Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  “Hardly. What I’m doing is reminding her of our relative positions.” Dr. Wilheim stared at Winter. “I was dumbfounded when I heard you’d already contacted the grant committee. I’m determined to salvage the work Gilsdorf began. As for you, you aren’t presenting yourself as the grieving friend.”

  No tears formed in Winter’s eyes, but Jay felt her battle to keep control over them. Yes, she was one strong woman. One he could grow to care about even more than he already did.

  “I have no intention of bowing out,” she said. “And I’m not going to waste my breath explaining my reasons.” She looked around, her expression becoming less tense as she did. “I can’t leave,” she whispered.

  “Can’t?” Dr. Wilheim parroted. “Damn it, Winter, if you expect to keep your job, you will return to San Diego as soon as you can get packed.”

  “I told you, I can’t.”

  Dr. Wilheim jabbed a finger at her. “I’m not interested in your nonsense. In case it didn’t occur to you, the reason you beat me to the punch is because I was putting other things into play. First thing this morning, I contacted one of the university’s attorneys. He needs to do some research, but he believes we have a case for demanding the historian turn everything in his possession over to me as a representative of the university. That material belongs to the federal government, not him.”

  “What material are you talking about?” Jay asked. “Wasn’t that taken from Dr. Gilsdorf’s cabin?”

  Dr. Wilheim snorted. “I’ve made connections here and know things neither Winter nor you are aware of. One thing I learned is that Booth wasn’t totally forthcoming with Gilsdorf about the extent of the records he’s collected.”

  “And you believe they’re valuable,” Winter said.

  “Indeed I do. I’d be surprised if they don’t play a key role in my success here, which is why I’m involving the university’s legal team.”

  As Jay saw it, Dr. Wilheim was taunting Winter. Instead of responding, she studied her surroundings. Uncle Talio did that sometimes, his expression gentling as he did. Jay couldn’t wrap his mind around why Winter should feel at peace right now. At the same time, he envied her.

  “You’ve outstayed your visit, Winter.” Dr. Wilheim again thrust a finger in her direction. “There’s no way the grant committee will choose you over me, especially once I have possession of what Deavers has been holding back. Let me say this as clearly as possible. Within an hour, you will be on your way back to the university.”

  If she left, he might never see her again.

  But even as his stomach tightened, he read her decision in her body language.

  “I’m staying here,” she said simply. “As for my reasons—that’s personal.”

  “Then you’re fired.”

  “On what grounds?” Jay demanded when she didn’t react.

  “Isn’t that obvious? She’s defying me. Believe me, I can make it happen.”

  “That sounds like a bluff.” He wasn’t sure it was. Damn it, how could Dr. Wilheim slam a door on the career she’d put so much into? “Considering what she’s been through, the university will—”

  “Jay,” she interrupted, “I don’t care.” She spread her fingers over the hidden tattoo, and he nodded.

  “I don’t believe you,” Dr. Wilheim spluttered. “How will you support yourself?”

  “That isn’t your concern.”

  When Dr. Wilheim started to speak, she shook her head. Then she left the porch and headed into the forest. Jay tried to determine what she’d been looking at but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Leaving the professor to maybe make sense of what had just happened, he took off after her.

  “Winter, wait,” he called out once they were out of Dr. Wilheim’s earshot and before he lost her in the tangle of vegetation.

  She stopped but didn’t turn to him. The shadows were so deep she seemed part of her surroundings. He’d immediately fallen in lust with the woman he’d married, but experience had soon taught him that physical attraction wasn’t enough. By the end of their marriage, he could no longer remember what he’d once thought they had in common. In contrast, Winter Barstow was breathing the air that had given him life. She’d told him very little about her past, just enough for him to conclude she was searching for a place to belong to.

  How would she respond if he told her he believed she’d found that place? If he went that far, he’d also have to tell her he was afraid she might jeopardize her sense of belonging because of her debt to Dr. Gilsdorf.

  “Damn him.” Even though he wasn’t sure she wanted him around, he closed the distance between them. “Dr. Wilheim shouldn’t have handled things the way he did. In addition to backing you into a corner, he deliberately kept things from you.”

  She whirled around, surprising him with how effortlessly she moved. “Isn’t that what you accused me of? You thought I should have cleared everything with you before going to the grant committee.”

  He had believed that, but his reasoning no longer mattered. Keeping his hands off her earlier hadn’t been easy. Now, it became impossible. Trusting his body to do the right thing, he took hold of her arms and drew her close.

  “I don’t want us to fight.” He bent over so their mouths were only inches apart.

  She started shaking. “I don’t want to, either.”

  She was still keeping things from him, details that had to wait because he stopped from wrapping his arms around her and hauled her against his chest and erection.

  “Jay,” she mouthed as she arched her pelvis at him. “Oh, Jay.”

  Jay what?

  Then she lifted her head, her heated breath slid over his face, she held tight to his waist, and there was nothing else. He wanted to hand her butterfly kisses. Instead, his mouth attacked hers. Her strength met his. Crashed over him. Feeling powerful and out of control, he backed her against a tree, ran his knee between her legs and slipped a hand under the hem of her top so he could feel her soft flesh.

