Books by Sue Henry

by Henry, Sue

  This was the nightmare all over again. Chelle sat staring at the envelope in her hand. It was not thick and weighed little, but its shape suggested money and something else. A letter?

  Intolerable. The old guilt swept over her in a wave, but she fought it furiously. What was it? She did and didn’t want to know. Would it tell her that he had knowingly left her? Why he had? Or would it give her a clue to what he had been doing? Why he had taken the trouble to lay down this evidence trail with obvious forethought?

  This would make it okay for her…just in case, he had told Bunker. What could possibly make it okay? If he was gone for good—or even if he was alive—it would never be okay, and he had to have known that. A few dollars or pieces of paper would change nothing, mean nothing.

  Jeff sat silently beside her, solid and supposedly trustworthy, waiting for her reaction to cue his response. But could she trust him? Could she trust anyone…even herself? He was first and foremost loyal to Norm, not her. Was he still keeping promised secrets?

  With a flash of anger, she ripped off one end of the envelope and shook it, open end down, ready to catch whatever slid out. A folded, plain sheet of plain white paper landed in her hand, and fell open to expose a thin stack of bills held together with a red rubber band, the top bill a hundred. The money missing from the bank account? It didn’t feel very thick.

  There was no letter…no message. The unfolded white sheet lay in her hand, empty of writing…and of Norm’s reasons for this just-in-case contingency he had entrusted to his friend.

  AS THE WEATHER GREW WARMER, AKLAK WAS MORE and more on the move, each day devoted primarily to eating. From the time he left his den in the spring and till when he returned to it in the fall, he might range as far as a thousand square miles in his never-ending search for food. Early in the year, this would consist mainly of grass and sedges, and though he could eat a wide variety of vegetation, he preferred anything that was high in protein—energy food that would add fat to his body. Through the largesse of the summer, he would often eat close to ninety pounds of food each day. Later in the year, when cold weather made edible things more scarce, his range might increase as he attempted to find food and store fat for hibernation.

  Through the warm months, when there would be plenty on which to browse, he would never go hungry and would have a wide variety of choices. Under rocks and fallen logs, he would scratch up worms and grubs. Few mice or ground squirrels would escape him, for if he did not catch them aboveground, he would scrape them out of their burrows with his sharp claws, his strong shoulders and forearms being well adapted for digging up yards of earth almost effortlessly. But rodents would be only a side dish to his predominantly herbaceous diet of roots and greens.

  Aklak was particularly fond of the sap and cambium layer of tree bark. Standing high on his hind legs, he would bite into the bark, catch a strip in his teeth to tear away from the trunk, then lick up the sweet sap and chew at the inner bark.

  In his prime at ten years old, he might live twice that long, though his sibling sister would probably outlive him, since female bears, as with many species, tend to live longer than males. Aklak was larger than average. From the bottom of his front paw, when it was flat on the ground, to the highest point of his shoulder, he stood five feet six inches, and from his nose to the tip of his tail, just over nine feet. Though in others of his kind color varied from blond to almost black, his coat was a beautiful warm brown, with pale-tipped guard hairs that gave him the grizzled look for which his kind was named: grizzly, from the Old French word grizel, meaning somewhat gray or grayish. Those hairs extended beyond the heavy thickness of fur, adding the frosted, or silver-tipped, appearance.

  His face was broad and slightly dished, his dark brown eyes small and close-set, his ears small and rounded. To increase the distance of his sight, to reach upward for something, or to posture or fight, he could stand on his hind legs unaided, but he did not walk while standing. When he traveled, it was on all fours, and because, like all bears, Aklak did not have a separating clavicle to hold his shoulder bones apart, he moved with a curious shuffling, pigeon-toed gait, his shoulders working as he alternately moved his front feet one at a time. The hump between his shoulders provided the muscle for his remarkable digging ability and the exceptional power of his forepaws to strike—quite enough to decapitate a man, or dispatch a moose with one swipe.

