But Savannah wasn’t hearing him. She was shining her light inside the casket, preparing herself to see the remains of Edith’s beloved sister, who had died of cancer six months past.
Savannah could hardly breathe as she listened to her own pulse pounding in her ears.
There was, indeed, a corpse inside, but it wasn’t Mary Beth Yager.
It wasn’t Natasha Van Cleef.
It was the body of an enormous husky.
Chapter 31
“What the hell do we do now?” Dirk asked when they were, once again, outside the storage building.
“I think you need to make a phone call to Sergeant Bodin. Tell him what’s in there.”
“Tell him we broke in, you mean.”
“Broke in?” Savannah picked up the shattered lock from the ground and hurled it into the bushes. “Who had to break in?”
“I pried open a coffin.”
“You lifted a lid and looked inside. Semantics, big boy. Choose your words judiciously, and ditch that tire iron before he gets here.”
“Then you call him, Miss Smartie Pants, since I don’t know how to talk to people.”
But Savannah was looking around, beyond the cemetery, through the trees, deep into the nearby forest.
Fortunately, the moon had come out from behind the clouds and was flooding the cemetery and its surroundings with silver light.
But it wasn’t silver light she was looking for. It was golden light.
“You make the call, huh, sugar?” she said. “I’ve got something to do.”
“What?” He looked moderately alarmed. “What next? Haven’t we had enough creepy excitement for one night?”
“Tell Sergeant Bodin to come on out here now. We might have something else to show him.”
“Something besides a dead husky in a human being’s coffin?”
“Yes,” she mumbled absentmindedly as she walked away from him, heading toward the back of the cemetery and the beginning of a small path.
“Don’t go out there in the dark by yourself,” he called after her. “Savannah, come back here.”
But she didn’t hear his warning, didn’t hear him following her, talking on his phone.
She was focused on what she was pretty sure was the glow of a chimney top ahead, through the trees. Sparks floating upward on a cloud of smoke.
“Ah, that I had a humble cottage,” she whispered as she neared what turned out to be, indeed, a lovely little log cabin, tucked among the trees, and beyond it, a charming, moonlit meadow.
Golden lantern light, man-made light, illuminated the cabin’s few windows. Occasionally, a shadow crossed one of them.
Someone was home.
Dirk ended his brief phone conversation and hurried to her side. “What’s going on, Van?” he asked, sounding worried.
“I need to have a conversation with the person inside that cabin. Now.”
“Okay—are you going to tell me why, or am I just supposed to guess?”
“I need you to wait out here, darlin’.”
“Wait? Why?”
“Because this is something I want to do myself. I need to.”
“What if you need help?”
“I’ll holler.”
She passed in front of him and made her way quickly but quietly up to the door of the cabin. She tried the knob, thinking that maybe . . . just maybe . . .
It was unlocked.
Slowly she pushed it open and stepped inside.
A woman stood at a cast iron woodstove, stirring a pot of something that smelled divine, its aroma mingling with the scent of home-baked bread.
Her long silver curls were pulled back in a ponytail. She wore old, baggy jeans and a man’s wool shirt. On her feet were beaded, leather moccasins.
When she turned from the stove, she saw Savannah and dropped her wooden spoon.
“Hello, Natasha,” Savannah said.
“How?” The woman leaned against a counter, as though unable to stand without support. “How did you find me?” she asked, her face a study in defeat.
Savannah gave her a sad smile. “Ah, that I had a humble cottage near such a place,” she recited. “Perhaps there I, a still living being, could rest as they do. The perfect and complete rest of the dead.”
Savannah paused and then added, “From a novel called The Deepest Sleep, by Natasha Van Cleef—one of my favorite books. I believe you’re familiar with it.”
Finally, Natasha found her voice. “I wish you weren’t. How many times have you read it?”
“Five, I believe.”
“That’s four times more than I have.”
“That’s too bad. It’s a good book. Well worth rereading.”
Natasha pointed to a fully stocked bookcase. The top shelf was lined with her own novels. “Would you believe that was one of the things I was looking forward to most? Getting to read all the stuff I’ve written over the years. Also, to have time to read the classics again and see how much more meaningful they are now than when they were a professor’s required reading.”
“Now you’ll have to read them in a jail cell. That’s sad. But not as sad as what you and Edith did to your husband.”
“He deserved it.”
“He would probably disagree with you. If you hadn’t shot him full of a lethal drug and then burned his body to a crisp.”
“He didn’t feel a thing. That’s more compassion than he deserved, the filthy, rotten womanizer.”
“He was having an affair with Olive?”
“She was just one of many. But he was going to actually leave me for her. You met her. She’s an idiot, but then he always did like them stupid. They made him feel smarter. I wanted to retire, live out the rest of my life in peace. Do you think I’d divide the fortune that I alone made with a man like that?”
“Guess not.”
“Damn right.”
“Why Edith?”
Natasha reached down and picked up the wooden spoon from the floor. She tossed it into the sink. “Edith loves me. I don’t know why. From the moment we first corresponded, she considered me some kind of soul sister. It was actually her idea.”
