottage. Story goes that after her husband was killed in a car crash she moved to Alaska and secluded herself from the world. She comes out of hiding during the spring to go bird watching with her four widow friends. Burt Sterry's boy shovels snow for them during the winter, so they trust him well enough.”

  “I see,” Sarah nodded her head. “I'd like to speak to Mrs. Aspen, Mr. Sterry's son, and the other four women who were out bird watching.”

  Andrew furrowed his brow in concern. “Sarah, Mrs. Aspen is very...delicate. She doesn't speak to just anyone. And that goes for Mrs. Cohen, Mrs. Grifton, Mrs. Daffle and Mrs. Polly. All five women are in their late sixties, Sarah, and they're not interested in speaking to a stranger. I've known Mrs. Aspen for a long time and it took me just about as long to earn her trust. I guess I knew I had earned her trust when she presented me with a burned casserole.”

  “I bumped into Mrs. Aspen at the grocery store,” Amanda chimed in, trying to help Andrew. “I tried to say hello, but received an icy shoulder instead.”

  “I promise you,” Andrew said kindly, “if all other avenues turn up empty, I’ll go out and question Mrs. Aspen myself.”

  Sarah understood. She didn't press the issue. “What about Mr. Sterry's son?”

  “Burt Jr. is a good kid. He'll talk to you,” Andrew said in a relieved voice. “But I'm not sure what information you're fishing for from the boy, Sarah. Burt Jr. told me everything that happened.” Andrew scratched at his legs again. “He was driving Mrs. Aspen and her friends down the old trail in his truck. The five old ladies were sitting in the bed of the truck with their binoculars, bird watching, when Mrs. Aspen tapped the driver's side door with her cane. Burt Jr. said he stopped the truck and helped Mrs. Aspen and her friends down out of the bed and watched them wander off-trail a little in search of some bird. They told him not to follow because they thought his boots would be too loud, you know how young fellas are. Well, a few minutes later he heard Mrs. Daffle scream and went running with his rifle in hand.”

  “Burt Jr. is a good kid,” Amanda pointed out. “Mr. Sterry and I chatted about him a couple times. He works at the grocery store a couple nights a week to put money away for college. He should be a senior when school starts back, right, Andrew?”

  “Yep,” Andrew nodded. “Burt Jr. wants to join the Coast Guard, too. I think the kid is going to be okay. He comes from good stock.”

  Sarah rummaged through her mind and managed to find Burt Jr. “Red headed kid...kinda skinny...friendly smile?”

  “That's the kid,” Andrew confirmed.

  “I remember him now. He carried groceries to my Subaru for me a few times,” Sarah explained. She bit down on her lip. “Okay, so Burt Jr. heard Mrs. Daffle scream and went running. What then?”

  Andrew accepted a cup of coffee from Amanda and took a careful sip. “Well, Mrs. Aspen and her friends were standing under a large tree. Burt Jr. said when he got to them he saw them looking down at a man lying face up...dead.” Andrew took another sip of coffee. “Burt Jr. hurried the women back to his truck and made tracks back toward town.”

  “Nobody touched the body...nobody touched Mr. Hopski, I mean?” Sarah asked.

  Andrew shook his head no. “Burt Jr. said one look was all it took to let him know Mr. Hopski was long dead and he sure wasn't interested in messing with a dead body.” Andrew took a third sip of coffee. “Sarah, you have to drive nine miles due north just to reach the old Snow Bear Trail. So, we're talking a pretty good distance from town.”

  Sarah nodded her head and focused on a different question. “So, Mr. Hopski’s cabin is most likely within walking distance of the trail?”

  “Must be,” Amanda said and handed Sarah a cup of coffee. “If his body...I mean, if Mr. Hopski...was found close to the trail, perhaps he was trying to use the trail to find his way back to civilization.”

  “Assuming he was even lost,” Sarah pointed out and sipped on her coffee. The coffee was very strong and the aroma blended in beautifully with the cozy sound of the pelting rain outside. “What if he was being chased and needed a safe route out of the wilderness?”

  “There were no signs the man was attacked, Sarah,” Andrew pointed out.

  “Maybe not physically,” Sarah pointed out. “But he could have been fleeing. Slowly, given his age and the snow in that season. Maybe Mr. Hopski was scared to death.”

  Andrew stopped sipping his coffee. His ears perked up. “Scared to death?”

  Amanda took a slow sip of coffee. Her imagination created a hideous creature with red glowing eyes lurking out in the snow, stalking poor Mr. Hopski, watching...waiting...and then...pouncing on the man with a horrible scream, causing Mr. Hopski’s heart to stop with fear. She shivered. “Creepy.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait to see if it was a heart attack that took him, when the coroner’s report comes back. Personally, I wouldn’t put it past Natalie Hopski to try to scare her old man to death. Peter did warn me that she is clever,” Sarah expl
ained. “The woman may look like a clown, but her eyes are cold and deadly. The same applies to Charlene Nelton. Although,” Sarah added, “according to Peter, Charlene isn't as clever as Natalie. Milton backs that up. From what he told me, Charlene is a follower, not a leader, although she may believe she's the smartest cookie in the jar.”

