—Detective Winterbone
Chapter Nine
Lying zipped up in his bedroll, Kyle looked up at the loft, which was dark now.
Jessica’s up there, sleeping alone.
He fantasized about climbing the stairs and crawling into bed with her. How good it would feel to make love to a woman again. To feel the warmth of Jessica’s naked skin against his own. Feeling restless, Kyle climbed out of bed. He went into the kitchen and made a cup of chamomile tea. As he was leaning against the counter, sipping from the mug, he saw a twinkling of small lights out in the woods. He turned off the light above the sink and watched out the window. Two fireflies moved along the edge of the trees. They paused, side by side, like two silver buttons floating in blackness. Like glowing eyes. Kyle’s face got the familiar tingling sensations he felt whenever he peered into the spirit realm. He hid behind the wall, heart racing. Catching his breath, he ventured another look out the window.
The lights were gone.
Kyle released a nervous laugh. What is it about these woods? He had witnessed strange phenomena like this many times in his life. Often, ghosts passed through a space, barely visible, and were gone in a blink. Only rarely did they make eye contact or notice that he was watching. When they did, he always got spooked.
Kyle had never known what to do with this extraordinary gift—or curse, however you wanted to look at it—so he invented a character for his novel series. Unlike Kyle, Detective Winterbone had the ability to talk to ghosts and could peer into the spirit realm at will. Kyle’s ability was more sporadic and often he had to touch objects to connect with the spirit world. Some objects held visions. Others didn’t. Many sightings were random and too short to make much sense. But in some places, the vibrations of the dead were stronger, like his wife’s art studio in his apartment, like these woods, where the souls remained in limbo, haunting the place. Those he feared because they were malcontent spirits and could harm him. Detective Winterbone had a gift for helping ghosts find their way to the next world. Kyle could only live among them as a helpless onlooker.
Outside, the silver buttons returned to the edge of the forest. Kyle’s face tingled again, but this time he didn’t break eye contact. The glowing orbs moved closer. A head took shape in the moonlight, a pale oval face, dark braids hanging past the shoulders. A teenage girl wearing a sundress. She was so faint, barely an outline, and Kyle could see the trees through her. As she walked, the wind blew the hem of her dress.
He held her gaze, not wanting this amazing vision to slip away. She crossed the back lawn, moving toward the cabin, disappearing and reappearing every five feet. When she reached the porch, her head craned toward Kyle, peering at him with those blazing silver orbs. He moved away from the window and snapped his eyes shut.
Footsteps creaked on the porch steps.
Oh, shit. He held his breath. How would Winterbone handle this situation?
He’d confront the ghost instead of hiding like a coward.
The back atrium door opened. Wind rustled magazines on the coffee table. The footsteps entered the den, the sound of bare feet on the wood floor. The cabin suddenly felt colder. The door closed gently, the moaning wind shaking the windowpanes.
From the kitchen, Kyle peered around the wall.
The specter of the Indian girl was standing by the door, her head turned sideways, facing him. She was barely visible. Only her silver eyes, alight like beacons, were in sharp detail. She opened her mouth and uttered a hollow sound, like damp wind blowing through a pipe, but no words formed. Her eyes narrowed, as if frustrated. The girl motioned with her arm, gesturing for Kyle to follow. She moved toward the hallway. Again, she flickered in and out, a stuttering projection of a girl, advancing five feet at a time. She opened the door to Elkheart’s study and disappeared around the wall.
Kyle moved slowly into the den, unsure of whether to follow her. He could hear Detective Winterbone at the back of his mind calling him a chickenshit.
At the far end of the cabin, another door opened and then came a crash.
Shit. He ran into the study and flipped on the light.
The closet door was open and a box of files had fallen to the floor.
The girl was gone.
Kyle turned over the box and put the files back in. From one folder, a yellow newspaper clipping fell to the floor. He picked it up and saw a familiar high school portrait of a teenage girl with black braids. Kyle’s heart nearly stopped. The headline read, Missing Cree Girl’s Body Found Floating in Lake Akwâkopiy. The file was full of clippings of articles about sixteen-year-old Nina Whitefeather, who had been murdered over twenty years ago.
“Holy shit.” Nina used to babysit him, Eric and Shawna. Nina cooked meals with their mother and read bedtime stories to the kids. Then came the dark period after Nina went missing. Their babysitter had been found dead months later, but Kyle never knew the details because the adults had kept silent. Even in Hagen’s Cove, where rumors spread like wildfire, no one had talked about Nina Whitefeather’s death.
Kyle opened the folder and read one of the articles. Nina had been raped and lacerated with multiple knife wounds. A riot between the Cree tribe and the loggers had followed, as the two opposing sides blamed the other for the girl’s death. A photo depicted Cree men and women picketing Thorpe’s Lumber Mill. Inspector Zano, an RCMP detective working the case, said that he would question every male living within fifty miles of Lake Akwâkopiy until he found Nina’s killer. The articles about her in later newspapers got smaller and smaller, and Inspector Zano’s quotes lacked the conviction of the first month. Eventually, the picketing stopped. A final article, dated two years after the murder, stated that the Whitefeather case had finally gone cold. Zano believed Nina’s killer was a drifter who had passed through Hagen’s Cove, and kept going.
