Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  Dr. Wilheim, who she’d had to call because his office had been locked the two times she’d dropped by, had been furious when she’d told him she needed to take some time off. He’d curtly pointed out that several out-of-town commitments had made it necessary for him to miss work earlier this week. He certainly hoped she’d attended to the tasks he’d given her. According to him, she was demonstrating the ultimate in irresponsibility. He’d gone so far as to tell her he was questioning his decision to grant her the rare entry-level university employment opportunity.

  His reaction might have been different if she’d told him what she was doing and why, but she’d only shared her concern for Doc with her best friend, Carolyn Jensen. She’d been tempted to tell Carolyn about the mask, but in the end had decided to keep that to herself for now. As Carolyn had pointed out, Dr. Wilheim and Doc were academic rivals. Both had applied for the same grant. If Dr. Wilheim learned Doc was MIA, if he so much as suspected Doc had stolen—

  No, Doc wasn’t a thief. He’d simply used the mysterious mask as bait to get her to come here. Once she found him, they’d develop a plan for returning the mask to where it belonged without alerting authorities.

  Before leaving San Diego, she’d refreshed herself about what the penalty was for violating the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. Whatever it took, she’d make sure Doc wasn’t charged.

  Her, either.

  Looking up, she noticed that the office had been made of whole logs, a throwback to pioneer days. The foundation had cracked in numerous places. Water at the small settlement, Doc had informed her, came from a well, and underground electrical lines lessened outages during frequent storms. Covering more than nine hundred thousand acres, Olympic National Park included five commercial lodges and close to twenty public campgrounds, although Potlatch itself was off limits to visitors.

  She stretched then eased her stiff body out of the vehicle, locked the doors and faced the forest. It seemed to be waiting for her, ready to pass judgment on her. Pausing, she listened, then realized she’d been hoping to hear a wolf, which wasn’t going to happen because wolves no longer existed in the area.

  She’d debated leaving the mask behind, but in the end had decided to bring it along, well hidden in the locked trunk. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d thought about the mask during her drive. She’d wondered what had been on the long-dead craftsman’s mind as he’d worked on it. How much soul-deep spiritual belief had flowed from his heart through his fingers? The question she most wanted the answer to was whether he’d left something of himself in the work. Maybe that was what had been behind the howl she’d heard in her bathroom. An ancient Native American reaching through to the present.

  To her.

  You imagined the sound, she told herself. Just the same, she slid her hand under her shirt and stroked her tattoo. Doing so eased some of her tension.

  After climbing the four steps leading to the office, she reached for the knob. Before she could turn it, the door opened. She stared up at a man dressed in Forest Service olive green, who was looking back inside, giving her time to study him. He wasn’t particularly tall, probably not quite six feet. His shoulders were broad, his chest and arms substantial, belly flat and thighs thick.

  Whatever life throws at me, his form said, I can handle it.

  “I figured you’d say it isn’t in the budget,” the ranger said to whoever was inside, “but there’s considerable social media talk about the trails’ poor upkeep. People aren’t going to come where they can’t get around.”

  Deep-set coal-black eyes regarded her. His face was more round than oval, and his dusky skin looked as if it spent a lot of time being subjected to the environment. She noted thick, coarse, short black hair.

  He looked down at her, making her feel small and vulnerable. Exposed. She grew frustrated with her reaction. This was simply a man. She looked at his name tag. Jay Raven.

  She felt lightheaded and emotionally unbalanced.

  “I’m sorry, but Potlatch isn’t open to the public,” he said.

  “I’m here looking for Dr. Anthony Gilsdorf. He—”

  Eyes widening and expression sobering, he held up a hand. His lips parted, but he didn’t immediately speak. “You’re Winter Barstow, right?”

  Her heart stumbled through a beat at the sound of her name coming from him. “You remember.”

  “Of course. I’d never forget that name.”

  As his scrutiny continued, his gaze sweeping up and down her form, she became aware of herself as a woman, something she hadn’t done for a long time. Her breasts tightened, and she was tempted to run her hands over her hips.

  A tall, slightly overweight man with sagging jowls appeared behind Jay, ending whatever had been happening between them. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “This is the woman I mentioned,” Jay said without taking his attention off her. “Dr. Gilsdorf’s colleague.”

  More than a colleague. There’s a connection between Doc and me. One I wish I could trust you with. “I’m here because I’ve been unable to contact him. That concerns me.”

  The door opened, and the other man joined Jay and her on the porch. His tag read Michael Simpson. He held out his hand, and she took it. “After you gave her my name as a possible contact,” he told Jay, “Ms. Barstow and I spoke briefly.” He faced Winter. “Like I told her, I’ve been overloaded with work, so I haven’t had time to see if he has been around.”

  “Dr. Gilsdorf mentioned budget cuts in the national parks,” she said, responding to Michael’s comment as a way of gaining a connection, although she’d rather be talking to Jay, studying him, listening to his voice. “The same thing is happening with higher education, where I work.”

  “And yet you were able to come here.” Jay’s expression sobered. “I assume that took some doing.”

  “It did.”

