by Sue Henry
Giving Frank Monroe a half-amused, half-rueful look, he included him as well. “It got even more complicated when your nephew showed up with the administrator of the senior center and reported you missing, too.”
Monroe shrugged and smiled, fingering the stem of the pipe he had allowed to burn out as he listened to Jessie. “I guess it was too much to hope that I might be left alone,” he sighed in obvious regret. “I’m actually amazed it took them so long to call out the militia. It was very convenient for them all to give credence to the theory that I haven’t so much as a marble left rattling around in the cranium.”
“Well, I got the impression that the administrator hadn’t wanted to admit they had no idea where you were until it was clear they were coming up empty. She didn’t call your nephew until you’d been gone almost twenty-four hours.”
“Typical. They should be running a kindergarten” was Monroe’s unrepentant comment.
There were sympathetic nods from the gathering, all remembering that they would be old someday. Becker turned back to Jessie.
“I wish you’d been able to record that call,” he told her, “or that I’d had the time to come out there. After that things got really complicated.”
“Wait—wait.” The other trooper raised a restraining hand. “Before that, the word went out at the fair on both missing persons. And that was the night you first talked to me about Tank’s disappearance, right?”
“Right. We printed up a couple of flyers with pictures of both Mr. Monroe and Danny Tabor and a description of Danny’s bicycle and had security plaster them all over the grounds that night. We didn’t get results until the next morning, though, when several people reported seeing them as a pair.”
“We didn’t see those flyers until the next morning,” Monroe interjected in apologetic defense. “If I’d known how seriously the Tabors were taking Danny’s absence, I would have made him either go home or to the security office.”
“What did you do?”
“That night?”
“Yes.”
“By the time the mug shots were distributed and stuck up everywhere, we had already proceeded to secret ourselves beneath the tables for a tranquil night of unsuspecting slumber.”
“But we were running low on snacks,” Danny stated, making sure everyone knew what was important to him.
“It was so busy that I had someone bring my dinner to the office that night,” Becker recalled. “I was seriously concerned with that threatening phone call. But on top of it, I had a murder victim and two missing persons to deal with: a child and—pardon me, Frank—a senior citizen who was represented to me as dangerously incompetent. They seemed to take precedence at the time.”
“Ha!” Monroe exclaimed in disgust. “Do I seem incompetent or dangerous?”
“Not at all. But at the time I had nothing to go on except what they told me. If anything had happened to bear out their assessment—if you’d been sick or injured somewhere—and we weren’t out looking for you, it could have come back to bite me big-time. So we posted the flyers on you both and started an area-wide search. Remember that at the time we didn’t know for sure that either one of you was at the fair. We thought Danny probably was, because that’s where his parents said he had wanted to go. But you could have been anywhere. Patrol units were looking for a dog, a senior gentleman”—a nod to Monroe—“and a ten-year-old on a bicycle.
“Until later we had no real clue that any of this was related. We had a dead man, and we had a dog and two people reported missing, but nothing to tie them together. If I’d heard the part of your story, Jessie, that included Danny coming to the Iditarod booth earlier in the day, I might have connected it because of the name. But I didn’t come out to your place that evening, so that part got lost in the shuffle. I had enough information from you about the threatening phone call to start looking into it, but I simply had too much on my plate otherwise. It’s like that sometimes. You wind up doing a balancing act, keeping things together by taking care of necessities for each case but not getting to anything in depth. Besides, I wasn’t worried about you. I knew you had someone there with you—your friend, right?”
He’s really busy,” Jessie told Maxie as she came back to the sofa and sat down next to the older woman. “But at least he knows.” She grimaced and rubbed at her injured knee, which was aching from all the walking she had done at the fairground in search of information about her lost dog. She started to get up. “I’ve got to get some ice on this knee.”
“Sit still,” Maxie told her. “I’ll get it.”
She got up and headed for the kitchen, her dachshund trotting along beside her.
