by Maris Soule
She lifted her gaze to look at the sink.
That, too, was clean. Spotless, except for one empty water glass.
“I’m sorry, Poppa,” she said, guilt adding to her physical misery. “I should have cleaned up before I went to bed last night.”
“Cleaned up what?” he asked, glancing around the kitchen.
“The mess out here.” She could imagine how gross everything had looked . . . and smelled.
“What mess?” He seemed truly confused.
For a moment she figured he’d simply forgotten he’d had to clean the floor and sink, but then she looked at Vince and knew it wasn’t her grandfather who had cleaned up after her. “Oh, God,” she groaned and turned away.
“You okay?” her grandfather asked.
“She had a rough night,” Vince answered for her.
Katherine refused to look at him. “Why are you still here?”
“Because I need your help.”
“I told you last night, I don’t know anything.”
“But, you want to find them, and so do I.”
She sensed him coming closer, but until he nudged her arm, she hoped she wouldn’t have to face him.
“Have some coffee,” he said and handed her a mug full. “Take some aspirin. I’ll fix your grandfather’s breakfast. After that, we need to talk.”
“Like I said, the lake’s not all that big,” her grandfather mumbled before using his napkin to wipe the last traces of his scrambled eggs and toast from his mouth. “On one side there’s a thick stand of spruce and sheer rock ledges. On the other side you’ll find fewer trees and a bunch of boulders you can stand on. Water’s crystal clear, and you’ll easily see the fish. Problem is catching them.”
“Why’s it hard to catch them?” Vince glanced her way as she came back into the kitchen. The smile he gave her made her stomach do a flip.
“Don’t know. Phil can’t figure it out either. You know Phil?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him,” Vince said and stifled a yawn.
Katherine wondered how much sleep he’d gotten. She had no idea when he put her to bed, or how long it took him to clean the kitchen. She didn’t want to think of him as kind . . . or attractive. Hadn’t he accused her of abetting Charles? Thought she had a part in Sarah and Misty’s abduction?
So why did his smile have her pulse racing?
The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than the ones she’d noticed under her own eyes when she’d looked in the bathroom mirror. Two cups of coffee and four aspirins, along with a slice of dry toast, had helped both her stomach and her head, at least enough so she could take a shower and put on a clean uniform.
Her grandfather kept talking. “Phil’s a good fisherman. Not many nowadays who tie their own flies. Phil’s sure he’s going to create a fly that will lure those trout into striking.”
Or die trying, Katherine thought, the reality of that possibility sending a shiver down her spine. “Poppa,” she said, “do you think Phil might have taken that friend of his up to your Paradise Lake?”
“Taken him up to Paradise Lake?” Her grandfather turned to face her. “Phil?”
Now that her head wasn’t pounding like a jackhammer, she noticed her grandfather hadn’t shaved, a stubble of gristly white hairs covering his cheeks and chin. She hoped he’d cleaned his teeth. If not, poor Vince. Having a conversation with her grandfather when he hadn’t soaked his dentures could be torture.
“Yeah. Phil. Do you think he might have taken someone there?”
“I guess he might have.” Her grandfather smiled. “You should get him to take you and your friend here up there fishing.”
Katherine looked at Vince. “I need to make a phone call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
8:00 A.M., Friday
National Park Service ranger Susan Lange placed the telephone receiver back on its base, and stared at the map of the Klondike Gold Rush National Park tacked to the wall of her home office. Katherine Ward had called asking if they’d checked an area the other side of Dyea. “There’s a trail,” Katherine said. “My grandfather and Phil call it the ‘Trail to Frustration.’ ”
Susan had an idea where that trail might be and didn’t think anyone had gone into that area the previous day. Probably just as well. She didn’t really want one of the volunteers finding a body.