  Wherever insanity was taking him, she was on the same journey, cupping his buttocks and grinding against his pelvis while low sounds rumbled in her throat.

  Just when he was certain he was going to take her, she let go of his buttocks and pushed against his chest. He started to swat her hands away.

  “Wolf,” she whispered. “I hear Wolf.”

  “No.” Damn it, no!

  “I have to…”

  “What do you have to do, Winter?”

  She started shaking. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dark leather chairs flanked the oversized fireplace in the Lake Quinault Lodge, but only a few people were in the large rustic structure where the park’s combination of library and museum was located when Winter walked in. Instead of asking what she intended to accomplish by coming here, Jay had simply said he’d accompany her. He’d already told his supervisor he wouldn’t be going back to work today. She hadn’t discouraged him, and not just because she wanted him around. Jay’s roots were here. If Booth was in possession of something that would enrich his comprehension of those roots, he had a right to them.

  Maybe she did, too.

  Maybe whatever she could uncover of her origin was more important than anything else.

  The drive had frayed her nerves, and, judging by Jay’s silence, he was experiencing the same thing.

  They shouldn’t have held onto each other or kissed.

  But they had. Again. Fierce and hungry.

  She hated keeping the mask from him almost as much as she hated not telling him what Doc had revealed about Floyd. Why couldn’t things be simple and clean between them? Maybe attraction would deepen and become that vague something she’d long been looking for in a romantic relationship.

  Don’t, she ordered herself as Jay’s shoulder brushed hers. She wouldn’t think about what might be. The man who’d meant the most to her had been murdered. Only justice and fulfilling his dream mattered.

  Her intention had been for Jay and her to go
directly to the library, but when she spotted the fireplace and nearly floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of it, she stopped and took it all in. The setting was so peaceful, set aside from life and responsibilities, perfect for lovers.

  No! Silence those thoughts!

  Stifling a moan, she removed her attention from the logs burning in the fireplace. Because of the dim lighting, it took her a moment to locate the door labeled ‘library.’

  “You’re sure you’re up to this?” Jay asked.

  She forced a laugh. “Why not? It isn’t as if I have a job.”

  “Dr. Wilheim might have been calling your bluff.”

  “Even if he was, I don’t care.”

  He studied her. “Because Olympic and Wolf have too tight a hold on you.”

  You’re part of that hold. “Maybe it was being confronted by Michael and then Dr. Wilheim, but suddenly all I could think about was plunging into the forest. Never returning.”

  “Everyone wants to escape sometimes.”

  She nodded but didn’t risk looking at him. “Not escape. Finding myself.” Unnerved by how much she’d revealed, she gave herself a mental shake. “All right, let’s do this.”

  As he led the way across the room, a couple of women stopped their conversation and stared at Jay. You can’t have him. He’s—

  No, he wasn’t hers. Would never be, because, eventually, she’d have to tell him the truth.

  When Jay opened the library door so she could enter ahead of him, she didn’t see anyone. Then she heard Booth’s voice. It sounded as if he was in a room beyond the library. Jay and she exchanged a multilayered look. That done, she took in her surroundings.

  Several glass cases held Native American tools and weapons, as well as printed notations explaining how the items had been used and what they’d been constructed from. Front and center was some well-preserved traditional rainwear made from cedar bark. The notation explained that the garments had once belonged to the Nootka, whose potlatch ceremonies often celebrated the child or young man designated to take over the honor and rank of chief.

  A timetable stretching from ancient times to the present filled most of one wall. On the left of the timetable, someone—Booth, she surmised—had documented what was known of life in the Pacific Northwest over thousands of years. The right detailed what had been going on in the world during the same timeframe. Obviously, Booth wanted visitors to be able to draw comparisons between this isolated setting and the larger historic context.

  “Look around,” Jay whispered. “I’ve seen it.”

  “What’s your reaction to what Booth has done?”

  He shrugged. “Typical museum stuff.”

  Spotting a locked glass bookshelf, she walked over to it. There were two shelves. One contained commercially available books about the park and Northwest Native Americans, while the other held a number of cardboard-backed eight-by-ten old photographs. The top photographs were of a collection of fish-drying racks, a small cedar canoe with two Native men wearing rain capes and hats beside it, and an ancient woman in a feathered headdress that had been worn by shamans. The photographs were nothing unique. Like Jay had said, typical museum stuff.

  This couldn’t be everything. Booth must’ve kept valuable material away from the public. What the room held disappointed her. The Olympic Forest was a fabulous ancient rain forest. Plants that didn’t exist anywhere else on earth flourished there. Even the most jaded traveler couldn’t help but be impressed by the giant trees, lush ferns and wealth of plants. In the short amount of time she’d been in the park, she’d seen a number of unique birds. There were flies—the thought made her shiver—but Olympic was also home to countless insects, amphibians, rodents, predators and prey.

  Wolf.

  In addition to the ocean, there was a multitude of creeks, streams and rivers. Those waterways were as special as the land, and it was a shame visitors couldn’t find information about them here. Given more room, commitment and imagination, this could become much more than the name ‘library’ on the door.

