It bothered me that a person as intense, full of life, and dedicated to his job as Oliver could be dismissed so quickly in death. Trooper Graham had no time to try and find his killer; his sister couldn’t spare another hour to talk about his life; Victor couldn’t wait to clear out his things and take over. None of the three had said they’d miss him; none had expressed any emotion at his violent death.
I knew I had no right to judge how others responded to death or to any traumatic event. When it came down to it, I was the one whose last words to Oliver had sent him storming out the door of the diner. I hadn’t killed him, but had I in any way contributed to his murder? If he hadn’t felt the need to get away from me, would he still be alive? If I’d suggested we sit down for a cup of coffee and talk over our differences, would he be at home watching TV right now, or out with Gert, instead of on a cold table in Doc Sherman’s basement lab?
I needed to get home to Benny. I needed perspective, forgiveness. I needed motivation to find Oliver’s murderer, for myself as well as for justice for him. It was a big job for an orange tabby, but I knew he was up to the task.
* * *
* * *
My car was still warm when I stepped into it, reminding me of the peaceful time by Lake Eklutna. Sunlight was long gone and the roads were slippery. More than once I swerved and had to pull over to find traction. Most of the shops along Main Street were shut tight for the night. Only old Lucas was still at the ready, on his porch, hoping to snatch his last tourist sale.
I was glad to pull into my driveway, and really glad to open the door to a waiting Benny, who immediately wrapped himself around my ankles.
I tossed my briefcase in the front hall, then leaned forward and lifted Benny onto my shoulder, one of his favorite positions (as I could tell by his lilting meow), and carried him to the chair by his feeder.
“I hope you’re in a good mood, Mr. Eggs Benedict, because I have long list of things to throw at you.”
Benny never refused me. He nestled on my lap and perked up his ears. I let loose.
What a difference, talking to Benny about all the things that were bothering me about the last day and a half. I organized my thoughts and managed to suspect everyone of being Oliver’s killer, from his sister to the guy who claimed to be his brother to his well-built girlfriend. Only Chris escaped the list. And me, but I couldn’t let go of the fact that I might still be on Trooper’s list. The sooner we knew who had killed Oliver, the sooner I’d be able to sleep well.
Except that I seemed to have fallen asleep while constructing my suspect list, because the next thing I heard after my cat’s purring was the ring of my cell phone. I’d left the volume on, anticipating a call from my mom or Trooper. I was treated to a few bars of generic guitar strumming. I was never happy with my ringtone and changed it up every week or so. Chimes, waves, keys, popcorn, ripples. I’d cycled through them all. The old-fashioned dial tone seemed the least startling of them.
“Charlie!”
An excited Annie on my speakerphone. I’d forgotten all about needing to call her. I patted my thigh, which always summoned Benny, ready for a scratch on his cheeks or a tickle under his chin. How convenient that cell phones allowed for hands-free conversation.
“I’m so sorry I was out of reach for a while today, Annie. Is everything okay?”
“Victor didn’t tell you?”
“Not much. He thought there was something the matter with Pierre?”
“There is. I mean, there was, and I thought Victor would have told you and you’d be worried, but he didn’t, so you weren’t, and you don’t have to be.”
Typical Annie talk, especially when she was, or had been, or was about to be in a frenzy.
“I’m glad. I think.”
“Yes, we’re all relieved. He didn’t come back from the hike with the rest of the group from the bus. I was worried sick. But he just wandered off to get some different kind of photos and got lost.”
As much as I was aware that Annie had a soft spot, or whatever it was called these days, for Pierre, I also knew that she’d have been equally concerned about anyone who didn’t return from a day of touring. She was an all-purpose good guy, the ultimate sympathizer and empathizer.
She continued her recounting of Pierre’s adventure. “You know how those trails can quickly become impassable or just so confusing. So, by the time he figured out he was lost, the bus was gone. Though I don’t know why Beth wouldn’t have done a head count? Except, of course, technically he’s not part of her group, and he ended up hitchhiking all the way back and it took more than one ride to get him here, but now he’s safe and sound.”