As a ranger for the National Park Service, Susan was a federal employee and under the jurisdiction of the Department of the Interior. Over the years, she’d rescued hikers, arrested poachers, and helped fight wildfires. She primarily viewed her role as a protector of the land, but years ago she’d been deputized by the local police and often collaborated with them. Only once, however, had she ever searched for a body, and never for someone she personally knew. She hoped Gordon and Katherine were wrong, that Phil wasn’t dead.
After Gordon’s phone call, she’d continued searching until darkness made progress not only difficult but dangerous. It was after two A.M. when she took a sleeping pill and crawled into bed next to her husband. Now the aftereffects of that pill had her groggy, and she stared at the map without actually focusing on any particular area.
Not that she needed the map to find the clearing Katherine had described. Just the month before she’d run into Phil there. It had been late in the afternoon, and she’d driven up as he was about to get into his Tahoe. When she saw the fishing rods in his vehicle, she’d asked if he’d caught anything, and he’d grinned and shook his head. He even showed her an empty creel to prove his point.
“I never catch anything up there,” he’d said, practically confirming he’d just returned from the lake he’d talked about back in February, when he gave a lecture on fly fishing.
She and her husband had attended that talk, mostly to stave off boredom, not because either one of them was particularly interested in fly fishing. And Phil had made it interesting, using a PowerPoint presentation to illustrate how to tie a fly, which ones he preferred, and why. When a man in the audience asked if Phil always caught fish when he went out, Phil had laughed and told them about Paradise Lake. “First you take the Trail of Frustration,” he said, “and climb straight up a mountainside. And when you finally get there, the trout ignore you.”
Of course there was no official “Trail of Frustration” in the Klondike Gold Rush National Park, and Phil had admitted the lake wasn’t officially called Paradise Lake. “That’s just what my fishing buddy, Russell, calls it,” Phil had told the audience. “To keep you guys from figuring out where we go.”
Susan wasn’t surprised. Fishermen often kept their favorite fishing spots secret. She just hoped Katherine was wrong, and Phil’s favorite spot hadn’t also become his graveyard.
She turned away from the map and slipped on her green ballistic Kevlar vest with its embroidered NPS badge. After making sure she had it buttoned right, and her gray uniform shirt was neatly tucked into her green trousers, she checked her Sig Sauer. If Phil was dead, there was a killer loose.
“Coffee’s ready,” she told her husband when he came dragging out of the bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes and yawning.
He squinted at her. “You’re going to work? I thought today was your day off.”
“Katherine just called. Probably what woke you. She thinks she might know where we’ll find Phil Carpenter.”
“So why doesn’t she go look for him?” Kevin grumbled as he made his way to the coffee pot and grabbed a mug from the holder beside it. “I was hoping we could go to Whitehorse today.”
Susan had also been looking forward to time with her husband, but under the circumstances, she had no choice. “Both Gordon and Katherine think Phil’s dead.”
Kevin paused before pouring his coffee. His writing often keeping him up late, and it normally took at least two cups of black coffee before he could function in the morning, but now his eyes were wide open. “Dead?”
Susan nodded.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Please let
her find him alive, not dead, Katherine silently prayed, but she knew how little regard Charles Bell had for human life. That he hadn’t killed her when he had her under his control was a miracle. She never did let him know she was pregnant. She feared—or maybe knew—he wouldn’t want her having a baby.
Charles Bell liked innocent, naïve, young girls. He’d told her his wife was barely fifteen when their daughter was born. Katherine had no idea when Charles began molesting his own child, but, according to him, his daughter was thirteen when his wife divorced him and moved to another state, daughter in tow.
He’d been royally pissed.
As far as Katherine knew, she was his next victim. Her therapist had said, if she hadn’t been available, he would have found someone else, someone like her.
Someone like Sarah.
One for the honey; one for the money. That’s what he’d said over the police radio. Katherine squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of Charles tasting Sarah’s honey.
“Are you okay?” Vince asked, and Katherine blinked her eyes open and gave a feeble nod.
