by Cathy Pegau
Standing slowly, Charlotte clenched her jaw as anger rose. Not at Becca, but toward those who would think such a thing. She supposed it was unavoidable, but try telling that to a thirteen-year-old who only wanted to be accepted. “I’m sorry, Becca. I should have considered the possibility. With Mr. Burrows and Miles having been out on the site, you must have figured out I’d need to speak to the AEC at some point.”
The fight seemed to go out of the girl as her shoulders sagged and her chin dropped. “I know. I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen while I was around, is all.”
Charlotte took a couple of tentative steps toward her. Becca looked up. Tears welled in her eyes. Charlotte held her arms out. Becca stepped forward and Charlotte embraced her.
“Oh, honey.” She closed her eyes, her cheek against Becca’s bowed head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you, but I have a job to do.”
“I know,” came the muffled reply. “Esther and the other kids are all right. They like you well enough.”
Charlotte smiled. She supposed that’s the best any adult could hope for from a group of adolescents. “That’s nice to know.”
Becca eased out of her arms. Her eyes were only a little puffy and red. “The grown-ups aren’t so sure about you, though.”
That made Charlotte chuckle. “I’m not surprised. I think most journalists face that problem.” But maybe that wasn’t what Becca meant. “Or is it because I’m white?”
“A bit of both, I think,” she said, wincing. “Some, like Miss Gert, tell terrible stories about what happened to their families. She went to a boarding school where they beat her for trying to speak Eyak.”
The horror in Becca’s eyes made Charlotte’s stomach clench. Things like that were still happening, but she bet it wouldn’t be in North to Fortune.
“I understand their mistrust,” she said. “I want to mend what little I can by helping.”
“I know you do.” Becca sat on the sofa. Charlotte sat beside her. “Is there a way we can do it together?”
Charlotte smiled and took her hand. “I think so, but I won’t get you involved with the investigation.” Becca started to protest. Her indignation of being left out of the excitement was a relief to Charlotte. That she could deal with. “No, I have to put my foot down. It may get dangerous. In fact, I’ll be heading back out to the glacier site in the next couple of days. I’d like to ask Esther’s family or Mary if you can stay with them until I get back.”
Becca’s disappointment was clear, but she nodded understanding. “We have book reports due this week, so I guess it’s for the best. I just wish I could have been in the film.”
Charlotte kissed her on the temple. “I know, and I’m sorry about that part, but your safety will always come first.”
“What about yours?” Fear and concern marred her young face. Becca had lost her parents, her brother. She was acutely aware of how quickly things could turn.
“Deputy Eddington said he’ll be there,” Charlotte assured her. “I’ll be safe as a bug in a rug.”
Becca smiled with relief. “Good. I know he won’t let anything happen to you.” She rose again and gathered her book. “I’m going to read in bed for a while. Good night.”
“Good night.”
At the foot of the stairs, Becca turned to face Charlotte, a sly gleam in her eye. “Though with Deputy Eddington there, I wonder how much work either of you will get done.”
“Oh, you.” Charlotte laughed and reached for a pillow on the sofa. Becca gave a laughing yelp as Charlotte threw it. The pillow hit the bannister, and Becca ran up the stairs.
Listening to the girl laugh made Charlotte’s heart happy, but a dark sense of reality set in when she reflected on Becca’s words. What if something did happen to Charlotte someday? What would that mean for Becca?
Chapter 13
The second departure from the train station two days later wasn’t nearly as high-spirited as the first with Welsh’s death looming over them, subduing conversation and emotion. Even Paige Carmichael hadn’t uttered a single word of complaint when they’d been reminded the snow squalls could very well be worse out on the glacier.
From the number of people on the platform in town, it looked like most of the crew had opted to join Cicely in finishing her father’s dream. The few who had decided to stay behind would keep an eye on the others’ belongings until the location shoot was over.