“Not the whole thing. I recognize a Natasha Van Cleef plot when I see one.”
“No, not the whole thing. The part about using her sister’s body was Edith’s. She said Mary Beth wouldn’t mind, that she’d wanted to be cremated anyway, but there’s no crematorium nearby.”
“Switching the dental records?”
“That was her, too. She used to work for a courier service. But you probably already know that now.”
“Yes. I do.” Savannah searched her favorite author’s eyes, trying to see into the soul of the woman she’d thought she knew so well from her writing. “I understand why and how you set up Olive. But what I don’t understand is how you could frame a woman like Edith, who was so loyal to you. Misguided loyalty, no doubt, but a devoted friend, nevertheless.”
On unsteady legs, Natasha walked over to a chair and sank down upon it. She looked old and so very tired, Savannah thought. Not at all like the vibrant woman who sat under her wisteria arbor and pretended to be terrified. Not like the author putting on makeup in her ship suite, getting ready for her adoring fans.
“I didn’t intend to frame Edith in the beginning. It never crossed my mind, until I could see you were getting close. Much too close.”
“That’s when you put the copies of the threatening letters in Edith’s trailer.”
“Yes. I did it that day when you came to visit her, while you were there and she was outside talking to you.”
“You’re all heart,” Savannah said coldly.
“I used to be. People change. Usually not for the best.” She stared down at her hands, now void of rings or nail polish. The hands, not of a busy celebrity, but of a simple woman leading a simple life.
But hands that committed murder, Savannah reminded herself.
“Did you inject your husband yourself, Natasha?” Savannah asked, her face grim. �
�Or did you have Edith do it?”
“I did it myself. He was my problem, mine to deal with.”
“Was she there when you did it? Did she help?”
Natasha looked down at the floor, and for the first time looked as though she felt a bit guilty. “I’d rather not say. Let’s just assume that she had very little to do with any of it. The actual killing anyway.”
“Why did you hire me?” Savannah wanted to know. “If you’re going to murder your husband, why on earth would you take a full detective agency along with you? Didn’t you think we’d figure it out?”
Natasha laughed, but the sound was bitter. “I was afraid that these knucklehead troopers wouldn’t see that it was murder.”
“Because you wanted them to know it was homicide, but think Olive did it. You weren’t happy with just killing your husband; you had to get the other woman, too.”
“Wouldn’t you want to kill your husband if he was unfaithful, if he made a fool of you?”
“Probably. I’d fantasize about it, but I wouldn’t actually do it.”
“I’m a woman of action. I’ve always worked hard to make my dreams come true.”
“This dream was more of a nightmare.”
“It’s certainly turning out to be. Thanks to you. I really didn’t think you’d find out about Edith. I thought you’d stop at Olive.”
“Then you should have hired a different detective. I work hard to reach my goals, too.”
Natasha gave Savannah a genuine smile, and for a moment something akin to camaraderie passed between the women. “Maybe I wanted a worthy adversary,” Natasha said. “I’ve been writing about cops and private detectives for years. You’re both rolled into one. Maybe I wanted to see if I was as good as the real thing.”
Natasha glanced over to the nearest window and added, “Your husband has been watching us out there since you came inside. You might as well invite him in. It’s cold out there.”
Savannah looked out the window and, sure enough, there was Dirk, with his nose pressed to the glass. She motioned him to come in.
“How long until the troopers arrive?” Natasha asked.
“Anytime now. By the way, you grossly underestimated the Alaska State Troopers. They’re a million miles away from ‘knuckleheads.’ If you hadn’t brought me along on the trip, they absolutely would have figured out it was murder. And sooner or later, they’d have nailed you.”
“Then I was doomed either way,” Natasha said, looking like she wanted to be in that neighboring cemetery, sleeping the deepest sleep.
“You were doomed,” Savannah told her, “the moment you decided to take the life of another human being, Natasha. We make choices. We have to live with the consequences. You’ll probably be in jail for the rest of your life, and you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself.”
* * *
The next morning, the Moonlight gang and guests, Olive and Patricia, sat at the picnic tables, consuming yet another mountain of goodies.
The food was good, the morning air crisp and fresh, some killers had been caught, and everyone’s mood was considerably lighter.
Except Granny’s.
Granny began to complain. “I can’t believe that you let us just sleep through all the excitement,” she said. “I would’ve given an arm and a leg to have been there and seen the look on that awful Natasha’s face when she turned around and saw you standing there.”
Savannah smiled. “It was one of the more satisfying moments of my professional careers, I must admit. She was quite smug, that one, thinking she could manipulate us into busting the wrong person.”
“Now that the case is solved and Natasha and Edith are in custody,” Patricia said, “I suppose we can leave this place and go back home, as long as we return for the trial, of course.”
“Go home how?” Olive said. “Hop on a whale as it swims by?”
Savannah and Dirk grinned at each other. Dirk winked at her, though it was difficult with his still swollen and black eye.
“Should we tell them?” Savannah asked him, looking around the table at her family and friends.
“Sure. Go ahead. There’s no time like the present to share a little good news.”
