by Karen Harper
“Forensics found a strange clue on some old paper wrapping for some of the jewelry. It listed a long defunct jewelry store in Brooklyn, Michigan—second-generation jeweler dead decades ago. Damn, where did I put that? I’m drowning in the usual trivia, and each piece of it could jump up to bite me, as I never let a secretary in on these ops. Guess I’ll have to send that to you. And watch out for possible pallbearers in Star Wars masks. Weirder and weirder.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get back to you soon.”
“Take good care of your partner in arms. Make sure you can trust her.”
* * *
The so-called Union Room at the sawmill was at the rear of the sprawling building. The sawmill itself lay silent as if in mourning too, but family, staff and outsiders were gathering for the funeral service.
“Quite a few cars,” Meg observed as Bryce drove her truck in and parked. “But Lloyd was the owner here and a hometown Wasilla boy, so obviously well-known. Yet no one seems to know who financed his flying lessons, plane or runway. Let’s do a lot of eavesdropping here today.”
“It scares me that you and the Big Man are starting to think alike.”
She glanced out into the blinding snow behind the mill toward the dramatic rise of the mountains. She was pretty sure she could see where the private runway lay, a little less snow on it than elsewhere, though the sharp winds in this open area were slowly shifting that.
They went inside and left their coats on a rack with others. The room beyond looked quite plain. It was filled with rows of chairs and a speaker’s dais in front. Several tables set around the side walls displayed large photos of Lloyd and his wife, other pictures with workers at the mill or people Meg could not identify. But none with his plane as far as she could see from here. Sad, if he’d loved flying so much, despite what had happened. She noted several shots of him with his wife and young daughter but none of Rina as an adult. Someone had brought in some swags of greenery for the bare walls, and at the door, there was a book to sign, which they did.
Meg and Bryce joined a line of people waiting to greet the family. As far as Meg could see ahead, that was just Rina and Todd. Farther inside the room, she could now see a cluster of guests chatting. Leaning to her left a bit, she saw the closed casket, and a quote about flying propped up on an easel. In large cursive writing, she could see it simply read, They shall mount up with wings like eagles.
Rina saw them first and frowned. Was she going to make a scene or ask them to leave?
She drew Meg a bit back from the reception line, and Bryce quickly followed. Todd was talking to someone, but he joined them too.
“Did you or the NTSB ask for Alaska State Troopers to search my father’s house?” she asked them, her voice low. A frown crushed her features. She looked red-eyed from crying or lack of sleep. “I know you were at the mill, inside his—our house.”
“A search warrant was not our decision,” Meg told her.
Bryce said, looking straight from her to Todd then back again, “However, you do realize that when an unmarked plane with a pilot with no registered flight plan and no ID dies in an apparent accident, it’s standard procedure to investigate.”
“As if he was accused of something,” Rina insisted, whispering, almost hissing. “They dared to take some things from the house and are promising us a list of their theft later. I’m not sure what and why. I am demanding my property—my inheritance—back now.”
Leaning slightly toward Bryce, Todd interrupted, “My father, who is a Michigan senator in DC, albeit in a different jurisdiction, is looking into this too. We’re grateful for what you did to recover Lloyd’s body, Mr. Saylor, but we demand property rights and privacy. We do not want any more of this in the papers, and several reporters have called the mayor’s house looking for us.”
Did that mean they were still at the mayor’s? Meg wondered. And if so, who had made that public knowledge? She certainly hadn’t seen them at the birthday party. Keeping her voice calm, she said, “Will you be going back to Ohio or even Michigan soon or staying to oversee things here? Leaving might help to get the media off your back, but I imagine they might then pursue you in the Midwest—Ohio or even Michigan,” she repeated, trying to drive home that she’d looked into their private lives.
Something had snagged in her mind at Todd’s revelation about his father, but it was obvious Todd and Rina had to get back to their guests, so no more pursuing that right now.
Meg said, “We should all be on the same side in this tragedy.”
Even that did not calm the waters. The Galsworths hurried back to their reception line, where the sawmill’s foreman, Rencie, was patiently waiting. Most of the crowd inside were men—no doubt sawmill staff—but there were some women too.
“The father-senator connection is interesting,” Bryce told her as he took her elbow and guided her to seats in a middle row, “though I’m not sure how or why. I’ll have to ask you-know-who if he knows Michigan Senator Galsworth or what he knows of him.”
“Technically, the VP of the United States is in charge of the senate, so he must know him or know of him.”
“There you go, making assumptions about the Big Man again.”
Meg shot him a sly smile. “I’m right, though, aren’t I?”
Bryce met her smile, but ignored the question. “Let’s just talk about the weather here, in case we’re overheard,” Bryce told her and squeezed her arm. “And speaking of that, let’s do some listening of our own. Meanwhile, look around to see if you spot that onyx ring you said Darth Sidious wore, listen for their voices—anything.”