The train was due to arrive shortly, Charlotte noticed on the schedule board. It was currently at the ocean dock unloading copper ore and loading up on freight before picking up passengers headed to the glacier, Chitina, McCarthy, and Kennecott.
Cast and crew members were trickling in by foot or hired car, but two notable members were missing. Where were Roslyn Sanford and Peter York?
“How long do you anticipate being on-site this time?” Charlotte asked Cicely. They waited under an overhang outside the station-proper rather than inside. Carmen Welsh and a number of the others were packed inside the little building. It was cold and blustery outside, but you didn’t feel like a sardine either.
“No more than the originally planned week,” the scenarist said. She spoke to Charlotte, and Caleb Burrows, who stood with them, but glanced around the platform and down the snowy street. Looking for her stars, no doubt. “Probably less. I do want the authentic scenes in there, but we’ll make changes.”
“Such as?” Burrows asked.
“I’ve rewritten the rescue scene,” she said. “Instead of putting her on an iceberg, I have Dorothy being kidnapped by a rival gold miner. The local Natives will help Lawrence rescue her. Then Lawrence and Dorothy will be so grateful they’ll share the profits from the gold mine with their new friends, saying they should have done as much to begin with.”
“That sounds like a fine change in the scenario,” Charlotte said. “What do you think, Mr. Burrows?”
Burrows, scarf over his nose and mouth and his hat pulled low on his head, nodded. “Much better. Though the AEC is still interested in scenes you’ve done so far.”
“I know.” Cicely held her mittened hands to her face and blew, momentarily fogging her spectacles. “I think it would behoove you or one of the AEC members to return to California with us to look at the film we’ve shot already. We can either reshoot or retitle scenes as necessary.”
Wallace Meade, who had just come up onto the platform headed to the station house, stopped abruptly. “Hold on there, Cicely. I never approved of such a thing. How much are we talking here? And what about the integrity of the film? We don’t want North to Fortune to be full of inconsistencies. That will kill us in reviews.”
Behind the round glass of her spectacles, Cicely got a steely look in her eye that Charlotte had seen more often since her father passed away. She realized just how much Cicely resembled the late director.
“I won’t go back on my word of correcting the film, Mr. Meade. I promised Mr. Burrows and the AEC we’d do what we could to make it right. That’s all there is to it.”
She even sounded like Welsh.
Meade’s face turned bright red, and not from the cold. “You listen to me, young lady. I’m willing to go along with the continued shoot in honor of Stanley, but you are not in charge by any stretch of the imagination. Get that through your pretty little head right now.”
He stomped off to the other side of the platform and barked at several of the men hauling equipment up from a truck. Dave and his team of dogs came around the corner of the building, panting and yapping. They passed below Meade, who stepped farther onto the platform as if to avoid the team despite being nowhere near them. Dave called the dogs to a halt and prepared to load them in a car behind the passenger cars when the train arrived.
Meade yanked open the door to the station house. As he entered, one of Smitty’s assistant cooks started to exit. The two men exchanged a few curt words, then Meade continued inside and the cook wandered to the end of the platform to smoke a cigarette.
“I’m
sure you won’t need one of us to travel to California,” Burrows said, drawing Charlotte’s attention back to the conversation. For an aggressive lawyer, he seemed to have the ability to soothe a situation just as easily as he riled up folks. “There are a couple of Alaskans down in your neck of the woods already. Angus Melin has worked with Mr. York. He could take a look at the scenes.”
Cicely’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes! He was supposed to be in Fortune as well but was contracted to play a Polynesian in a different film and couldn’t get away.”
Charlotte shook her head at the peculiarity of Hollywoodland. A Native Alaskan couldn’t return to his homeland to play one of his own because he was required to play a native of a different country? And several of the actors with minor roles who had come along with the Californians weren’t Alaskan or any sort of Native as far as Charlotte knew. At least Welsh had hired some locals to fill in.