  As Jay continued to regard her, she wished she was privy to his thoughts. She hadn’t expected him to welcome her with open arms, but was that resistance she was feeling? Maybe he didn’t want her here.

  “Dr. Gilsdorf told me he was disappointed his grant didn’t allow him to bring you on-site,” Michael said. “It sounded as if he values your expertise.”

  “I take that as a compliment. Neither of you knows where he is?”

  Michael frowned. “I asked him to give me his schedule, but he refused.”

  “Refused?”

  Michael shook his head. “He expected a certain amount of cooperation from locals and park staff. When he didn’t get that, he obviously made the decision to work independently.”

  “Why did you want his schedule?”

  “I’d hoped we could work out something that would benefit both him and the park’s bottom line. Even though he didn’t see the same possibilities I did, I wanted to keep the lines of communication going. If I had some idea how to get in touch with him—”

  “It’s more than that,” Jay interrupted. “No one should go into the park without telling someone about their destination. I’ve been on searches that were more complicated than necessary because we didn’t know where to look.”

  “I’m surprised he didn’t take that into consideration.”

  “Obviously his agenda took priority.” Michael pushed sparse, flyaway hair back from his temple. “Jay grew up here. Despite that, even he doesn’t go out on his own without first reporting his destination.”

  Jay Raven’s roots were in this forest. Most of the time, she tried not to imagine what a sense of belonging would feel like. Now she couldn’t stop the thought. Glad he couldn’t read her mind, she again focused on Jay. Talking to the budget officer hadn’t taken away Jay’s impact on her nervous system. He was sexy in a rough, maybe wild way. Unlike the academics she spent her days with, this man was defined by the environment.

  “What about you?” she made herself ask. “When’s the last time you saw Doc—Dr. Gilsdorf?”

  “You asked me that when you called.
It could be as much as a week. I prefer to avoid him.”

  Surprise rocked her. “Why don’t you want anything to do with him?”

  “It’s just easier that way.”

  “Easier?”

  His gaze lingered, strengthened, made her want to scream. “I’d rather not go into it. Has Dr. Gilsdorf told you about his relationship with the local tribes?”

  She’d gone through the emails Doc had sent her over the last few weeks before leaving San Diego, looking for a clue as to why he’d sent her the wolf mask. Or why he’d gone off the grid. “It wasn’t proving to be as fruitful as he’d hoped. One of his goals was to get his hands on as many personal Native histories as possible. Apparently someone here had transcribed a number of oral interviews. He thought those would prove valuable.”

  Jay folded his arms over his chest. “That someone would be Booth Deavers, the park historian. The interviews were conducted a long time ago and pretty much forgotten until Deavers uncovered them. The tribes asked for them back, but he refused.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “So he could exploit them.”

  “In what way?”

  Jay shook his head. “You’d have to ask him, but I’d say Booth is out for his own professional gain.”

  “The same could be said about Dr. Gilsdorf,” Michael said. “Everyone’s looking out for number one.”

  “Doc wouldn’t do that,” she insisted.

  “Wouldn’t he?” Michael’s tone was caustic. “I made an honest attempt to give his agenda priority when I approached him about what I remain convinced could be a mutually beneficial relationship. Unfortunately, Dr. Gilsdorf made it clear he was answerable to the university and the foundation behind the grant, not the park.”

  That wasn’t the man she admired. No way would Doc alienate those who were familiar with the area. In fact, he’d do everything possible to get along with everyone here. “What about Booth Deavers?” she asked Jay. “Do you know anything about Doc’s relationship with him?”

  “Sorry. Most of my time is spent in the forest. I stay out of personnel conflicts.”

  “That’s easy for you to say.” Michael gave Jay a dismissive glance. “You don’t have to deal with Deavers. I do.”

  “What’s the best way to get in touch with him?” she asked.

  “He spends much of his time at the Lake Quinault Lodge, where he set up a combination library and museum.”

  “Thanks for the suggestion. Is there anyone else I should talk to? Maybe someone helped him learn his way around the forest.”

  When Michael drew himself upright, she sensed she’d rubbed him the wrong way. “We don’t have the manpower to offer anything like a guide service.”

  She was wasting time talking. Besides, standing close to Jay Raven had her a little off balance. Confidence radiated off him. The man was surrounded by his heritage while she’d barely been able to scratch the surface of her hers.

  “Which cabin is Doc staying in? There might be something there that—”

  Michael jerked his head at Jay. “You take her there. I don’t have the time.” Not waiting for Jay to respond, Michael went back inside.

  And it was just Jay Raven and her again. The two of them, surrounded by vegetation that had been growing for thousands of years. Vegetation capable of swallowing the most important person in her life. Maybe her, too. What else did the forest hold?

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for him to dump responsibility for me on you,” she finally thought to say.

  “He deals with stress by being uptight. Don’t take it personally.” Jay started toward the steps.

  “Wait.” Before she realized what she was doing, she’d grabbed his forearm. Touched strength. “Do you have anything personal against Dr. Gilsdorf?”