Bryce had spent much of the morning interviewing everyone at the lodge—even Bill Getz. He had asked Getz not to tell anyone about the home invasion so the lodge would not be invaded again, by reporters and curiosity seekers this time. Getz had agreed, except for one person he had to tell—the mayor. “Look, Agent Saylor,” Bryce told her Getz had said, “I got a good deal with the mayor. He’s got me on salary, keeping an eye on things here in town, and I can’t be keeping big news about his town from him—no way!”
Despite being annoyed at that, it did explain the list of payments Bryce had found, and he said he was feeling guilty about breaking into the guy’s treasure trove of hoarded stuff, so he said he’d let that go for now, but still keep an eye on him.
At least Bryce said all their stories jibed. But they still didn’t add up to decent descriptions of the intruders, so, even here, Meg knew she needed to study apparent strangers, which she did as more people came in for the service. She felt silly, looking down at hands for rings. She did see one man with manicured nails that stood out in this crowd of big-knuckled bruisers, but that was all. That guy didn’t sound like the home invader, and the ring he wore was a plain gold wedding band.
She’d told Bryce that Darth Sidious had brown eyes, but didn’t more than half of the population? She had approximated their heights and weights for him but that was nothing distinctive either. Both masked men had been muscular, but so were three-fourths of the men in this area.
She’d been so busy today she hadn’t even looked at the Wasilla High School yearbook she’d “borrowed” from Getz, nor could she recall where she’d hidden it. Was it possible she had just tossed it on her bed?
* * *
A Wasilla minister conducted the service while Rina and Todd, as well as a few close workers and friends, occupied the front rows. Pastor Parsons praised Lloyd for remaining “a simple man,” one who loved his workplace and its people, his family, his little getaway cabin and learning to fly. The pastor read a different Bible passage from the book of Proverbs that picked up on the theme of soaring high above the clouds and flying toward heaven.
Bryce reached over to squeeze Meg’s hand. Did he think she was remembering Ryan’s plane crash? Was he thinking of his own love of flying, or of Lloyd Witlow’s crash again? Or about “the riches” the lost Confederate treasure would bring
to anyone who could get their hands on it?
Before the service, they had overheard someone say that the pastor had known Lloyd well from “way back.” There was a buzz that the deceased had come into money from somewhere. One woman behind them was certain that “His only child, Varina, finally realized she’d been wrong to run away from here and was trying to atone lately—or did she realize Daddy had come into some cash? Never did like that girl, treating her parents like that.”
“Oh, yes, and I heard Todd’s parents are well off,” another woman had responded. “His father’s an important something or other in the Midwest. Maybe Varina thought the airplane was a makeup gift and her father-in-law paid for it.”
“Interesting way to research,” Meg had whispered to Bryce in the shift to other topics behind them as they’d huddled close in the draft in the chilly room. “Maybe Rina and Todd did pay for the plane, but consider the source—hearsay. I’d rather research in a book or online, which reminds me I have a confession to make.”
“Should we ask the pastor if he’ll hear that confession?”
“Very funny.”
“That you’ve fallen crazy in love with me?”
“How can you joke at an event like this?”
“I see it as a celebration of life, not death. The guy wanted to fly and, despite catastrophe, he did. Probably he died doing what he loved, at least.”
“My confession is I took one of Getz’s items out of that hoarder’s nest, but then, so did you.”
“Mine was in his wastebasket and directly linked to who he might have been working with. What did you take?”
“A Wasilla High School yearbook, that’s all. And don’t think I won’t look up Todd’s father online, though I can’t see what that link matters even if the senator’s money, which he gifted or loaned to his son and daughter-in-law, supported Lloyd’s passion to fly.”
“I’m seeing enemies behind every tree. But I am not going to have to arrest you for sneaking that book out of Getz’s hoarding chaos. Remember even on our way out to keep your eyes peeled for anyone from the mill, from Wasilla—anyone—who might sound like or resemble the home invaders.”
“I’ve been doing that. I’m wearing down.”
“Me too.”
He reached over to take her hand. She leaned her shoulder into his. Despite the danger and the fact they were at a funeral, she was so comforted by his closeness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The next morning at an early breakfast with just the two of them, Bryce told Meg, “I’ve had a quick decision from you-know-who, for your and Suze’s ears only. We will have a state trooper here in civilian clothes sometime this morning. I’m told he’s familiar with the area, because he was around the tracking camp when there was a murder there. He’s a skier, so that works out. He’s going to say he came to ski but will pretend to sprain his wrist and decide to stay on for a few days anyway. He’s going by the name Kurt James.”
That name hit her hard. Here she’d been mining her memory for why Todd Galsworth’s Michigan senator father’s mention had hit a nerve and now this. Although the two of them were completely alone, she looked around.