He’d gotten up from the table while she’d been on the phone with Susan, and had washed the few breakfast dishes. Now he stood only a few feet away. His shirt and slacks were wrinkled and there were dark circles under his eyes, but he looked sexy as hell.
She shook off that thought. “We need to talk.”
“Drive me to my plane. I need to change and grab a few things.”
Her grandfather pushed his chair back from the table and stood. “You wanna see my fly collection?”
“Some other time,” Vince answered and walked back to the table to shake her grandfather’s thin, gnarled hand. “Right now your granddaughter needs to take me someplace.”
Her grandfather looked at Vince, and then at her. Finally, he nodded. “Somethin’s going on, isn’t it? Something you don’t want to tell me. Right?”
How could she tell him? she wondered. Her grandfather had never been the outgoing type, and now that he was losing his mental capabilities, he had few social contacts. Phil had been his one consistent male friend. So how did you tell a man who had already lost his wife and only child that his best buddy might also be dead?
She didn’t know how, so she said, “We’re looking for a missing girl, Poppa. That’s all.” Which wasn’t a lie. Even though Gordon had taken her off the case, she had no intention of spending the day behind her desk or out on the streets talking to tourists.
“Your grandfather’s mind seems clearer this morning,” Vince said as they left the house and headed for her Tahoe.
She’d noticed that, too. “He’s pretty good until around mid-afternoon; then it’s like his brain shuts down. The doctor called it the sundown syndrome.”
“What are you going to do when he gets so bad he needs twenty-four-hour care?”
“I don’t know.”
It was a question she didn’t want to face. She’d thought having Sarah at the house in the evenings would suffice for a few months, and the chief knew her situation. They’d talked about shifts that would allow her to be with her grandfather when he needed the most help. But, Vince was right. There would come a time when her grandfather would need round-the-clock supervision and help. Could she afford in-home care? Would she put him in a nursing home? There wasn’t one in Skagway.
As she unlocked the doors to her Tahoe, she forced those questions from her mind. Right now, two girls needed her help far more than her grandfather. Which gave her an idea. “You said a fax was sent to your office. Did it have the sender’s phone number on it?”
“I asked. It didn’t.” Vince glanced at his Rolex. “Bob was going to call the telephone company this morning, have them trace the number. I’ll give him a call once we get to the plane.”
“And, if he sent the fax using a computer?”
“It might take a little longer, but we can track it down.”
The possibility of Charles using a computer made sense to Katherine. “I’ve been trying to figure out how Charles would know I was here in Skagway. It had to be through the Internet. It’s the only way I can see that he’d know about Misty, know her father was wealthy, and that she’d be coming here. I’m sure that interview her stepmother gave is on-line.” Nowadays everything ended up on-line. “A check of the cruise line schedules and Charles would have the exact time when Misty and Crystal would be arriving in Skagway. He might want to punish me for testifying against him, but, once he did that, he’d need money . . . a way to escape.”
“So he asks for a hundred million?” She saw Vince shake his head as he got into the Tahoe. “What’s he planning on doing—buying his own country?”
Katherine would admit the amount did seem excessive, even for Charles.
“And, your little scenario still doesn’t explain how he knew to fax my company.”
Which meant Vince still thought she was responsible for Charles having that knowledge. She glared at him as she settled behind the steering wheel. “I didn’t give him your fax number.”
“Then who did?”
She considered the question. Someone who saw Vince’s business card on her desk? Unlikely. No. It had to be someone who knew Vince’s connection to Tom Morgan.
“Misty,” she said, realizing it made sense.
“You’re accusing Misty of being in cahoots with this Bell guy?”
“No, not ‘in cahoots.’ Terrified.” Just thinking about Misty’s situation made Katherine remember how she felt those first few hours in Charles’s basement. “He makes sure you know what he’s capable of doing, reminds you, over and over, that your life is in his hands. He would have made sure Misty saw him kill the guy she was with. It wouldn’t take much for him to get her to either willingly or not so willingly tell him about your company and your relationship with her father.”