  His paw prints, with their swirls and whorls, were as unique to him as were a human person’s, and the tracks they made looked remarkably similar to those a human would make, though larger. His toe prints formed a relatively straight line, with marks of his long claws several inches in front of them, twice as long as the toe pads. He walked on the front part of his forepaw, which left a track seven inches long and eight inches wide. His complete hind paw measured a full fourteen inches long and nine inches wide.

  Capable of speeds up to fifty feet a second at full charge, he could maintain them only for a few minutes, but could easily run half again as fast as a man. His vision and hearing were reasonably good, but Aklak’s sense of smell was his most important asset, for no other animal’s was more acute. He could pick up the scent of prey from several miles away.

  Strongly built and extremely healthy, he was susceptible to very few diseases and challenged by nothing in his world but other brown bears and the weapons of man.

  His name, Aklak, had been given to his species by the Eskimo people. But his kind had other names in North America, given by other peoples: the beast that walks like man, bruin, enemy of man, fur father, grand old gladiator, great bear, grouchy, king of brutes, lord of the woods, Moccasin Joe, monarch of the mountains, Old Caleb, Old Ephraim, old man of the mountains, silvertip, that which lives in the den, and Uncle, among them. Those given to him by Native-American peoples were more admiring and personal: big hairy one, chief’s son, colored bear, cousin, elder brother, fine young chief, four-legged human, grandfather, old man, old man in a furred cloak, real bear, that which went away, and the unmentionable one.

  Unconscious of any of these, secure in the world in which he lived, Aklak would spend the spring wandering the great plateau at the foot of Mount Susitna, unaware that it, too, had a name given to it by man—simply accepting what came, as it came, expecting nothing.

  12

  “YOU’VE BEEN SOMEWHERE ELSE ALL NIGHT,” JESSIE said as she hung her jacket on a hook by the cabin door. “What’s on your mind, trooper?”

  Alex turned to smile at her and the question. She could read him better than he expected at times.

  Dinner with Ben and Linda Caswell, followed by two rubbers of bridge, had been pleasantly relaxing and, for the most part, full of friendly humor and conversation. Early in the evening, Alex had brought Cas up to date on the breakin and what he had learned from Chelle, while Linda and Jessie discussed a gardening project they were planning. Later, however, he had not been able to put it away, found it hard to keep his thoughts from drifting back to the case and Rochelle Lewis. It was a distraction that felt more important than it seemed from the facts, but he hadn’t been able to shake it off.

  Once, he had slowly become aware of his hand of cards—and the other three players regarding him quizzically—with no idea at all what he had just bid. When he lost two obvious tricks in a row and Jessie had threatened to make him sleep in the storage shed, they had conceded the game and headed for home.

  It was a clear, cool night with a new moon hanging like a silver scythe in the sky in front of them as Jensen aimed his truck east into the Mat-Su Valley. Pioneer Peak loomed in dark southern silhouette as the road curved left to cross the twin bridges of the Knik and Susitna rivers. Content to listen quietly to the country and western music from the radio without conversation, Jessie had leaned lightly against his shoulder and laid an affectionate hand just above his knee as they traveled. In the lights from the dashboard, they had exchanged smiles. And, before they were ten minutes out of Eagle River, Jensen was once again considering the Lewis case.

>   Most of his contemplation had a familiar feeling. Collecting bits and pieces of evidence, seemingly related, or not, was part of what challenged him professionally. He enjoyed solving the puzzles, and was exceptionally good at it. At a certain point in most cases it often appeared that most of what he knew or suspected was a crazy quilt of partially defined shapes, full of holes and designs that didn’t match. He had learned that it was better not to overexamine the parts that frustrated him but, rather, to relegate odd scraps to the back of his mind, where they could gradually work their way into a pattern that made sense. Through years of investigation, he had grown confident in this method, took it on faith, knowing he could leave some things alone to come together on their own, while he focused his attention on others.