“Put a bowl of water down for Stretch,” Jessie suggested.
“Good idea.”
At Jessie’s direction, Maxie found what she needed to put an ice pack together and water her dog. She then refilled their glasses and handed Jessie the painkiller for her internal and external hurts.
“I hope telling Becker doesn’t get Tank killed,” Jessie fretted. “But he already knew that Tank was missing. The guy on the phone hung up before I could tell him so. There’s another thing that worries me. There was a Daily News reporter there this afternoon, and we told him everything, hoping that somebody who reads the paper would know or see something that would help. It’s going to be in tomorrow morning’s edition. When this guy sees it, he may think I didn’t take what he told me seriously.”
“You have to ignore it. I don’t think this is something you can do alone. Anyway, law enforcement has more resources, and they know how to handle this kind of situation.
“Damn! I wish I could stay and help you, but I’ve got to take off in the morning.”
Jessie had scooted back and lifted her leg onto the sofa to apply the ice pack. Now she looked up sharply, disappointment evident on her face. “Oh, no. Even if all this wasn’t going on, I thought you’d be able to stay for at least a couple of days.”
“Me, too. But an old friend of mine is dying in Colorado. She called me two days ago to ask if I would be executor of her estate. It’s an odd situation. There are things she said she couldn’t tell anyone else but refused to tell me on the phone. So I’m going to be pushing it to get there as fast as possible and must leave tomorrow. I’m sorry, Jessie. She and I went to college together, and I promised.”
Knowing Maxie, Jessie realized that she made few promises and never lightly, nor did she break them once made. It was a trait she admired.
“Don’t worry about it,” she told her. “I’ll be fine. And so will Tank, I hope. With Becker and company on the case, we’ll get this guy. What could you do anyway but be moral support?”
Maxie gave her a stern and motherly look. “Don’t underestimate moral support,” she replied.
“Yes, ma’am.”
They both smiled for the first time since Jessie’s arrival.
“I’ve got the tail half of a fresh salmon in the Jayco,” Maxie told her. “Thought we could bake it up with some lemon, onion, and cream cheese. What do you think? I’ll cook.”
“You’re on.” Jessie realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch and was seriously hungry. It seemed days had passed in the time between.
While the salmon baked, Maxie made a salad, and they talked of things unrelated to trouble or to Tank’s disappearance. Maxie’s summer in Homer and the condition of her garden: “Not half bad. The beds were grotty but cleaned out fine with help from a neighbor boy. Wish I’d had a bit longer to harvest the veggies, but I left them for his mother.” The building of Jessie’s new log house: “It went up like a set of Lincoln Logs, and after I hurt my knee, almost everybody I know came to help with the finish work. I’m lucky to have so many friends.”
“You know,” Maxie said when they had finished with dinner and were seated once again on the sofa, Jessie with another ice pack on her knee, “some time this winter, since you won’t be racing, you should fly down and spend some time with me.”
“Where will you be?”
/>
“Not sure yet. Part of it depends on Sarah and how it goes in Grand Junction. But I’ll let you know. In fact, I’ll call you as I go down the road.”
“If I’m not here, leave a message?”
“Absolutely. And I’ll let you know where I decide to land.”
She went to Jessie’s desk and found a scrap of paper on which to write her cell phone number, which she pinned to the bulletin board above the phone. “Don’t forget that between Canadian towns it’s impossible to reach me on the cell. I’ll call in the evening. I want to know what’s going on and when you get Tank back.”
“Your lips to God’s ear,” Jessie said bravely. “Oh, Maxie, I just wish I knew where he is. I’d figure out how to just go get him and to hell with the idiot that took him.”
“Then it’s probably good that you don’t know.” The older woman sat back down and gave Jessie another serious glance. “I guess you could hide one dog almost anywhere,” she said, taking a sip of after-dinner coffee. “But if someone who didn’t usually have a dog showed up next door to me—especially someone with an Alaskan husky—and I’d seen in the paper that one had been stolen, I’d be calling the police. Wouldn’t you?”