“Which she probably would,” Vince admitted. “I told her if she ever got in trouble to call me.”
From the look on his face, Katherine could tell it bothered Vince that he hadn’t been there for that call. “Thank goodness you did. By giving Charles your fax number, Misty may have given us the clue we need. Have your partner figure out where this computer is located. Do that, and we’ll find Misty and Sarah.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
8:45 A.M., Friday
Susan Lange drove the nine miles of dirt road from her house to Dyea through a misty drizzle. She dreaded the next few hours. How would she react if she did find Phil’s body?
She considered herself thick-skinned and tough-minded, but she’d been known to cry in sentimental movies, at weddings, and during funerals. What would the two seasonal park rangers who’d volunteered to help with the search think if she got all teary-eyed, or, worse, if she threw up?
They’ll think I’m human, Susan told herself and took a deep breath. God, she hoped Katherine and Gordon were wrong and Phil was alive. Possibly hurt, but alive.
She pulled her SUV into the parking area next to the park service campground, and a pint-sized female and a tall, gangly male got out of a rusted Ford truck. Both looked to be in their early twenties and both were wearing the park ranger regulation olive-green jackets with arrowhead shoulder patches, gold badges, and green field caps. Susan had seen the two just a few days before, when she’d stopped by the park visitors center on Broadway. The girl had been handing out maps and brochures and answering questions. The guy had been hovering near the girl, watching her with the look of a lovesick puppy. Susan had had to personally remind him that he was supposed to be giving a tour at that time.
Susan had a feeling these two would have eyes only for each other, and if she’d had a choice, she wouldn’t have chosen them for backup. But she didn’t have a choice. The other protection rangers and volunteers were either assigned to different search areas or were taking a break after a long night of searching.
Hand in hand, the two seasonal volunteers sauntered from the Ford toward Susan, and, as they drew closer, she could see a redness on
the girl’s cheeks that looked a lot like whisker burn. Susan would also bet the hint of red by the side of the guy’s mouth came from lipstick. She was pretty sure the two hadn’t been discussing search and rescue procedures while awaiting her arrival.
“You’re Amy Clark and Martin Liskovic?” Susan asked, even though she was sure the two had to be the ones assigned to her.
“Yes. Ready, willing, and able,” the girl said, stopping in front of Susan and saluting.
Martin, Susan noticed, frowned, and she had a feeling he recognized her and remembered the tongue lashing she’d given him. Not that Susan cared. They were there to get a job done, not become buddy buddies.
She didn’t return Amy’s salute, merely pointed toward her. “You sit in front.” Then she pointed at Martin. “You in back.”
“We . . .” Martin started, then shrugged and released Amy’s hand. “I’ll get our things from my truck,” he said and started back toward it. Within minutes, with both of her passengers and their equipment in the SUV, Susan pulled out of the parking area.
“I understand we’re looking for a missing fisherman,” Amy said.
“A missing police officer,” Susan corrected. “Who may have gone fishing and hasn’t been heard from since.”
“He hasn’t called in or anything?” Martin asked from the back seat.
“No.” That was all Susan wanted to tell them at this point.
“Are we going to West Creek?” Martin asked.
“We’re heading that way, but that’s not where we’ll end up.”
She drove over the bridge that crossed the Taiya River and kept going until the narrow road turned into a maze of two-tracks. Katherine had said she wasn’t sure the directions her grandfather had provided were exactly right, and Susan wasn’t totally sure she remembered exactly where she’d run into Phil, but, when she came to a fork in the road, she choose the middle track—as Katherine had suggested—and prayed Russell Ward’s mind was clear this time.
Soon the two-track narrowed until tree limbs were scraping both sides the SUV, the slap of the windshield wipers giving intermittent views of what lay ahead. Only the occasional sight of broken branches and tire impressions in the dirt and grass kept Susan going. A vehicle had been on this trail recently. Whether or not those tracks were from Phil’s Tahoe, she couldn’t tell.
