Books by Sue Henry

by Henry, Sue

  “I can’t explain it or let it go, Jessie. All I can do is let you drop the dogs,” he told her. “There’s no way I believe you’d purposely run a string with illegal dogs in it, or that Jake would lie about this not being his dog, but I can’t break the rules for one musher. The reason we have these chips is identification. We all agreed to rely on them and it’s the best and only method we have. I don’t know why it reads what it reads, but I can’t let you go on with these dogs in your team.”

  “Dammit, Ned. There’s something way the hell wrong here. It’s not fair and you know it. I think Bob Spenser—”

  “Jessie—hold on. I can’t check with Bob, because he’s not here, he’s gone on up to Dawson. I’ll let you go on, but only without the dogs. I won’t penalize you and we’ll work it out later. It’s the best I can do.

  “You can protest if you want,” he added, as she had heard him tell the musher concerning his lost ax.

  “You better believe I will.”

  In the end, whitefaced with anger and frustration, she took Sunny and Wart off the line and allowed the vet to lead them away to be given the complete physicals required of every dog dropped. They would then be picked up by her support team for transport in the dog truck.

  “I’m really sorry, Jessie,” Bishop told her, as she pulled away from the checkpoint with twelve dogs left in her team and Tank glancing in confusion at the empty space where his teammates usually ran. Jessie would adjust the length of the gang line later.

  “Yes,” she said between clenched teeth. “So am I.”

  Jake Leland raised a hand in farewell and his eyes spoke volumes of anxiety and determination.

  “See you in Dawson,” was all he said.

  Angry about Sunny and Wart, worried about Debbie Todd, distinctly numb over her thoughts of Alex, Jessie now began to be concerned about the race as well.

  Running a distance race with any prayer of finishing well took a number of things working well together. Giving the dogs the best possible care was first, making sure they were eating and drinking the right things and enough of them, that they were rested, healthy, and uninjured. Taking care of yourself came next. But the main ingredient in successful racing was total concentration on the job at hand. Besides the dog and musher care, this included paying strict attention to what the other racers were doing, where they were, and how fast they were traveling compared to your own place and speed. Being aware of conditions, weather, temperature, and rate of travel, anticipating what was coming next and what you would need, all were extremely important.

  Jessie knew that the last thing she had going for her was anything approaching total concentration, that her whole frame of reference had shifted and only half her focus was directed to the race and her part in it. There was little she could do about that, but just being aware of it was good and somewhat helpful. She had to make conscious choices about it, the best ones she could, and accept the fact that the race was no longer of primary significance—the most important thing was Debbie Todd’s safety and rescue. It was, however, still a race and she intended to do her best. It was too early to give up her own goals unless she was forced to make a choice.

  After five miles of travel on a plowed road, Jessie and Ryan dropped down onto the Pelly River, and her flagging spirits began to lift slightly. This section of trail was much better than previous stints on rivers, for the people of Pelly had worked the jumbled blocks and cracks in the ice to make them safe for dogs and mushers, filling in when necessary, cutting off sharp frozen edges, and widening the track wherever possible.

  A full moon relieved the dark with a beautiful, ghostly light that was reflected from the surface of the ice, the luminescence broken by deep intermittent shadows. Winter had silenced the river’s voice and the utter stillness that filled the night was broken only by the soft sound of the sled on snow and slight scrapes as it passed over icy irregularities. The riverbanks rose in tall cliffs on either side, forming the walls of a canyon with a frozen passage between them. The moonlight poured in, filling it with silver.

  Anger fading, Jessie found herself responding to the peace of this part of the trail, took a deep breath, and let go some of her exasperation, knowing it would accomplish nothing constructive to rage over what couldn’t be changed and that she needed to center all her energies and concentration on the problems at hand. But for a little while she let herself simply enjoy the power of her team and the wonder of the softly illuminated night, remembering once again just what it was that she loved best about dog mushing.