“This guy might not live right next door to someone else.”
“True. He may also hide Tank in some isolated place for that very reason.”
“Or…” Jessie’s eyes narrowed as an interesting thought crossed her mind.
“What?”
“Well—if I were trying to hide a dog, what better place than with other dogs—other sled dogs?” She sat up, excited with her sudden flash of inspiration. “I’d put him in—”
“—a kennel,” Maxie finished. “That’s a crash hot idea. But I don’t think you should—”
“—go look?” Jessie interrupted. “Probably not, but what could it hurt to drive by a few local kennels before I go back to the fair, as long as I stay in the truck and don’t tangle with whoever took him? If they want money for him, then whoever has him must be somewhere in the area and not too far away. Wouldn’t they try to get him out of sight in a hurry after they took him—away from where he might be recognized? A local dog yard makes sense.”
Maxie shook her head, frowning. “I know you, remember? And I know that you’re not programmed to sit on your hands and hope this thing solves itself. You’re as game as Ned Kelly, and I admire that. But you can’t go off half cocked in just any old direction and hope to be successful.”
“I won’t,” Jessie promised. “It’s a long shot anyway, but I might just find him, you know? And I will be very careful.”
So that’s what got you out cruising the valley, looking at every kennel within driving distance—and into deep trouble,” Becker said. “How many times have I told you not to go off on your own, Jessie?”
“Lots.” She grinned impishly. “But it was obviously a reasonable idea. I waved Maxie off the next morning early, fed my mutts, then decided I’d just drive around and take a look at some dog yards—and in the process get the word out to mushers I know that Tank was missing.”
“Meanwhile,” Becker continued, “I was at the fairground meeting with Danny and Frank, who had finally decided to give themselves up. By the time I got to your place, you were nowhere to be found.”
“I left a note for Billy.”
“Thanks for small favors. It at least told me when you had expected to be back.”
CHAPTER 14
“That was the morning my bicycle was gone,” Danny said suddenly, sitting up so abruptly that he woke Tank, who sat up as well to see what was going on. “I thought somebody stole it.”
“They found your bicycle earlier that morning,” his father told him, “when they came to get straw and knocked over the pile of bales. They stumbled over the bike when they were piling them up again. When they brought it to the security office the director called us.”
“That really frightened us, Danny,” Mrs. Tabor spoke up. “Knowing how much you love that bicycle, we thought something must have happened to make you leave it. When nobody could find you, we didn’t know what to think.”
“Sorry,” Danny muttered, once again ducking his head.
“So after you saw the flyers we’d posted, you went to the security office?” Becker asked, turning to Frank Monroe.
“Very soon after that. With one of their own security people involved, I was uncertain about confiding to them what I had discovered about his connection to the dead man. But before I was forced to relate much of what I knew, you showed up and took possession of the bag, camera, pictures, film—and, of course, us runaways.”
“Lucky I did, considering what it eventually led to,” Becker said, scowling at the ale bottle he had just emptied and held clutched in one hand. “I wouldn’t have been able to take a look at those pictures, or figure out what they meant, if you’d returned the bag to its owner. It was also seeing how anxious he was to get it back that made me take another look at the contents. So I got there just in time. But I didn’t really finish talking to Danny until later.”
Frank Monroe nodded agreement. “I had already taken a look at the photos in the bag and thought them rather odd—even boring—but I hadn’t seen the undeveloped ones. It didn’t seem important enough to mention, considering the commotion everyone was making over us and the fuss the owner of that bag was making. I had a feeling there was something out of kilter about the death of his friend, but it was just a hunch, based more on his attitude than anything else, though I had seen the two of them together. But you didn’t know that.”