  “Scared to death...well, I'll be,” Andrew whispered to himself as his mind connected the dots Sarah was presenting to him. “I never would have thought...”

  Sarah sipped at her coffee. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Andrew, it's too late for you to take Amanda and myself to the spot where Mr. Hopski was found. But first thing in the morning, we need you to pick us up at Amanda's cabin. We're going to spend the day searching for Mr. Hopski's hunting cabin.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you there, Sarah. I called Jessica down at the realty office. She sent me a list of names of everyone who rented seasonal cabins from her. Unfortunately, Mr. Hopski's name isn't on the list.”

  “Which might mean he owns property in Snow Falls, right?” Amanda asked.

  “The land around the trail is protected. No one can build on the land,” Andrew explained. He looked at Sarah. “You're wondering about Mr. Hopski's vehicle, too, aren't you?”

  “Well, a man his age certainly didn't walk here on foot,” Sarah replied and finished her coffee. “It seems, guys, we have a lot of loose ends that need to be tied up.”

  Andrew nodded his head. “I agree,” he stated, grateful Sarah was on board. The woman had presented questions to him he himself never considered. “It seems like maybe…just maybe...we have a murder on our hands.”

  “And the murderer, or murderers,” Amanda said in a careful tone, “could be right here in Snow Falls.” Amanda took a sip of her coffee and winced. Her best friend sure knew how to make a strong cup of coffee.

  Sarah stood up and walked over to the office window and pulled back the vertical blinds. The soft rain was falling gently over Snow Falls; lazy and relaxed. But somewhere beyond the rain, a dark storm was raging in the Hopski family. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Sarah whispered.

  Amanda looked at Andrew. Andrew scratched at his leg absently. “Well,” he said and looked down at the phone on his desk, “I better start scheduling constant patrols around the lodge so we can keep an eye on our guests.”

  “Good idea,” Sarah agreed. She turned away from the window and looked at Sarah. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Let's go get some dinner at the diner,” Sarah replied. “Andrew, what would you like for us to bring you back?”

  “Oh, a meatloaf plate will do,” Andrew said in a grateful voice.

  “Sure thing. In the meantime, can one of your deputies find out if Mr. Hopski's rifle has been recently fired?” Andrew agreed and spoke to one of his men as they exited, hungry.

  Sarah grabbed Amanda’s hand as they headed for the door. “Let's go have dinner with Milton and Chet,” she said mischievously as she hurried them toward the diner. Amanda followed. What in the world was her best friend up to now?

  Chapter 4

  Spring Clues

  Sarah spotted Chet and Milton sitting together in a back booth. The two brothers stood out in the small diner like two sore thumbs, their suits out of place among the denim and plaid worn by the locals. Every patron in the diner was casting glances their way, wondering who the two odd ducks were. Sarah felt sorry for the two brothers and hurried back to their booth. “Mind if we join you for dinner?” she asked politely as she squeezed water out of her hair. The rain had soaked them on the walk over.

  Amanda shook rain from the hem of her dress. “I could use a hot tea,” she smiled encouragingly at Milton and Chet.

  But Chet only studied Amanda warily. The jowls in his face tightened a little, as if he wasn't sure if the two women were being genuinely friendly. But he seemed to make up his mind as he looked at Sarah, and shifted in his seat a little. “Milton, sit by me.”

  “No, doll face can sit next to me,” Milton smiled up at Sarah, obviously pleased. “Maybe romance is in the air after all, huh, sweetheart?”

  “Sorry, no,” Sarah said apologetically. “Like I said before, only friendship.”

  Milton sighed melodramatically. “Never hurts to ask twice.” He struggled to his feet and slid in next to his brother.

  Sarah looked down at the table and spotted the remains of two meatloaf dinners and saw two half-empty cups of coffee. “Amanda,” she said and motioned at the booth.

  “Why do I always get the window seat,” Amanda pretended to complain, smiling prettily at Chet and Milton as she slid down into the vinyl booth.

  Sarah sat down next to Amanda. “Well,” she smiled, “here we all are.”

  Anne walked up to the table, plainly curious to know what Amanda and Sarah were doing with the two strangers. She looked at Chet and Milton curiously. “Are you two boys sure you aren't actors?”

  “No,” Chet replied in a flat voice.

  “Doll face,” Milton told Anne, “the big screen couldn't handle my handsome mug. Now, how about a refill on the old java, huh?”

  Anne shook her head. “What a pair,” she said to Sarah and Amanda. “And what will you girls have?”

