by Jordan Dane
“Alaska State Trooper, Sergeant Peterson. Justine.” She grasped my hand. “Are you Special Agent Townsend?”
“Supervisory Special Agent, yes. Ryker. Thanks for meeting me.” I fished out my credentials and showed her.
Even off-duty and out of full uniform, Trooper Justine Peterson was clearly law enforcement. She carried a holstered weapon on her duty belt and had on jeans, well-worn hiking boots, and a navy polo with the Trooper’s emblem on it. Her windbreaker and cap bore the official logo, too. Clothes and weapon aside, the tall blonde had a no nonsense attitude and a slender body, lean with muscle. She had a penetrating stare that had sized me up.
If I were a fish in Alaskan waters, she might’ve tossed me back.
“I’m here to search the residence of Nathan Applewhite. Deceased. We positively identified his body yesterday outside Seattle in the Cascade Mountains. He’s a victim of a serial killer my team’s been after.”
The trooper’s expression turned harsh and unyielding.
“It’s been on the news. Everyone on the island is talking about it. Word even got out about you coming here,” she said. “I was the one who notified his ex-wife. Too bad you didn’t stop whoever did it before he got to Nate.”
The woman glared at me, without backing down. Although I hadn’t expected a show of hostility from someone in law enforcement, I didn’t take it personally. Hearing about a murder made it easy for those who knew the victim to lash out in frustration.
Justine had to know Applewhite. She’d called him Nate.
“The body count is fourteen. That’s why I’m here. This killer has to be stopped.” Since I needed her cooperation, I let her show of attitude slide. “Applewhite had a post office box for his mail, but I’m assuming he lives near here. How far is his place?”
The woman let her eyes drift down my body and back to my eyes again. It had been a long time since a woman made me feel like a porterhouse steak.
“His cabin is a trek. You look fit enough, but when was the last time you slept? You look…rough.”
“Just try me.”
“Don’t get your male hackles up. It takes effort to get to Nate’s cabin, especially without the right gear for a proper stay. Besides, I had to be sure you could handle it. City Fed like you.” She looked at my one bag. “Is that all you brought?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to tell her that size shouldn’t matter. The most impressive thing about a man’s luggage was in how he packed it. I was tired enough to say that—with a raised eyebrow and a stern chin jut—but I opted for a modicum of restraint. Her face twitched with an odd smile after she sized me up.
Apparently I came up short. Again.
“I got extra gear you can borrow until you leave,” she said. “I take it you’ll be staying at Nate’s while you search his cabin. It doesn’t make sense to overnight in Point Baker while you’re working. I’ll make sure you’ll have what you need when I take you up there.”
“Up there?”
“Yeah, I can’t exactly drive you to his door.” After she heaved a sigh, her expression softened. “Nate’s cabin is in the mountains. It’s real nice. He kept it well-stocked, but I haven’t been there in a while.”
She got quiet and avoided looking at me.
“If you’ve been to his cabin, you must’ve known him. Sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, I knew him.” She didn’t say anything more, but she did give me the critical once over. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t that complicated, but she’d figure that out soon.
“I got some good news and some bad. What do you want first?” she asked.
I grimaced. I’d had about as much bad news as I could handle.
“Tell me something good.”
“The local motel doesn’t have anything open for tonight. They’re renovating before peak season. No vacancies.”
“That’s good news?”
“Yeah, it is. Trust me.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“You’ll have to settle for my place. You’re staying with me tonight. I got dinner waiting. Come on.”
I didn’t know if her bad news referred to my accommodations—or her cooking—but I was about to find out. She climbed into the truck and started the engine as I got in.
“Your family won’t mind?” I asked.
“No. In fact you’ll be lucky to keep them off you.”
She smiled as if there was an inside joke. I didn’t ask. Justine Peterson struck me as a woman who appreciated her privacy. I’d find out what she meant soon enough.
***
Justine had a small cabin not far from Point Baker. She must’ve had a thing for seclusion. I wanted to keep an open mind, but for me, the isolation would’ve worn thin. Her closest neighbor was nothing more than an open gate and a gravel road with acres between them. The outside of her home looked more like a working hunting lodge. It appealed to me. A couple of hanging baskets of purple flowers was as close to homey as she got.
A canoe was in plain sight under a deck and she had an axe and stump for chopping wood at the side of her house, with a bench and table near her front door that looked more like a work station. She looked like a no-frills, practical woman. I heard dogs yelping out back and saw the fencing of a dog run toward the rear.
“You’ve got a nice place. Daniel Boone would’ve found it welcoming.”
I grabbed my bag from the front seat and shut the passenger door. Justine was already walking inside. She hadn’t locked her front door. I’d never lived in a place where locks weren’t necessary. The island was growing on me.
“Thanks. It suits me.”
“What’s with the dogs? Sounds like you have a pack.”
“I foster wounded animals and strays. They’re the family I told you about.” She waved her hand to invite me into her home. “Put your bag anywhere. You’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
“Thanks.”