“What good news?” Dora asked. “Did you find a good deal on a boat to take us to Ketchikan?”
“Or you just discovered a heliport nearby?” John suggested with a grin.
“The Alaska State Troopers are going to give us an escort out?” Richard offered.
Savannah held up her phone. “It just so happens that I received a very special phone call this morning. One that has lovely implications for all of us.”
Instantly, the chattering along the tables hushed. It was so quiet they could hear the bear snoring on the nearby porch.
“It was the cruise line. Apparently, we made this morning’s national news, and it was reported that they threw a pregnant woman and elderly lady off the ship. Then that mother-to-be and senior citizen helped solve the murder of one of their passengers. They’d like to make it up to us.”
“Make it up to us? Make it up to us?” Tammy began bouncing on her seat.
“They are most welcome to make it up to us!” John said. “That sounds perfectly lovely!”
“As long as they don’t charge us for whatever it is,” Dora added.
Savannah laughed. “Another ship, the Northern Lights, will be docking this afternoon at four p.m., and they said it would be their pleasure to welcome us all aboard, so that we can resume our cruising adventure. They said they would provide us with . . .”
The rest of Savannah’s news was lost in the tumult of cheers, screams of joy, raucous shouts, and even a baritone duet from Ryan and John. As a result, they didn’t hear that they would be receiving staterooms with private balconies or that they were invited to dine at the captain’s table that very evening.
The pandemonium continued until Tammy spotted a large pickup truck pulling in front of the motel office. On the truck’s door was the logo for Alaska Fish and Game.
“Hey, everybody,” Tammy shouted. “Quiet! I’ve got a little surprise of my own. We aren’t the only ones getting sprung from this joint today. Watch.”
Two rangers, a male and a female, stepped out of the truck and walked up the motel office steps. They paused near the bear for a long time, looking him over, obviously discussing him.
They started to open the door, but before they could, the innkeeper stepped outside. He was wearing the same dirty khakis, still unzipped, and dingy undershirt.
When Savannah noticed the woman ranger recoil from him in horror, she chuckled, thinking how she, herself, had reacted when she’d caught a sniff of him.
A heated argument continued for quite a while. But in the end, the bear’s owner retreated angrily into his office and left the rangers to get on with their mission of relocating the bear.
The gang gathered nearby and offered their help, which the rangers gladly accepted, when the bear was tranquilized and needed to be loaded into the truck.
“You’re going to take him far away, right?” Tammy said, once she had been identified as the person who had called and asked the state to intervene on the animal’s behalf.
“Very far away. We have to,” the female ranger said. “He’s far too familiar with humans and would go to them for food the first chance he got. We’ll make sure he’s relocated well away from people and will remain so.”
“You did a good thing, Miss Hart,” the other ranger replied. “This bear will get to be a bear again, instead of that jerk’s circus performer. Thank you.”
Tammy leaned down and petted the unconscious animal’s ears, then lovingly stroked his face. “You have a good time wherever you’re going,” she told him. “Find a pretty girl bear and have some sweet little cubs.”
As the rangers drove away with their sleeping cargo, Tammy stood, tears streaming down her pretty face.
“What’s the matter, sugar?” Waycross said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I thought you’d b
e happy seeing him on his way to freedom.”
“I am. But I’m just imagining the sugar and caffeine withdrawal he’s going to have. Poor boy. It’s a crime what was done to him.”
Dirk leaned over and whispered in Savannah’s ear, “Women and their hormones. Good grief. She’s bawling ’cause that bear’s goin’ on a diet.”
“These are the fun days. Wait till the postpartum blues hit. Then the terrible twos and potty training. You’re gonna have to hide in your man cave until the kid starts kindergarten.”
Chapter 32
“Wow! Dinner at the captain’s table is wonderful!” Tammy whispered in Savannah’s ear as yet another amazing course was set in front of them, a halibut medallion in a lime-crabmeat beurre blanc.
“This fish is the best I’ve ever had,” Granny announced. “Better than the fresh-caught catfish that Sketter Malden serves at her summer shindigs down by the river.” She took another bite and rolled her eyes. “I sure wish I knew the recipe for this white gravy that’s on it. I never ate gravy this good in my life.”
“John makes beurre blanc,” Ryan told her. “He’ll show you how sometime if you like.”
Savannah wished the evening could go on forever. To go from stress, worry, and sleeping curled up in the back of an old Bronco, to dining in high style on a ship even more luxurious than the Arctic Queen—she was in heaven.
Captain Mitchell was now in an animated conversation with an actress sitting to his right. But before he had been gracious and attentive as they regaled the table with a much abbreviated and sanitized account of the case they had solved. He seemed anxious to leave them with an excellent opinion of the cruise line.
Savannah could have told him that he didn’t need to try so hard. She would be delighted to just live at sea if she were allowed.
Across the table from her sat her long-suffering hubby with his black eye. When asked by the other guests how he’d received it, he had looked at her, grinned, and said, “Spider attack.”
He had received a ton of sympathy, and her reputation as a basically sane woman had remained intact.
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