  Even after arriving at the cabin, however, Alex wasn’t quite comfortable enough with the process to abandon his thoughts. While Jessie made them each a cup of tea, he added wood to the stove, and when she handed him his large, brown mug of fragrantly steaming liquid, he was ready to talk about some of it.

  “Just can’t get this case to leave me alone tonight,” he told her, finally settling into a chair on one side of the kitchen table.

  “How do you mean?” On the other side, she leaned on her elbows, holding her mug in both hands, reminding him of Chelle at the breakfast bar earlier.

  “I feel like there’s something going on that I can’t get hold of and it bothers me. It’s kind of like when you know something that must be done is potential trouble. You can’t make it any easier, but you sort of walk all around it, checking out everything that could go wrong and planning what you’ll do if anything does.

  “This one has me on that kind of an edge. I don’t have enough information yet. So it’s like the usual loose ends, but more than that.”

  “What exactly makes you feel that way?” she asked. “Can you identify the causes?”

  He frowned. She was right. He needed to go back to the foundations of the feelings. Narrowing his eyes, he nodded slowly and thought aloud.

  “Yeah…part…maybe. Chelle’s a big reason. I do think she’s building herself up to go hunting for Norm. But her outlook has changed somehow…something subtle. She’s focused on something and isn’t saying what. I think she knows something, but I couldn’t get her to tell me. This afternoon she got a sort of listening look on her face—like she was trying something on mentally to see how it fit—but when I asked, she denied there was anything.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “Yeah. Somebody broke into the Lewis house this morning while she was out. Kicked in the back door and did a pretty thorough job of tossing most of the place. It was definitely a search for something I have a hunch they didn’t find. I think we interrupted whoever it was before they could finish. The kitchen and garage were untouched—though Chelle says there are some things missing from the garage—but the office was ankle-deep in paper and books that had been thrown off the shelves.”

  “You think she knows what they were after?”

  “Or thinks she does, maybe, but that doesn’t fit quite right either. It’s more like she knows something she didn’t know until yesterday, or today…something she’s thought over and decided to act on. There’s a confidence she didn’t seem to have before. You know? But she’s afraid of something, too. I could almost smell it. Hard to explain.”

  “Well, you’re probably right. You’re pretty good at reading people. But why keep it to herself? Doesn’t she see that it might help more if you knew what she knows, or is worrying about?”

  “I don’t know. There’s some reason she thinks it’s important, I guess. What I’m getting more sure of is that Lewis isn’t coming back. He may be dead. He may have taken off. But she hasn’t come to terms with that. Suspects—maybe, subconsciously, but doesn’t let it in. This afternoon, early, she almost ran over me, and was so upset she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so she wound up doing both. Hysteria. But, by the time I left, she was refusing to stay in a hotel for the night—calmly packing for a charter with determination and organization—cool as you please.”

  “She covers up a lot.”

  “I know. But there’s a lot going on. Angry? Scared? Depressed? Determined? Can’t put my finger on the right combination. I don’t know. She’s going to come down hard when she has to face what I think is coming. She can be angry as long as she convinces herself he took off on her. When, and if, she knows for certain he’s dead? Wish I could help, but that’s a real loner space.”

  With concern of her own, Jessie watched a confusion of concern and emotion flicker across his face. It was unusual for Alex to allow himself to become so personally wrapped up in a case. His objectivity was very important to him, so he made special efforts to remain a step away emotionally from those he investigated, or who were perceived as involved, victims or not. She knew the situation played on his understanding of loss and grief, that he recognized himself in it, but it didn’t explain his depth of distraction with this case. There was something more.

  Well, she thought, whatever it is, maybe if I play his game and leave it alone, it will come to me.

  When he looked up, noticing her silence, she was studying his face thoughtfully.

  “Thanks, Jess,” he said suddenly, in appreciation he couldn’t separate into distinct and describable pieces.