  They ran four hours on, four hours off all night. It was full daylight at just after ten in the morning, and they were a little more than two hours into the third four-hour period when they reached Stepping Stone, an unofficial stop for many racers, made up of a cluster of buildings: main house, cookhouse, sheds, and cabins. Pausing briefly for water and to snack their dogs took only half an hour, but before she left, Jessie, needing to feel connected, approached the ham radio operator to put in a call for her back to Pelly Crossing.

  When Jake Leland was found and brought to the line, his voice was cautious, though she had told them to make sure he knew who was calling, afraid he might assume the worst.

  “Jessie. It’s Jake. What?”

  “Nothing. Just had a feeling I should keep in touch.”

  “Glad you did. Is anyone listening to you up there?”

  She glanced around. The radio operator had thoughtfully absented himself after putting the call through. There was no one within hearing distance, if she spoke quietly.

  “No, why?”

  “I need to tell you a couple of things. Radio’s not the best way to do it, but…I was trying to figure out how to let you know that Eulie Caulder brought in Debbie’s team behind her own about three hours ago. Found it tied to a tree where the trail crosses the highway between McCabe Creek and Pelly.”

  “Debbie?”

  “No. Nothing, and the word is out that she’s missing, but…ah…” He paused, clearly working out how to tell her something else.

  “What, Jake?”

  “Ah…Ned Bishop and an RCMP constable went back to take a look at the spot where Eulie picked up the team. They found a body, Jessie. A dead man that had been dragged off and buried in the deeper snow. He’d been shot, twice: once in the back and once in the head.”

  “Oh, God, Jake. Who?”

  “Guy named Lowery—B. J. Lowery—he was handler for one of the Canadian mushers, Rick Roney.”

  Roney? Again?

  “The guy from Atlin,” Jessie sighed.

  “You know him?”

  “Roney? No. But he’s been behind me most of the way from the start. Wears a blue and yellow parka. I know Lowery, though. He’s been around the racing circuit for years, usually as a volunteer or handler. Helpful, friendly sort. He plays—well, played a banjo that he carried along sometimes. Nice guy. It doesn’t make much sense, does it? Why would someone kill him?”

  “Well, the RCMP is speculating that he might have seen whoever left Debbie’s team at that location, stopped to help, or to find out what they were doing, and could identify whoever it was. There were boot prints of three people—including Lowery’s—but none small enough to be Debbie’s. So they now know she’s missing. Who knows? Lowery might have been part of a disagreement between two other guys. His truck with two dogs in the box and all Roney’s equipment were missing, but turned up here at Pelly, parked in the lot, and no one knows how it got here.

  “Jessie, they even wondered if Debbie might have shot Lowery, but there was no indication she was ever there.”

  Jessie paused for a moment, thinking. Leland sounded more than just a little desperate.

  “Does she carry a gun, Jake?”

  “Oh, come on, Jessie. Handguns are illegal in Canada. She had a rifle of mine on the sled, but it was strictly for emergencies—moose—you know. She hated it. I made her carry it, but she buried it pretty deep. She wouldn’t shoot someone.”

  “Unless
there was a good reason that we have no way of knowing?”

  “It would have to be a damn good one.”

  “Well, someone trying to kidnap her would be a good one, right?”

  He thought about it, then disagreed. “No, it was still in the sled when Eulie brought it in and hadn’t been fired. Listen. Roney’s somewhere between here and where you are at Stepping Stone, and they’re looking for him. If you see him, have him get in touch with Bishop real quick, okay?”

  “I understand. I mean I understand to tell him if he shows up while I’m here. But I don’t understand about Lowery getting killed at all.”

  “Neither do I, but it certainly ups the ante. They’ve got nothing to lose now, Jessie. It terrifies me. But I’m following…ah…the directions. You understand?”

  “Yes, Jake. But I think you’re wrong. Especially now, with the RCMP already involved.”