While Justine took off her weapon and placed it in a drawer, a short brown mutt barked and kept his distance until I knelt down and let the dog sniff his way to a deep abiding friendship. A big yellow tabby squinted at me until it turned and flashed its butt. Not being a cat expert, I didn’t feel qualified to make a determination if that was a good or bad sign. I’d leave that for the professionals. I stashed my bag near the sofa.
“The mutt is named Sancho and the tabby is Pinot Grigio. Whatever they do, don’t take it personally. We don’t get many houseguests.”
“Thanks for the warning.” I glanced down at the mutt and pointed. “If I ever need a wingman to thwart giant windmills, I know who to call.”
Justine stopped and stared at me with a questioning look.
“It’s interesting you made the leap to Sancho Panza. Not many people make the literary connection I intended. You probably saw the Broadway musical Don Quixote on stage, like most people,” she said. “Is that how you’re familiar with the name?”
“No. I read the book, the work of Don Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. The Old Castilian from the early sixteen hundreds is the medieval form of the Spanish language. It was a challenge at first, but once I got into it, it was a sumptuous feast for the soul. After the book, a stage play in English for the masses wouldn’t cut it.”
“Impressive.” She cocked her head.
“No pictures even.” Beyond Crowley, not many got my humor. “If reading old Castilian makes me sound like a pompous ass, I occasionally indulge in comic books. I’m a fan of Marvel. They have better women.”
“Be still my heart.”
I had no idea if I had impressed her. Her facial expression gave nothing away. She had trumped my straight-faced restraint with her own, which made it hard to read her. I rather liked the challenge.
After Justine left the room, I took a look around. The inside of her home was different than the hunting lodge look of the outside. I liked the casual warm feel to it. Her living room had a sofa and two chairs with quilts and pillows that added a feminine touch. A pot belly
stove had a fire burning and the aroma of something good came from the kitchen. She had Native art and prints on the walls. One large wall-mounted wood carving stood out, an elaborate depiction of a whale with colorful beads hanging beneath it.
“This is a nice piece.”
“The Tlingit tribe. It’s my favorite.” She seemed glad that I noticed. “Can I get you a mug of Swamp Tea?"
“No, thanks. I’m good. Trying to cut down on my intake of intestinal parasites.”
She laughed.
“I know Swamp Tea doesn’t sound appealing. Natives refer to it by that name, but you might have heard it called Hudson Bay Tea or a Labrador Tea and Spruce Toddy. I have it simmering on my stove. I was preparing some for myself.”
“Then I guess…when in Rome. I’ll try it.”
She told me the tea was a staple with Natives and island residents. It was rich in Vitamin C, had medicinal properties, and was made from the Labrador tea plant, plentiful on the Prince of Wales Island. I thought of the first person who ever made the plant into tea. What made anyone grab what looked like a weed, boil it, and take that first sip? If they were smart, they would’ve gotten someone else to drink it—very much like Justine was trying to get me to do.
After I took my first sip and I told her I liked it, she said, “It’s only slightly poisonous.”
“Ah, good to know. Thanks for the heads up.”
I played it safe and waited for her to take another sip before I did.
“Keeps moths and mice away, if that’s a problem,” she said.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Now she was definitely trying to get a rise out of me.
“Is serving poisonous tea your idea of rolling out the welcome wagon?” I asked. “What’s for dinner…whale blubber with a side of baby seal?”
“Just testing your sense of humor. That’s all.”
“Did I pass?”
“Too soon to tell.”
Knowing Justine was a state trooper gave me a solid feel about her, even though she was still a stranger, but I hadn’t expected to be sharing her home, especially with her being a single woman. Maybe with me being a Fed, she was okay with inviting an outsider she hadn’t met to stay on her couch overnight—that, and the fact she carried a weapon.
A loaded gun was a great equalizer.
“Can I help with dinner?” I asked. “I know my way around a kitchen and dirty dishes don’t stand a chance.”
“I got everything under control. If you want to freshen up, there’s only one bathroom. Have at it.”
After I hit the head and washed my hands, I took off my weapon and placed it in my overnight bag. Justine already had the table set with two steaming bowls of stew. It smelled incredible, and not because I was on the verge of starvation.
“It’s venison. A ‘go to’ meal for me.”
“Looks great,” I said as I sat down.
“Good looks can get you into trouble.” Her lips curved into a suggestive smile. “If you want to experience something truly satisfying, you gotta take a risk and venture out of your comfort zone.”
She held my gaze until I had to look away. Her eyes looked at me square and without flinching. I wasn’t sure she was talking about the stew. The woman had a way of saying unexpected things that carried the weight of more than one meaning, but I didn’t know her well enough to be sure.
“Looks good and it tastes great,” I told her after my first bite. “Thank you.”
She told me the ingredients were homegrown on the island. She had a freezer full of deer meat and fish, and she grew her own vegetables and herbs for seasoning. Grocery supplies were limited, but residents knew how to fend for themselves. The island was known for its trophy sized Sitka black-tailed deer, large black bears, and salmon and halibut fishing, depending on the season.
The venison was fork tender and melted in my mouth. It didn’t take me long to finish one bowl and she ladled out a second serving, without my even asking.