  “Winter. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Feeling torn, she faced Booth. Next to his immaculate dress shirt and slacks, she felt shabby.

  “Why didn’t you?”

  He opened his mouth to respond, only to frown at Jay. “Your bodyguard?”

  “Does she need one?” Jay asked.

  “Not here she doesn’t. Did law enforcement assign you to keep an eye on her?”

  When Jay didn’t answer, she decided to let the question slide. “When I told Jay I wanted to see the museum, he offered to drive. I took him up on it. I needed…”

  “Something other than what happened to Dr. Gilsdorf to focus on? So, what’s your impression?”

  I’m disappointed. She pointed at one of the enclosed cases. “That caught my eye. I’ve never seen an authentic woven bark rain hat or cape anywhere except in a museum.”

  “I thought Dr. Gilsdorf might make the same observation, but he barely looked at them. The rainwear belonged to the family of one of the first white settlers to the area. They weren’t forthcoming about how their great, great grandfather had gotten his hands on the items, and I didn’t ask.”

  “What are they doing here?” Jay asked.

  Booth all but puffed out his chest. “I heard about the estate sale the family was having. Apparently, they’d come upon hard times. I approached the county historic society and convinced them to let me use some of their funds to bid on certain items.”

  Something about his explanation didn’t sound completely ethical to her—until she compared it to what Doc had done.

  “How long have you been working here?” she asked.

  “Going on two years. Unfortunately, it’s been an uphill battle to convince the feds to adequately fund the library. There’s some potential from such sources as estate items, and I’m committed to adding to the collection despite the budget constraints.”

  Having seen the university deal with the same thing and hearing Michael talk about his budget issues, she understood Booth’s frustration. “Speaking of the collection…” Her attention went to the two shelves of books and photographs.

  Booth walked over to the shelving and patted the glass. “Not much to this, is there?”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “That’s because I belatedly learned to safeguard what’s of value. My predecessor here wore a number of hats. As a result, he didn’t devote much time to this space.” He paused. “I discovered a closet filled with items that hadn’t seen the light of day for a long time, including dozens of audio tapes.”

  “The oral histories?”

  “Exactly. Their existence isn’t well-known. They were made thirty, forty years ago. Once they were in my possession, I made a number of efforts to record the memories of elderly Natives. Those turned out to be both successful and rewarding in terms of prestige, however limited, and interested Dr. Gilsdorf. The old tapes are another story, because they were done in the Quinault language.”

  “My uncle said he remembered his father talking into a recorder,” Jay said.

  Booth shrugged. “I hired an old Chinook woman to handle the translation. She got through two before she died a couple of months ago. I attempted to do some of the work myself, but that was a fool’s mission. Finding another translator has been difficult in large part because tribal elders now refuse to cooperate with me.”

  Jay gave Booth a sideways look. “I’m aware of the lack of cooperation.”

  Not giving herself time to question what she was doing, she asked Booth how many people were aware of the Quinault tapes.

  “More than I’d prefer. The woman who did the translating was quite the talker. There were legends in there even she didn’t know about, plus stories about conflicts with other tribes, wolves and grizzlies. Exciting stuff.”

  “What about where people were living at various times?” she asked.

  Booth lifted his eyebrows, telling Winter that he’d picked up on the la
yers behind her question. “Some. The problem is there’s no modern reference for the names the Natives gave for settlements. I’m hoping location placement will become easier once all of the tapes have been translated.”

  If they ever are. Just the same, she understood why Dr. Wilheim was determined to get his hands on them. Did Talio speak Quinault? Would he agree to work with her if the tapes were in her possession?

  “As for why I’ve put so much energy into this project,” Booth continued, “at my core, I’m a historian. A literary geek, you might say. Winter, you’re an educator, so you understand. I have the utmost respect for the past and am excited about what the present generation can learn from it. Maybe my obsession comes from losing my parents at an early age.”

  She’d been trying to get a reading on Jay, but Booth now had her full attention. “I’m sorry.”

  “After they died—my father when I was five, my mother three years later—I went to live with my aunt. She had four children and was quite the disciplinarian. The only way I was going to earn her respect and attention was by excelling at academics.”

  Listening to Booth, she realized Jay knew less about her past than they did about the historian. She’d always kept those years close to her heart, but Jay deserved more.

  About a lot of things.

  “It looks as if you’ve taken your childhood and fashioned it into a career you love,” she finally thought to say.

  He shook his head. “Love is a pretty strong word. When I applied for the position—I’d been working for a county library system where there was no hope of advancement—Michael assured me that funding for this” he indicated their surroundings—“was going to become a Forest Service priority. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”

  “Do you feel you were lied to?” Jay asked.

  Booth ran his fingers through his spare hair. “Not at all. In its attempts to balance the budget, Congress needs to know whether projects are self-supporting. If you’ve listened to Michael, and I don’t see how you can’t have, you realize the parks are under pressure to carry their own weight. I can’t expect any increase in my operating budget until and unless it pays for itself.”