  “Can’t risk it. That’s how I want to play it, Jessie. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  It was not okay, and was becoming less okay by the moment. Whoever was responsible for the situation was clearly not concerned about taking drastic action. So it was common knowledge that the young woman was gone, but still unknown to the authorities that she had been abducted, though there must be some suspicions at this point.

  “Another really odd thing,” Leland was saying, “is that Royal is missing, too. That doesn’t make much sense, either.”

  “Well, I can assure you he’s not in my team, number or not.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Jessie. Ah…they’re going to do a search for Debbie—air and ground.”

  “Right. They would, of course. Jake—”

  “No. It’ll be all right, Jessie. There’s nothing you can do but…So, keep your schedule for now. Get on to Dawson.”

  Nothing had changed, except that the Yukon Quest committee was now on a wild-goose chase of a search around the Chain of Lakes area that would result in nothing, which, Jessie was sure, would please and satisfy whoever was responsible. The abduction of Debbie Todd seemed well planned, not just a spur-of-the-moment opportunity taken. That feeling frightened her even more. But the worst was having someone found dead and not knowing why. Well, at least this would bring in law enforcement, though Leland seemed determined to go on trying to keep the abduction of his stepdaughter and the demand for her ransom quiet.

  Feeling distracted and discouraged, she was going out the door of the checkpoint when she met Minnesota musher Lynn Ehlers, about to go in.

  “Hey, Jessie. Leaving?”

  “Just about to.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Oh…okay…fine.”

  “What’s this I hear about a musher being lost somewhere below Carmacks?”

  Damn. So the word was out even here, Jessie thought as she answered. But he hadn’t asked about the dead handler, so maybe he didn’t know everything.

  “Yeah, I guess so. Debbie Todd, Jake Leland’s stepdaughter.”

  “First race?”

  “Yes, but she’s an experienced dog handler—has been running for years.”

  “You know her?”

  “Met her just before I left Whitehorse.”

  There was a pause as he looked at her serious face. “Something wrong, Jessie?”

  God, she thought, I’m such a mirror of my emotions.

  Shrugging her shoulders in a small shiver, she shook her head and forced a ghost of a smile.

  “No. Just tired, I guess.”

  “Why don’t you stop for a while. Shake it out. You might go better with a little rest. Is that Jim Ryan you’re running with?”

  Was it her imagination working overtime, or was he watching her just a little too closely? And what was it with all the questions?

  “Yeah, that’s Ryan—he’s an old friend—and I think we’ll get on up the trail. We want to get to Dawson as soon as possible.”

  “Don’t we all?” He laughed. “Okay. See you there. Take care, Jessie.”

  “Thanks, I will. You, too.”

  Shaking her head, she returned to her waiting sled.

  Ehlers was probably just being friendly, making an effort to relate to other people in the race, make himself more at home. He seemed a nice person, attractive, and, for some most likely innocent reason, interested in her, she admitted to herself. Well, he interested her a little, too. Any other time or situation, she would have liked to be able to focus on him and find out what he was like, ask him about mushing where he lived. Most sled dog people felt a kind of immediate bond, because of their similar interests and experience. On the other hand, why should he single her out, make an effort to approach her? And how did he find out about Debbie being lost and miss Lowery’s being found dead? There was no checkpoint or stopping place with race communications between Pelly Crossing and Stepping Stone and Ehlers had to have been on the trail between the two to come in so close behind her and Ryan. How could he have heard? Could he be…?

  Oh, what the hell is wrong with me? she asked herself. Is there going to be a boogie man around every corner now?

  Well, maybe there really was, perhaps more than one. Best to get on promptly, keep moving, reach Dawson, and get it over with. Away from the checkpoints, official and unofficial, there would be less chance of observation. She could feel more secure, knowing it was only herself and Ryan, whom she knew well and trusted.

  At Jessie’s urging, they left Stepping Stone quickly and went on into the huge aspen forest that followed. Crossing the river, they passed several homesteads with cleared fields and pastures, and soon found themselves on an old logging road with ancient log buildings gradually falling into total disrepair as they succumbed to the lure of gravity in returning to the earth.