“I like pleasing a man, especially one who knows how to eat,” she said. “Save room for my salmonberry cobbler. I picked the berries myself.”
“I always have room for homemade cobbler.”
Justine smiled, but got quiet. For the first time, I heard the steady tick of a clock and paid attention to it. It counted down every second of silence between us. Unit Chief Reynolds had the same tactic of using silence to get me to say something. I didn’t mind the quiet, something Trooper Peterson would soon understand.
“How close are you to finding who killed Nate…and the others?” she asked. She fixed her gaze on me and put down her spoon.
“I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”
“Throw me a bone, Fed. I’m taking you to Nate’s place. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me. I even took personal time off from work to help. Give me something. I’m law enforcement. I know how to keep my mouth shut about a case.”
Her eyes carried an edge of intensity that was hard to read. Nate had been important to her, beyond being a fellow resident on the island. I sensed she had an agenda for inviting me to her home and I wondered how far she would’ve gone to arrange it.
“Was the motel really full up, or did you ask me to stay here to see what you could get out of me?”
Chapter Six
Prince of Wales Island, Alaska
Evening
Ryker Townsend
What I’d said to Justine came out harsher than I had intended, but I didn’t apologize. She didn’t strike me as a wilting flower. I expected her to balk. When she didn’t, I pushed my dish away and slouched back in my chair with my arms crossed. I waited her out and let the silence work in my favor.
I’d inherited my mother’s stubborn gene and my dad’s quiet patience.
“I didn’t lie to you about the motel being closed.” She lowered her gaze to my lips. “But I get it. You need to trust me. I can be patient.”
Justine had come at me head on, looking for insider information on the investigation. When she didn’t get any, she let the subject drop, but I knew she wouldn’t give up. She didn’t strike me as a quitter.
“Trust must be earned and I don’t ever give it freely,” I said. “Fair warning.”
“Are you talking about work…or personal?”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and tossed it on the table.
“My reluctance to confide has nothing to do with you. Consider me an equal opportunity prick. Others do.”
Her eyes held mine, unaffected by her faint smile. I refused to give in and look away, but the woman had stirred something in me that I had yet to name.
“Understood,” she said. “Dessert?”
“Please.”
I hoped the promise of homemade cobbler and casual conversation would follow. Justine made sure I wasn’t disappointed. She dropped the touchy subject of Nate’s investigation and carried on. I should’ve been relieved, but I wasn’t. Justine had a deliberate intention with me and I had yet to uncover it.
I helped her clean up and clear the table as she washed dishes in the sink. We got into a rhythm without the distraction of conversation. She thanked me in other ways with unexpected smiles and times when I caught her staring at me, but she never broached the subject of Nate’s case. I would need her cooperation, when I was ready to ask questions about Applewhite, but agents asked questions. They seldom answered them. Justine would’ve known that from her law enforcement training.
“Beautiful view out of every window,” I said. “I can see the attraction to living here.”
I gazed out the window over her sink as I stood next to her and wiped a pot dry. The sun had gone down, but with the trees backlit and a hush closing in, I was mesmerized by the peace and quiet. I saw a glimpse of water and a jetty through the trees. Her property backed up to a private cove where she had a dock, a good place to launch a canoe or watch the sun go down with a cold beer.
The island calmed me in a way I’d never felt, as if I had come home to a place I’d never been.<
br />
“Does it get lonely? You’re a young woman, living alone and doing a tough job. That can’t be easy.”
She looked up and smiled. The suddenness of the gesture surprised me. It made me stare at her too long. The way she brushed against my hip and thigh, I should’ve moved away, but I didn’t want to. I hadn’t been touched like that in a long time. I liked it.
“It can be a challenge. Some days are harder than others, but I grew up in Alaska. I wouldn’t live anywhere else.”
I handed her a pot lid, but when something in the trees caught my eye, I turned to see a shadow move. It took me a moment to realize I hadn’t imagined it. A man stood in the trees. I couldn’t see a face. The guy was big and the fading light caught strands of his long blond hair and beard. But the minute I noticed him, he vanished into the deepening shade. It happened so fast, I thought I’d imagined it.
I leaned toward the window and craned my neck to look for where the man went, but I lost him.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did you see something? We get moose and other wildlife through town.”
“I saw a guy. Blond hair and beard. He stood in those trees to the right, staring at us.”
Justine looked out her window and dried her hands.
“That’s my neighbor, Josh. We share the jetty behind my place. He helped me build it…and the kennels. He feeds and takes care of the rescue animals for me. That’s why the cages are between both of our properties. Most of the dogs are strays, but a couple are his.” She hung the damp towel on a hook to dry. “He’s an acquired taste…doesn’t like strangers, but he’s harmless. Sometimes he gets curious when I have men over. Nothing to worry about. He looks out after me.”
I shot her a questioning look. Any other place, the neighbor would get reported as a stalker or a Peeping Tom. He hadn’t been down by the shared jetty. He’d stared into the windows of her house. A woman living alone should be more cautious, but Justine didn’t seem worried.