According to Carl Hanson, dozens of women had vanished in the woods around this lake since the 1950s. Carl had suspected a serial killer. Canada’s Bermuda Triangle.
Was Nina’s death related?
Kyle suddenly had a disturbing thought. What if his father killed Nina?
No way.
Winterbone was in Kyle’s head again. Are you sure? the detective challenged. How well do you know him really? You’ve only seen him a few times in twenty years.
Kyle had to admit, Professor Jon Elkheart was an enigma—a heavy drinker, notorious for disappearing for months at a time, but he was also a dedicated archaeologist, author of a number of related books, and wildly popular with his students, who followed his doings on social media like he was the second coming. When he was posting, anyway, which he hadn’t in a while. He’d gotten fired a few years back for sleeping with one of his students, who was nineteen—not his finest hour. Now a more recent student, Amy Hanson, had vanished along with Elkheart and possibly an entire expedition team.
If Elkheart wasn’t guilty, why had Nina Whitefeather’s ghost led Kyle to this box in his father’s closet? There has to be another explanation.
Kyle thought it was odd that his father had held on to the clippings about Nina’s murder for so many years, but then not really. Nina was practically family. Elkheart had never gotten over her death.
Kyle had almost convinced himself of his father’s innocence when he remembered something Jessica had said earlier. It was after Wynona Thorpe had accosted her at the tavern. His father’s ex-girlfriend had warned Jessica to stay away from the reservation. Then Wynona said something that had stuck at the back of Kyle’s mind.
The sins of the father shall fall upon the sons.
Chapter Ten
Kyle woke to a strange noise. He sat up in his bedroll. Still dark outside, the forest black against the pale moonlight. The den was a sepulcher of shadows. The logs in the fireplace had burned to ash. The room was cold now. A chill passed across his bare back like the stroke of icy fingers. Kyle shivered. Rubbed his face.
He thought of Nina Whitefeather’s ghost. Had he imagined her?
Clump-scraaaape.
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He started at the sound. It came from his father’s study. A door creaked open.
Clump-scraaaape. The noise echoed down the dark hallway.
“Who’s there?” he whispered, hoping Shawna or Zack would respond.
Nails dragged across a wall.
“Nina?”
The scraping stopped at the edge of the hallway. An outline of a jagged head formed out of the darkness and slowly turned toward him, twisting at an impossible angle. Bones cracked. A shaft of moonlight from a window slashed across a mouth with shredded lips. The pale face split into a glistening red grimace. “Kyyyllle,” a woman’s raspy voice gurgled.
His wife’s hunched silhouette scurried across the room, reaching for Kyle. He snapped his eyes shut. Christ, she’s followed me here.
Are you sure it wasn’t just another nightmare? asked Detective Winterbone. Kyle had a vision of the private eye sitting behind his desk in an office filled with antique books.
No, I can feel Stephanie’s presence, just like at my apartment. She’s come back for revenge.
A vengeful ghost is the worst kind. Winterbone scribbled on a notepad. We’ll have to take extreme measures to protect you.
Can you stop her?
I’ll do my best. But we’ll have to work this case from the inside out.
How so?
Detective Winterbone leaned forward. Your wife’s spirit has somehow gotten inside you, like a virus. She’s haunting the halls of your psyche. Where you go, she goes.
The image of Detective Winterbone evaporated and Kyle woke up in the cabin’s den. He lay in his sleeping bag, staring at the dark ceiling. He rubbed his face. Another crazy dream.
From the hall bathroom came the sound of spraying water. A few moments later, it stopped and somebody stepped out of the shower.
Chaser stirred in the corner when he heard that people were finally moving about. The wounded Rottweiler padded over to the sofa bed, licked Kyle’s palm.
“Morning, fur face.” He scratched the dog behind the ears. “I bet you miss Lindsey and Carl.”
Chaser whimpered.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back to them.”
Beside Kyle, Eric grumbled and rolled flat on his back. His mouth open, he continued his drunken slumber with one elbow across his forehead.
Still groggy, Kyle zipped up his bedroll and tried to sleep a little longer.
Kyle heard the bathroom door open and feet tramp across the wood floor. Wearing only a towel, Jessica came into the den.
Chaser limped toward her, and she stopped and petted him. “Good morning, boy,” she said with a voice too cheery for morning. “You’ve been scratching at your bandages, haven’t you? No worries, I’ll patch you up.” Jessica sauntered past Kyle’s bed. “Aren’t we the late sleeper? Plan to snooze all day?”
He looked at his watch. “It’s five thirty.”
“I know. I love getting up before dawn.” Jessica looked over her shoulder at him. Her wet hair appeared almost black. The wavy strands hung freely down her back. Her towel barely covered her slender legs.