  Climbing a hill, they were suddenly on infamous Scroggy Creek Road, a section of the trail abhorred by mushers because there was almost always road-building machinery on it in February, working to open it up for traffic to and from a mine farther north. Caterpillar tractors, bulldozers, and fuel trucks made it difficult for mushers and frightened their dogs as they struggled to pass equipment on the single lane that was just one cat wide, with no extra space for racing teams. Alarmed and flinchy, the dogs shied away from the roaring engines and usually had to be led past by the musher.

  Ryan was in the lead when they turned a corner and met a bulldozer coming straight at them. Both machine and teams stopped, facing each other, and the driver of the ’dozer waved in acknowledgment. While they waited, he backed up a few feet and swung the huge blade so that it formed a V with the roadside bank.

  Filled with apprehension, Jessie watched as, following hand signals, Ryan led his team into the V and stopped, dogs bunched together, sled barely leaving room for the driver to turn the blade again so the other end rested against the bank and opened a way for the team to pull forward, out of the reverse V and onto the road beyond. As she nervously took her turn, she hoped the driver was as good at handling the enormous blade as he seemed, but again it worked and she was quickly past and ready to continue, with a thank-you wave to the ’dozer operator.

  Feeling as flinchy as the dogs, she tried her best to concentrate and stop her thoughts from skittering randomly from one problem to another like a panicked mouse in a livetrap. Had Debbie been taken from near the highway, where her team was found? No. She had disappeared earlier, from all they knew. Then why had the team been moved, or left there at all? A diversion? To avoid the inconvenience and risk of retaining it? People would be more likely to notice anyone with a dog team. Why had they taken Royal, too? The dog was valuable, as a racing dog and as stud, yet they had not mentioned him in the note left for Leland. Had taking him been a last-minute idea? Would they include him in their ransom demands?

  And why had Lowery been murdered? Had he been part of the plot, or not?

  Who were these people? Were any of them connected with the race in any way? Or had they picked it as a good opportunity for getting a sizable piece of money? How ruthless were they
? Would they really release Debbie Todd safely, or…?

  Her stomach turned at the thought of the alternative.

  None of the questions that ricocheted through Jessie’s mind had answers, though they suggested possibilities. The small shreds of guilt she had felt over her request to Don Graham melted away and she was glad she had asked for his assistance. Still, she would have to wait until she reached Dawson to find out if he had had any success in achieving the objective she had given him.

  Running ahead of Ryan at the moment, she clucked to her team and they responded by immediately increasing their speed slightly. Taking a deep breath, Jessie tried for patience and turned her attention back to the cat road on which they were still traveling. It did no good to play what-if. There was nothing she could do that she was not already doing. Gritting her teeth, she also refused to contemplate the issue of her shaky relationship. Instead, she forced herself to begin a mental reorganization of her kennel and dog yard, a reassessment of her training schedule for the spring, and a plan for an addition she had been considering to her log cabin back in Knik.

  Traveling at a steady seven or eight miles an hour, the pair of teams ran up and down rolling hills for six and a half hours on this long road and made good time, meeting only one other machine, a truck, which was easier to pass, as it simply stopped and let them make their way around it. Crossing several small creeks, the dogs and sleds slid around on the overflow—water that escapes from under solid ice, having nowhere to go but up and over it. The dogs had trouble finding purchase on the slippery surface, which felt more fluid as the thin winter sun slightly warmed the day.

  The temperatures had so far been warm for February, but not unreasonably so, hovering around zero. Nevertheless, giving the dogs a break from pulling the heavy sleds, Jessie and Ryan rested them, and themselves, all afternoon, through the warmest part of the day, and ran on again into the cold of the night. While they rested, they had been passed by two or three other racers. Now they in turn passed those racers, who were taking their own breaks in temporary camping spaces beside the trail, their dogs curled up with their noses tucked into tails for warmth. One or two dogs raised their heads to watch as Jessie and Ryan sped quietly past, then lay back down again.