I was having a hard time mustering sympathy for Pierre—he hadn’t been murdered, after all, or even injured, as far as I could tell—but I wanted to sound interested, for Annie’s sake. “Did he get them?”
“Did he get what?”
“The photos.”
“Oh, yes. He showed me some incredible shots that we will be seeing in the magazine. They’re on his phone. We can show you tomorrow.”
A sign of the times that Pierre used his phone for photographs commissioned for a magazine. No more two-pounder strapped around the neck, plus a load of supplies and peripherals. I remembered how my ex—what was his name?—had outfitted himself when we were on vacation. I shook away that memory.
“I’m glad it all worked out.” I started to give Annie a review of my day in Anchorage, but it was clear that she hadn’t yet come down from the up, or up from the down, of her own day. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Will you be needing breakfast for everyone?”
“We will. We all understand that you might not have everything you usually have. No problem.”
“Thanks, Annie. Have a good evening.”
“Oh, I will.”
We giggled as we might have in the sixth grade. I didn’t mind revisiting that memory at all.
NINE
Victor’s friend Rachel came in to the Bear Claw with him and Nina early on Wednesday morning. Women like Rachel made me feel old, beyond my thirty-three years, in wardrobe years anyway. She was wearing a top with cutouts everywhere, as if she’d been mugged on the way in, the villain snipping off parts of the sleeves, elbows, and back of her shirt, and then shortening the garment to within an inch of her navel.
She’d met Victor in culinary classes in Los Angeles, she said, and admitted that neither of them had the desire to complete the program.
“I’m thinking I might relocate here. Victor’s really glad he came back home, and I know a couple of other people down around Anchorage.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
“I just flew up from LA yesterday, so not long, but Victor said you all could use some help, so I thought, might as well make myself useful.”
“I appreciate that.”
She looked around the diner, at the walls, the light fixtures, the old jukebox, seeming to take in the decor. “It’s a nice place you have here.”
In my current mental state, once I thanked her, I immediately registered that Rachel had a solid alibi for the time of Oliver’s murder. She was still in LA.
I wondered if Trooper and all the other real police officers in the world carried this burden, unable to separate themselves from whatever case they were working. I hoped not, but I had a sudden desire to send them all thank-you notes. I was all the more grateful when I considered statistics I’d read recently that our state had fewer than two hundred officers for every one hundred thousand people. It was almost enough to make me want to run for office and try to improve those odds. Almost, but not enough. I felt I could do more good helping to feed those officers.
In timely fashion, Trooper Cody Graham stopped in for his coffee and bear claw. Generally, it was left up to the particular law enforcement agency—there were more than fifty in the state—whether its personnel were permitted to accept free food or other
gifts. It was clear to me that they deserved it, so Trooper and I had an agreement, instituted by my mom, that we would run up a tab for him, to be paid in full at some later date. Those receipts were kept in a box that apparently had a false bottom, such that paper fell through to the center of the earth. Today Trooper ended up wrapping half the pastry in a napkin and taking it with him. I figured he came in just to make sure I was still alive, not killed by the same person who’d shot Oliver. He was probably on his way to check on Chris.
Victor and Rachel seemed to be reliving good old days of working together as they tossed diner jargon back and forth. Nina had quickly picked up the language when Victor first introduced her to it.
“Blonde with sand,” Nina said.
“Coffee with cream, that’s the ‘blonde’ part,” Rachel explained to the customer who ordered it.
“I get it. And sand is sugar,” said the young boy with the customer. He kicked his legs under the table to emphasize his delight. I got the idea that his schoolyard, wherever it was, would hear the line soon. “Tell me another one,” the boy said.
“In the alley,” Rachel said. “What do you think that means?”
The family all screwed up their noses, thinking.