Burrows’s smile tightened. Was he thinking the same thing about Melin and the “Alaskans” who were to be in the film? “I’ll have the AEC send a letter of request to him, with a copy going to you and Mr. Meade.”
“That sounds fine. Thank you.” Cicely grinned, then excused herself and hurried away when one of the crewmen called to her.
Charlotte stepped closer to Burrows. “That’s how the AEC learned of the film’s content, isn’t it? Angus Melin was shown the scenario. He knows people here.”
She should have made the connection earlier, when she came upon Esther and Becca reading the movie magazine; the actor was a friend of Esther’s father.
The lawyer rocked back on his heels. Though his lower face was covered by a scarf, there was no mistaking the amusement in his eyes as the corners crinkled. “Very good, Miss Brody. Though it wasn’t a secret, Angus preferred not to have it widely known. I fear it did, however, please Welsh and Meade not to have him included in North to Fortune.”
“Why?”
Burrows shrugged. “I believe they were trying to avoid having a troublemaker along. To be honest, I think Angus would have been the least of their problems.” Something caught the lawyer’s eye behind Charlotte. He tipped his hat and bowed slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to take care of something before the train arrives.”
He turned on his heel and walked to the doors of the station building.
Charlotte looked in the same direction to see what had initiated Burrows’s rapid departure. James climbed the stairs to the platform, a rucksack over his shoulder and a slight frown on his face. Was Burrows avoiding him?
“The train should be here soon,” Charlotte said as he came up to her. She rose onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but his frown remained. “What’s wrong?”
“You shouldn’t go back out there.”
She stepped away, puzzled. “Why not?”
James took gentle hold of her upper arm and guided her to a quiet corner on the platform. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them. Eyebrows drawn down, he said, “Just got word from the local coppers that Peter York was attacked last night.”
Charlotte’s breath caught. “Peter? When? Where? Is he all right?”
“Bruised, but moving about.”
She instinctively looked around the train station. Cast and crew were either standing in small groups chatting or readying freight to return to the site.
“Do Cicely and Meade know?” she asked.
“I don’t think Meade knows, but Cicely does.” James nodded in the scenarist-cum-director’s direction. “Roslyn was with him this morning, helping him pack.”
No wonder Cicely didn’t seem overly concerned that her star players weren’t at the station yet.
“Has he seen a doctor? Maybe we should get Michael.”
Charlotte started to move toward the stairs, but James stopped her. “He’ll be fine. I just left them. They should be here soon.”
That made her feel somewhat better, but James’s initial demand she stay in town rushed back.
“What does the attack have to do with me?” Then she saw it in his eyes, the intensity that came with overprotectiveness. “You think it was related to all the other things going on. Welsh, the rooms being ransacked, the note.”
His eyes turned glacial. “York heard one of the men say, ‘That should do it. Earned our tenner.’ I don’t think it had anything to do with his wallet, though they robbed him too.”
“But you don’t know for sure.”
There was certainly an element in Cordova who would happily relieve anyone of their money, particularly if they thought the victim was well-to-do. But she had a similar feeling the attack on Peter may not have been random.
He jostled her arm slightly. “I don’t need hard evidence to see what might be going on here, Charlotte. I think someone put those men on to York. Someone who wants to scare people off the film. They won’t leave you out of it because you’re a woman or because you’re a local.”
Charlotte crossed her arms, her back stiff. “Are you forbidding me from going, Deputy?”
“I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together, and released her arm. After taking a deep breath, his eyes went from angry and intense to concerned and intense. “I know that would only prompt you to go anyway. I’m strongly suggesting you stay here. Strongly.”
Did he think that their being intimate gave him say in how she lived her life or did her job? Hardly.
“I appreciate your concern and understand your reasoning, but you’re right, I’d only defy your wishes. I’m going.”
“Even if I ask you as someone who cares about what happens to you?”
Her resistance and stubbornness softened some, and Charlotte laid her palm on his cheek. “You have a job to do. So do I. It’ll be fine. We’ll help each other find out who did this.”