  “I would like a hot lemon tea, a turkey sandwich on rye bread, no crusts, mayonnaise on the side, and a watercress salad with just a splash of nonfat Italian dressing,” Amanda said dreamily, without a glance at the menu.

  “Well that’s too bad, because you're getting a meatloaf plate with mashed potatoes and green beans, a slice of apple pie, and some coffee,” Anne informed Amanda. “We don’t have all that other nonsense and you know it.” She turned to Sarah. “Sarah?”

  “The same,” Sarah smiled and quickly added. “And make an extra meatloaf plate to go for Andrew, please. He had to stay back at the station but we’re headed back there later.”

  When Sarah said that, she saw Chet glance at Milton. Milton raised his eyebrows and nodded his head as if to agree with his brother that “doll face” was still on duty. “So, you’re not here just for a friendly chat, are you, doll face?”

  “Well, no,” Sarah admitted. “The truth is, I have some questions I hope you guys can answer for me.”

  “What kind of questions?” Milton asked. Chet waited. He glanced at Amanda and then back at Sarah.

  Sarah turned to look at Anne, who was still gawping at the outlandish visitors. “Coffee would be great,” she said, tossing a hint into the air.

  “Oh, sure,” Anne said and finally hurried away.

  “What kind of questions,” Chet asked Sarah in a monotone, so that it almost didn’t sound like a question at all.

  “For starters,” Sarah said, forcing her voice to sound comfortable and relaxed, “did your father drive to Alaska or fly? I can find the answers to all of my questions with a little old-fashioned detective work, but I'm hoping you two might save me some time.”

  Milton looked at his brother. Chet sat silently for a moment, slowly turning his coffee cup in his large hands. Sarah had assumed that Milton would take the lead in answering any questions, but to her surprise he seemed to be deferring to his quieter brother. Chet’s mind seemed to roam over Sarah's question with patience, as if he were examining every nook and cranny of it. He finally nodded his head at Milton, who replied, “Pop hated to fly. Even when he went to Africa to hunt he always went ‘across the pond’ on a boat.”

  “So he drove up to Alaska?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes,” Chet answered Amanda. He looked at Sarah. “You haven't found Daddy's vehicle?”

  “Not yet,” Sarah confessed. “Help me out, Mr. Hopski. What type of vehicle would your father have driven in to Alaska?”

  “Daddy only hunted in his Subaru.”

  “You bet,” Milton added. “Pop never went on a hunting trip without his famous Subaru. Or, as we called it, the Green Machine.”

  “I see,” Sarah said in a grateful voice. “And did Mr. Hopski have a hunting cabin arou
nd here someplace?”

  Both Chet and Milton shrugged their shoulders. “Daddy never told us about his hunting trips. All we know is that he was very particular over his Subaru.”

  “The only time Pop bragged about a trip was when he bagged a really big game,” Milton explained. “Assuming he was in the mood to brag, that is.”

  Sarah folded her hands together. “Mr. Hopski was found a little ways off an old trail. The trail is called the old Snow Bear Trail, about nine miles north of town. Now, from what I understand about your father, he was a skilled hunter. I don't think he would have been hunting near the old Snow Bear Trail. That's just my opinion, of course. It seems to me that he might have been making his way toward the trail in order to gain a fast path back toward town. I don’t believe he was hunting on the Snow Bear Trail. I also don’t believe he was lost.”

  Chet reflected on Sarah's tone and statement. His eyes settled on hers. “You think someone was chasing Daddy?”

  “It's possible,” Sarah admitted. “Tomorrow morning we're going out to search for your father’s hunting cabin. I'm hoping to gather more evidence once we find it. We know that the area around the old Snow Bear Trail is protected, meaning building is not permitted there. That leads me to my working hypothesis: I believe that your father was out hunting when he encountered someone who forced him to run for his life, and he made for the Snow Bear Trail knowing it was a faster route back to town. But he died before he could make it out of the wilderness. This is just my theory, but it’s all I have to go on right now.”

  Chet nodded his head. His eyes glittered a little with that hidden intelligence Sarah had seen before, as he seemed to come to a conclusion. “My brother and me, can we come with you?” he asked.

  “You bet,” Sarah said with a smile. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping you would ask to come along and—” Sarah stopped talking abruptly. Across the room, the diner door had just swung closed behind Natalie Hopski. And she looked like she was on the warpath.

  Natalie quickly spotted Chet and Milton. As she made her way back to the booth, she shook rain off a bright pink umbrella, scattering copious raindrops on the nearby customers who turned to look at this rude stranger. She stomped up to the booth, her oversized galoshes squeaking with every step. She had fury in her eyes. “Why are you talking to them?” she hissed in an ugly tone as she threw a thumb in the direction of Sarah and Amanda. “They are the enemy,” she said as if the two women weren’t even there.