  Jay could have easily broken free. Instead, he stared at her hand. “I wouldn’t say that. Our contact has been minimal. I wasn’t there when he met with my uncle and the other elders, but Uncle Talio said Dr. Gilsdorf doesn’t and never will understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  Something changed about Jay’s expression. It was almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “I’m a Hoh. Most of the less than three hundred members want to retain their individuality and keep that individuality close to their hearts.”

  She’d just told herself to view Jay Raven simply as a forest ranger, but listening to him, that was no longer possible. He was part of something anthropologists could never describe.

  “He didn’t seem to get that we’re much more than subjects or research projects.”

  Didn’t? Why had Jay Raven referred to Doc in the past tense? “You make it sound as if he’s taking advantage—”

  “He would if he could. At least, that’s what the elders believe.”

  “What do you believe?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Winter, whether or not the Hoh cooperate with Dr. Gilsdorf should be decided by those who have the most at stake. Those who see the land and the past as integral to what they are. Like many others, my uncle has spent his entire life here. He buried his wife, parents and niece—my mother—here.”

  Jay’s expression sobered, telling her how painful the subject must be to him. Even though she wanted him to feel free to tell her more if he felt the need, daylight was already working against her. If she was going to stand a chance of finding Doc today, she had to get started.

  She released Jay’s forearm. “Is Doc’s cabin close by?”

  “Yeah.” Jay headed down the steps. She followed suit. In addition to trying not to study the solid form ahead of her, she fought the impulse to look at her car with its precious and hopefully safe package in the trunk.

  As they threaded their way down a narrow, graveled trail, she felt as if she were leaving what little civilization there was in the area. Cabins were tucked into small, barely cleared spaces, with considerable distance between each one, and she and Jay were the only two humans around. Even with what he’d said about his uncle’s deep connection with the land, she suspected the same was true for him.

  “I appreciate you doing this.”

  He didn’t look back at her.

  “Can I ask you something? What does Michael do?”

  “He mostly tumbles numbers, fewer and fewer numbers these days. There’s political pressure to make the parks self-supporting, which means he’s expected to come up with ways of increasing revenue.”

  “And he thought working with Doc would help?” If that was true, wouldn’t that put Michael and other park personnel at odds with the Natives? Did that mean Jay had to straddle the fence?

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  As she tried to match his long stride, she puzzled over why she continued to feel compelled to learn what made Jay Raven tick. He’d made it clear he had little if anything to do with Doc, and Doc was where all her energy should be directed.

  That, and attempting to make her peace with the wilderness that seemed to be reaching for her and separating her from the world she’d left behind.

  Her world. Her career. The connections she’d made.

  When would she return to them?

  “All the budget cutbacks where parks are concerned,” she said, “must make things stressful for you.”

  For long seconds, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. She didn’t blame him. After all, she had no right saying what she had. Maybe he’d leave her to search for Doc’s cabin on her own. Maybe she should admit her people skills sucked, but then she’d have to explain why.

  “It does, as I’m sure you can relate.”

  “I can, unfortunately.”

  His smile said he’d acknowledged something they had in common. She wondered what else might connect them. “I’m grateful this position came my way,” he said. “Decent-paying jobs are scarce in this area, and I have responsibilities here that go beyond my career.”

  What responsibilities? Maybe a wife and children. He wa
sn’t wearing a wedding ring. “So do I. That’s why I came.”

  His nod gave her no indication of what he was thinking, and she missed what they’d briefly had. A couple of minutes later, he approached a cabin with a sagging metal roof. He knocked on the door, then to her surprise, pushed against it and walked in.

  “The locks on these things are a joke,” he said.

  The idea of Doc not being able to close himself off from the world concerned her. When Jay switched on the light, she took in her surroundings. The cabin consisted of a single room that served as bedroom, kitchen and living room. There was a tiny bathroom with a curtain instead of a door. A sleeping bag covered the twin bed. The dish drainer was full. What had been designed to serve as an eating table was covered with books and a stack of folders stamped Olympic Park Library. A laptop sat half buried under the books and folders.

  She moved to the potbellied wood stove in the corner and touched the surface. The cabin and the stove were cool—Doc hadn’t built a fire this morning. There was no sign of the backpack she’d given him as a going-away present.

  “Is he often gone overnight?” she asked.

  Jay jerked his head at the door. “I live on the Hoh reservation, but sometimes when I’m working overtime or on a project, I stay in one of the cabins here. I’ve seen Dr. Gilsdorf a few times in the evening.”

  “Did the two of you talk?”

  “Not much. By the time I hit the cabin, all I wanted to do was get something to eat and fall asleep.”

  Her concern growing, she walked over to the bed and touched the sleeping bag. “He’d have taken this if he’d intended to be in the field for longer than a day.”

  “Yes, he would.”

  “Do you know where he’s been going?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  She was supposed to ask the questions, not him. “I’ve been working fifty-plus-hour weeks. Between that and the limits with cell phone reception, the answer is no.”

  He briefly closed his eyes. “The last I heard, he was around Ghost Totem Ridge.”

  Ghost. Jay’s voice hanging on the word added to her unease.

  “Why there?”

  “It’s near a valley that, judging by the number of old elk, deer and other animal bones found there, had been a popular hunting area.” His eyes opened, but his gaze refused to meet hers.