“The food fell on the floor and it’s dirty,” from the boy.
“Never!” Rachel said.
“Leave off something. Like onions or mayo or something,” from the dad. “Like throwing it out the door into the alley.”
“Close. Sort of,” Rachel said.
“Serve it on the side,” from the mom, her hand raised, waving excitedly, leaving me to wonder if she was a grade school teacher.
“Right,” Rachel said, high-fiving everyone.
Part of me was annoyed that my staff-of-the-day could be spreading laughter and cheer while Oliver was not around to enjoy it; the other part was grateful my patrons were spared a downer of an experience at the Bear Claw.
Nina, ever the sensitive one in any group, came back to where I was sitting in a booth with my laptop. “Don’t worry, Charlie, we’ll be more sober once the sign goes up and people know that we lost one of our team.”
“Thanks, Nina,” I said, meaning for everything, grateful to hear her call Oliver part of our team.
Other than banter and jokes from the kitchen help, there wasn’t a lot of good news this morning. The weather up north was still too bad for the tour bus to continue on to Fairbanks. Many were clamoring for the Arctic Circle Tour, as promised, and as paid for. Beth did her best to appease them with more food on the house—her house, not mine.
“How about a Bear Claw Diner mug for everyone?” she offered in a cheery voice, to a mixed reaction. My feelings were only slightly hurt at the few boos I heard.
It wasn’t the first time a tour guide had had to make an adjustment to the schedule because of inclement weather. There were warnings in every brochure I’d ever seen. It was Alaska, after all.
The roads were still okay and the weather a little milder near Talkeetna than they were closer to Fairbanks. I wondered if Beth had listed a zip line ride, a Talkeetna favorite, among the options. I couldn’t imagine a better way to immerse oneself in the beauty of Alaska than cruising in the treetops with zips, suspension bridges, rappels, and platforms set up for the most breathtaking views. But some tour guides were themselves fearful of heights and demanding physical maneuvers in the three-hour excursion and were just as happy not bringing it up.
Another piece of bad news came from the mechanic, the only one in Elkview, who was having trouble getting the part for Pierre’s rental car.
“Poor Pierre,” Annie said, making her way to my booth. “If Max had been honest to begin with, he probably would have just abandoned the car and taken a flight up to the northern lights. But he’s making the best of it, hiking around here, even though yesterday must have been harrowing. Getting lost and all.”
“Do I hear my name?” Pierre himself had arrived, this time not having waited for the bus group but having taken a ride over from the inn with Annie.
“I may do a kayak trip today,” he said. “These travel magazines will take anything from Alaska. It’s so different from, what do you call them, the lower forty-eight?”
“I offered to go on a short hike with him,” Annie said. “I think he’d like the Byers Lake area, so we’ll see.”
I tried not to imagine Annie’s hoping Max would withhold the needed automotive part, keeping Pierre around longer. I was happy to notice an increase in the level of his interest in her. Maybe she’d be booking a European flight after all.
Things started to look up when my phone rang and I checked the screen.
“Mom! Are you in our time zone?”
She laughed. “I think so, sweetie. Everything’s in English, so that’s a good sign. I’m in LA and I’m booked on a flight with a stop in Seattle. I get into Anchorage a little after ten o’clock tonight.”
“I can hardly wait. I’ll hold up a sign.” I was finally in a cheerful mood.
“It’ll be so late, though. I thought I could get a hotel in Anchorage and you can pick me up in the morning.”
“What? No way. First, Benny won’t stand for it.”
“I hate to think of you making that drive so late.”
I thought it best not to tell her I’d already made the drive yesterday. “I’ll be there tonight, Mom. Just give me your flight number.”
“Well, okay. I guess it’s either late tonight or we’ll be driving up there at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning. I want to be sure to be on time for Oliver’s service. I’m not sure when it starts? Otherwise I’d try harder to talk you out of it.”