  She was so present when she listened. Not judgmental. Seldom critical. Never demanding. Just there…as if nothing else mattered as much, whatever it was, and there would be all the time needed to attend to it. He thought that lately he had come and gone from their relationship with utter, unquestioning confidence, but with little thought to its nurturing or care. Have I been taking it…her…for granted? he wondered. Probably.

  “You’re welcome,” she told him, “for…whatever.”

  “Hey,”—reaching for her hand—“you’re a long ways away over there.”

  She smiled. “And you’re a long ways away up here,” she said, tapping the top of her head. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to the law enforcement modus operandi. It’s a sort of mental merry-go-round you climb onto and go in circles, trying to catch the gold ring, and can’t get off till you have it and the music stops.”

  Alex chuckled. “That’s not a bad description, lady. All you forgot is the dizzy part, the feeling that the rest of the world is whirling around while you stand still.”

  “Yeah? Well, whirl, or stand still, to your heart’s content, if it helps solve the thing. I’m going to check on Black Dog’s cut foot once more before I turn in. Back in a minute or two.”

  He watched her step into boots, slip into her jacket, and go out the door. Through the window in it, her honey-colored hair, backlit from the porch light, glowed like gold silk before she disappeared into the dark.

  How different, he thought, from Chelle’s thick reddish-brown.

  Then he got up to rinse their tea mugs clean and get the coffeepot ready for morning.

  13

  THE EARLY-MORNING SKY WAS CLEAR WITH ONLY a few scattered clouds on the western horizon, the air, still, perfect for flying, exactly what Chelle Lewis needed. As she finished transmitting the ritual departure exchange with the tower, lifted the 206 from the water of Lake Hood, and swung away to the north, once again her breath seemed to come deeper and easier.

  Automatically, she squelched the communications frequency and tuned her second radio to the upbeat contemporary music of KFQD’s AM station with its powerful long-range transmitter. The rhythmic tones of Stevie Nicks’s “Leather and Lace” filled her ears as she watched the Automatic Direction Finder swing around to indicate the broadcast’s position of origin to the east. As it set her foot tapping, she realized it was the first time in months she had listened to popular music with more pleasure than pain, especially this nostalgic station that seemed to play, on a rotating basis, the music that had meaning to her life. Before Norm disappeared she had never noticed how every song was one of love or loss, many some of both. Those that didn�
�t reflect the joys and sorrows of togetherness were almost as bad. Listening had seemed an intolerable masochism that turned pain into what felt like shards of glass in her chest and stomach. Now, as she reached to turn it off, some obstinate, new strength drew her hand back and she went on half listening, ignoring most of the words. This morning it was not unpleasant company, as long as the tempo was upbeat.

  Still tapping, she banked the Cessna west toward Mount Susitna.

  A blanket of snow still covered most of the Sleeping Lady, though it was looking more and more moth-eaten as the temperature grew ever warmer and patches of dark rock melted out, absorbing the heat of a sun that hung longer in the sky each day. By the summer solstice on the twenty-first of June, it would be light almost all night.

  Fall in Alaska was brief, and winter came in like revenge, but spring seemed to take its time, stretching and luxuriating in the renewal of warmth, swelling from stark, bitter browns to lush, new greens that hung like a haze in the alders and birch everywhere you looked, an enlivening promise of summer. It was Chelle’s favorite season.

  Shortly before dawn, she had dropped a note in her brother Ed’s mailbox, avoiding the confrontation she knew would be inevitable if she told him she was going out alone to start a ground search for her husband. Tired of such confrontations, and his condemnation of Norm, she had kept her plans to herself. There was also the shadow of doubt in her own mind that she had no desire to share, knowing it would be taken by him only as a confirmation. She had not called to tell him about the breakin, had spoken to no one since leaving Lake Hood the night before.

  She had returned to a house that felt invaded, but empty, and had occupied the evening hours rescuing books from the floor, resentfully smoothing creased pages and sorrowing over the broken spines of old friends. Though not really frightened, she had been cautious, going through each room to assure herself she was alone, checking the security of the back door, locking every lock, closing all the curtains and blinds.