“Danny had seen them together, too, but I didn’t know it then. I realized later that that’s what made him dangerous. You were the only people who had seen the two of them together and could connect the guy with Belmont—especially Danny’s observing the fight.”
“Yes, but he knew he was in trouble with his parents and was being pretty quiet. He didn’t mention that the two men were engaged in a pugilistic encounter, or what he’d heard them say—just that he’d snatched the bag by mistake and been chased. You didn’t know, so it didn’t really make sense until later, did it?”
“Nope. With part of our guys on duty at the fair we were shorthanded, and it was a pretty busy morning that didn’t allow me to focus on any one thing. I was concerned with delegating things other people could do, so I could get back to the murder at the fairground as soon as information came in from the crime lab. If I’d had more time, I would have asked more questions. We were in the middle of figuring out what to do with the two of you when Joanne called to tell me that Jessie should have been at the Iditarod booth over an hour before and still hadn’t come in. She’d tried to call and was worried when all she got was Jessie’s answering machine. So as soon as possible—after Danny’s parents came to collect him—I offered you a ride back to the senior center, and you didn’t seem to mind taking a quick ride out Knik Road to Jessie’s first.”
“Much to my appreciation, you didn’t automatically accept the premise that I was senile,” Monroe said, gesturing with his pipe. “I was in no particular haste to repair to my unlockable pigeonhole.”
“Well,” Becker assured him, “it was pretty easy to see that you were not even close to ‘dangerously incompetent’! Seemed to me that you ought to have more control over your life than they were trying to allow you. It is yours, after all.” He went on more sternly. “But Danny’s under age, and that was another question. As a responsible adult, you should have either made sure he went home or reported him as a runaway.”
“Oh, I suppose I should have,” the old man agreed, a bit sheepish in recalling his own behavior. “But we were both enjoying the adventure of it all, weren’t we, Danny?”
“We sure were! At least most of the time. I sure didn’t like that guy chasing me.”
“But you won’t do anything like that again, will you?” Danny’s father demanded of his son.
“No, sir.” But Danny’s wide grin agreed with the old man’s assessment of their e
scapades and answered the twinkle in his eye. “But can I visit Mr. Monroe sometimes?”
“I think that can be arranged,” his mother said, smiling across at Monroe. “And maybe he could visit us, too.”
“I’d enjoy that immensely,” he agreed with a dignified bow of acceptance.
During the latter part of this discussion, John Timmons, the assistant coroner, had been listening silently from his place in the informal circle. Now he turned to Becker’s trooper partner with a question.
“It was about that time that you showed up, wasn’t it?”
The tall, lanky figure stirred in the rocking chair he occupied, uncrossed his jeans-clad legs, tugged at one end of his red-blond handlebar mustache, and leaned forward a bit as he glanced across the room at Jessie before answering Timmons.
“Not quite, but I was on my way,” he said slowly. “It was later that afternoon that I arrived at the office in Palmer, fresh off a plane from Seattle.”
Before leaving home that morning, Jessie had left a note for Billy Steward, the junior musher who helped care for the dogs in her kennel.
Billy,
I’ll be back before ten, when I have to go help out at the fair. It’s going to be a warm day, so please give the mutts more water. You could also start cleaning the old straw out of their boxes.
Thanks,
Jessie
The handler had evidently not yet arrived when Phil Becker found the note under the knocker on her front door. After reading it thoughtfully, he replaced it and left to accompany a resigned Frank Monroe back to the Palmer Senior Center for Assisted Living.
Back in his office at the Alaska state troopers’ post, he sat down at his desk and spread out the items from the red bag that he had confiscated and brought with him. Though there seemed to be nothing but photographic equipment, the fact that its security guard owner, one Ron Wease, urgently wanted it back made Becker uneasy. So did Danny’s limited tale of accidentally picking it up with his own while the two men were arguing behind The Sluice Box pub. Until he had time to go through it and consider the contents, he had been unwilling to release the bag. Now he intended to go through it all thoroughly.