I sat up straighter. “What service?
“Kendra sent me a message this morning. I thought she would have sent you one, but I guess since she doesn’t know you, she figured I’d pass it on.”
It was all I could do not to tell my mom that Kendra did know me, well enough to skip out on me.
“I’m going to sign off, sweetie. We can talk more about it on the way home. Maybe you have an email with the details of the service. Right now, I’m starving for some real food, and a nap if I can find a comfortable chair. I’ll see you tonight, then? Maybe we can go to your place so—”
“So you can see Benny. Of course. He’d claw me to death if I kept you apart.”
I must have set a record for the world’s fastest turnaround time between hanging up on one call and making another. Then another.
First, I clicked on Trooper’s number. “Isn’t there some kind of law about when you can bury a person who’s been murdered? Don’t you have to wait until all the evidence is collected and someone identifies—?”
“Slow down, Charlie. What’s up?”
Since there were still a few stragglers who’d begged out of the kayak trip—in the end, to Annie’s chagrin, Pierre had left with the bus group—I did my best to keep my voice down. I told Trooper my mom’s news. “Isn’t this kind of fast? Did you know about it? Did you have to approve it?”
“Let’s see if I have all your answers straight. That would be yes, yes, yes, and yes. Though I may have missed one.”
“Very funny.” I blew out a breath. “Here are a couple more. Have you solved Oliver’s murder? Is the killer in jail right now?” I used my best whisper for these last two questions. Take that, Troop!
“Are you upset that you weren’t included in the arrangements?”
“I wasn’t even included in the announcement. I had to hear it from my mom, who’s about four thousand miles away.”
“But you can still go to the service. It’s not till tomorrow morning.”
“That’s not the point. Whose side are you on? It would have been nice if our staff here could have participated. We could have ordered flowers.”
Even I knew that was pretty weak. It was all I could do not to hang up on Trooper. But
he didn’t need to see the often ill-tempered teen he’d nursed through adolescence. And whom he’d recently come within inches of treating as a murder suspect, probably for that very reason.
“Are you going to be at the Bear Claw for the next hour or so?”
“Yes and yes, to quote you.”
“Why don’t I come by?”
Now I really felt silly, blowing a slight from a veritable stranger out of proportion. Nothing says “grown-up” like keeping a state trooper from two serious investigations over a minor affront. “That’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’m going to pick my mom up tonight.”
Trooper would know what I meant: that Mom would make everything all right.
“I’ll get over to you as soon as I can, I promise.”
My “thanks” was tentative and loaded with guilt. I checked my email in case Kendra had contacted me in the last five minutes. Nothing.
It was now close to ten o’clock in the morning, and time for the second phone call. Maybe I could transfer a load of that shame onto someone else.
“Hi, Charlie.” Chris’s voice. Hesitant. Sheepish. As if he’d neglected to warn me about an impending ice breakup on Talkeetna Lake. “I was picking up the phone to call you.”
“Did you know?”
“Too late, huh? I found out a few minutes ago, when I got in. The obit was in my in-box.”
My email provider checked for new input every ten minutes, but I clicked on GET MAIL again manually anyway. Still nothing. I took a breath. No one was to blame for this turn of events except me. I was overreacting to an oversight.
“The important thing is to make sure everyone who mattered to Oliver knows about the service,” I told Chris. “Can you tell me when and where? My mom is coming in tonight, and I’d like to be able to tell her right away.”
“Is she coming into ANC? I can drive you.”
“It’s late. Ten something. I have to check the flight number.”
“I’d like to take you.”
While I considered my response, an uproar rose from the kitchen. A hose from the faucet had gotten loose and was spraying anyone and anything around it. Items on the open wire shelving were the most vulnerable—jugs of oil, loaves of bread, packages of beans and rice. The narrow, forceful beam of water traveled high and low and side to side. It was a sitcom writer’s dream scene.
Mousse and Murder Page 9