“I can’t convince you otherwise, can I?” He seemed more disturbed by that fact than usual. As progressive as James could be, some of his Southern gentleman charms like protecting women remained, but Charlotte wasn’t about to hide behind his sense of chivalry.
She kissed him. “No.”
When they parted, James removed his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “I figured as much.”
“I’m glad you’re learning so quickly.”
The slamming of car doors drew their attention. Roslyn and Peter had emerged from one of Clive’s taxis. Cicely hurried over to them. Peter grinned and nodded at whatever she’d said. Was his left eye swollen? It was difficult to tell. The trio made their way toward the platform, Peter moving gingerly. In the distance, the train whistle blew.
James hefted his pack higher onto his shoulder. “Do me a favor while we’re out there, Charlotte?”
She almost said “Anything” but didn’t want to make promises. “What?”
He picked up her bag, a gesture she knew would make him feel a little better. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”
* * *
Snow swirled away from the wheels of the train as it crossed the icy river flats. Luckily, there hadn’t been much in the way of drifts to slow the train’s progress, but the continued suppressed mood aboard made Charlotte wonder if the company would manage to pull together and finish the film. Everyone headed to the glacier had said they were for it, but once Peter York’s assault became public knowledge, would Cicely have the force of will and leadership skills to maintain her influence over them?
Charlotte watched Peter as she chatted with Roslyn, Cicely, and Paige. He smiled often, as usual, but winced and held his side when the train rocked a little too hard.
How was he going to perform such a physical role for the film?
“Which of them would have sent a couple of thugs after Peter?” Charlotte asked James quietly.
James had his hat tilted over his eyes and his chin at his chest, appearing to be asleep, a copy of Burroughs’s Tarzan of the Apes in his lap. He lifted the brim of his hat and looked at the group through slitted
eyes. “They all can afford to hire toughs for the job, but actually go that route? The only one I wouldn’t suspect is York himself, but men have done stranger things.”
“That would be rather drastic, to hire men to beat you just to throw the crew into a dither. Besides, Peter really isn’t a suspect, is he?” Charlotte thought about the suspect array she’d drawn up at home. Who else would have had the wherewithal to have Peter attacked? “Burrows and Smith know a number of people in town.”
“True. Though it wouldn’t take much of anything for a visitor to figure out where to find someone and hire them for the job.” James tilted the brim down again and closed his eyes. “Don’t worry about who hired whom so much as why.”
Charlotte said the first thing that came to mind. “To scare the crew. More violence happening could make them rethink their decision and leave Cicely without means to finish filming. Or if Peter can’t perform, they may have to quit altogether.”
“Agreed. Anything else?”
She considered another angle. “If Peter was specifically targeted, however, it might mean he knows something and was being warned.”
James grunted. “Hadn’t considered that.”
Charlotte smiled and nudged his shoulder. “Good thing I’m here.”
He opened his eyes halfway and gave her a sidelong look. “Uh-huh.”
With no intention of revisiting that argument, she said, “That seems to be what we keep circling back to, isn’t it? Stopping the film from being made.”
“Unless that isn’t the reason for Welsh’s death.” James settled in again, eyes closed. “Time to figure that out.”
* * *
There was much of the same activity and clamor as the first arrival when the train reached the platform at Childs Glacier. There were fewer people to offload freight, but less freight as well. The dogs, as usual, seemed to be as excited as ever, and when they finished their duty of delivering larger crates to the necessary locations, Dave directed the team out across the frozen flats for a run. Never had Charlotte seen or heard six happier dogs.
To conserve fuel in the kerosene heaters, Charlotte bunked with Paige and Elaine the costumer. Three cots in the tent made for a tight fit, but it would be warmer and more efficient. Smitty the supply master was a stickler for efficiency of labor and material usage. The arrangement also gave Charlotte a chance to chat with Paige while Elaine was overseeing the preparation of costumes in the shed.