Kyle had a vision of what the rest of her might look like beneath that towel and felt himself getting an erection. Thankfully, he was sealed up in his sleeping bag. He looked away, concentrating on anything that would hold fantasies at bay. He tried hard not to watch as Jessica walked around the room with only a towel concealing her slender frame. She stopped at the loft’s circular stairway, held the towel in a knot at her chest. “Care to join me on the balcony to watch the sunrise?”
“I would, uh…but Ray and I are headed out this morning.”
“Maybe tomorrow then.” Jessica smiled and then climbed up to the loft to get dressed.
Fully awake now, Kyle jumped down and did thirty pushups. It wasn’t enough to work down his arousal, though. He considered a cold shower, but Grandfather got to the bathroom first. Kyle put on a pair of cargo shorts, a T-shirt and hiking shoes. In the kitchen, he made a banana protein smoothie with a dash of wheat grass and raw chocolate, packing it in a canister for the hike. He peered out the window above the sink. Outside, the dark of night was starting to shift into a gray-green morning haze. He searched the forest for Nina Whitefeather’s ghost, but saw only birds.
Kyle fried up sausage and eggs for the early risers. Chaser followed him everywhere he went. He tossed the dog a few strips of sausage. On the floor beside the fridge were a couple of dog bowls. Kyle’s father had a German Shepherd named Scout. Dad must have taken the dog with him.
“Chaser, let’s see if we can find you something to eat.” Kyle searched the pantry and found a bag of Dog Chow. “Ah, you’re in luck, boy.” He filled the dog bowls with food and water and let Chaser take it from there.
As Kyle was setting the table, Ray came up the back steps and entered the cabin through the den. “Top of the morning. Mmm, something smells delish.”
“The usual grub.” Kyle poured Ray a cup of coffee. “Are your dogs going with us?”
“Nah, I left ’em back at the house where they’ll stay out of trouble. How’s your arm?”
“Feeling better. Thanks to Doc, here.”
Jessica came down fully dressed. “G’day, Ray.”
He gave her a sideways hug. “Mornin’.”
Even in the early morning, Jessica looked radiant. Kyle poured her some coffee. “Want some brekkie?” he asked, using the Australian word for breakfast.
“What’ve you got?”
“Bangers and eggs.”
“Definitely save me some,” she said. “I want to catch the sunrise over the mountains.” Taking her coffee mug, Jessica hurried up the back staircase.
Ray watched her, shaking his head. “She sure is a pretty little thing. Your brother’s a lucky man.”
My brother’s an idiot. Kyle unfolded a topography map of the five thousand acres that made up the Cree reservation. “I found this in Dad’s study.”
Ray sat down with a plate of fried eggs and sausage. “That’s a lot of territory to cover. It’d take years to walk the whole property.”
“We’re only going to hike to a few campsites where Dad and I used to camp. Most are within a two-mile radius of the compound.” He circled four Xs along a network of trails. “If Dad’s still on Cree land, there’s a good chance he’ll be at one of these spots.”
“Then we’ll search each of them. I’d like to find your father myself. He owes me two hundred dollars.”
Kyle looked across the table at his cousin. “Do you remember Nina Whitefeather’s murder several years ago?”
“Of course.” His eyes went somber as he chewed. “It was a damned tragedy what happened to that poor girl. Why do you ask?”
Kyle gave him the file of newspaper clippings. “Last night I found this in Dad’s closet.”
Ray opened the folder and skimmed the top article. “Man, I haven’t thought about this in ages.”
“Why would Dad collect these articles?”
“I wasn’t aware that he had. Your father and I were close, but he kept a lot of things to himself.”
“What do you remember about his relationship with Nina?”
Ray stopped chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I remember she used to spend a lot of time at your house, babysitting you kids. Your father treated her like his own daughter. He was crushed when she was murdered. As a tribe, we were all outraged. We followed the news, hoping her killer would be found. Months past, then a year. The rest of us gave up, but not your father. He grew obsessed with trying to find answers that would solve the Whitefeather case. He visited the lake cove where her body was found. He badgered the police, read every report he could get his hands on. It took him a few years to get over Nina’s death, but he finally let it go.”
Kyle nodded, feeling guilty for thinking that his father could have been her killer. He folded the topography map. “Come on. Let’s get a move on before the day gets too hot.”
* * *
As the sun rose over the mountains, Kyl
e and Ray hiked in silence through the woods along twin trails that had been made by tires. When he was a boy, the Cree men and their sons used to pile into Jeeps and trucks and drive down this dirt road to go deer hunting. While Elkheart drove Big Red, Kyle and his brother and a couple cousins would sit crammed together in the back, holding their deer rifles. No one spoke the whole ride. Kyle remembered the grind of the Ford Bronco’s engine and the sound of tires rolling over rocks. His father’s eyes would always peer into the rearview mirror and give Kyle a look that he interpreted as pride. Being back here in the woods where they had connected through hunting and camping made Kyle want to find his father all the more.
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