“I bet I know him,” she whispered. She leaned closer to him across the corner of the table and mouthed, “If Kurt James is really Jim Kurtz, he was also at Alex and Quinn’s wedding.”
Bryce’s head jerked. He whispered back, “You’re something. Glad you’re helping me with this mess.” He smiled, sipped more coffee but winked over the rim of his cup as his ankle brushed hers under the table.
As if their speaking of the trooper had conjured him up, they heard the front bell and Suze called from the front hall, “It’s him, our new ski guest, I mean.”
“When she sees him she might blurt out she knows him,” Meg whispered. “Got to head that off.”
Meg rushed to join her since Bill Getz had suddenly appeared, all ears and eyes.
“Suze,” Meg whispered as Suze opened the front door, “we can’t let on we know him.”
“Oh,” she whispered, then said louder, “Look, our new guest Kurt James is here.”
They all welcomed him, helped him bring his ski gear in and shook hands all around, even Getz, which made Meg doubly nervous. Why had he suddenly materialized when the doorbell rang? Was he serious about saying he’d be leaving soon or would this keep him here, peering around corners, prying? And that reminded her again that the high school yearbook she’d borrowed had not been in her room, and she’d been so distracted and exhausted that she hadn’t searched thoroughly for it. But she had to also warn Chip not to blurt out that skier Kurt James was really state trooper Jim Kurtz.
“I’ve got to go find Chip,” she whispered to Bryce.
“In the basement with his soccer net.”
She slipped away while the others were chatting. So how much had “Kurt” been briefed by the Big Man? Or had he only been assigned and filled in by local troopers, maybe those who had searched Lloyd Witlow’s house?
She found Chip downstairs near the service and storage rooms with the soccer net propped up against the end of the hall. The net was heavy and unwieldy, so either Bryce or Rafe had carried it down. The three dogs had enough smarts to sit way down at the other end of the hall to not be assaulted with the barrage of kicked balls.
“Good one!” she told him when a ball slammed into the net.
“I can’t get good angles here, but Commander Bryce helped me bring it down here ’cause of all the snow outside. Temporary, he said, ’til we visit his house in Juneau.”
“Listen, honey, I’m hoping you can keep a very important secret.”
“You found out who those Star Wars guys are? Is one the mayor?”
She gasped. “Why would you say that?”
“’Cause when he was here with those other people, I heard him say you and Commander Bryce needed watching, so I thought he might have sent those guys or come himself to watch you.”
From the mouths of babes, she thought. “No, but here’s the thing. Do you remember the state trooper and his wife who were at Aunt Alex and Quinn’s wedding reception here?”
“Sure. He didn’t wear his uniform that day.”
“Since those bad men with guns came, we thought it would be good to have a trooper help keep the lodge safe, but not to have him in a uniform—no car out in front—a secret. Like he’s just a skier and a regular guest.”
“Well, how can it be a secret if Trooper Kurtz is that guy and a bunch of us know him?”
“Because it’s okay if we know him, just not anyone else. His new pretend name is Kurt James,” she said and spelled that out for him. “So you will call him Mr. James and never let on you know who he really is or why he’s here, not even if you think no one is listening. That will really help and make Commander Bryce very proud of you. Okay?”
“Sure. I know all about disguises, even ones without a mask.”
“Good. No secret smiles at him, no winks or whispers. I knew you would be good at that.”
* * *
Despite the extra security, the lodge still seemed to Meg like a ticking time bomb. It was not from being pretty much snowed in, though that kind of cabin fever got to her sometimes. But with “Kurt,” Rafe and Bryce—not to mention Getz—all on alert for their own ends, she was going crazy.
She had searched but had not yet found the yearbook she’d put in her room when she was in a rush and distracted, so had someone been inside and taken it? The idea of Bill Getz being in there gave her the double creeps.
She had extra things to do like make more candy to maintain the stock for holiday gift sales, and she needed to harvest the wild mistletoe she sold seasonally too. Grandma had first propagated a breed of miniature mistletoe in a stand of yellow cedar a few miles away. Once a year Meg visited that stand of trees where the holiday plants had thrived. Though it was frigid outside,
she wanted to do that. But today, she had an idea to find out more about Lloyd Witlow that could help their cause.
“Bryce,” she said, pulling him aside when he joined Chip and her in the basement, “how about I take Chip into Wasilla and buy him a soccer jersey?”
“Maybe I should go too. After everything, I don’t want you two out alone.”
“Like it’s been safe around here? A home invasion and he gets put literally under the gun? Truth is, I’m going to call to see if I can interview that minister who spoke at Lloyd’s funeral. Remember, we overheard he knew Lloyd well from ‘way back,’ and the pastor quoted that verse about not running after riches or it can cause trouble. Of all people, I’d like to think he won’t lie as so many others seem to be doing.”
“Not a bad idea, since we’re clutching at straws, and we have good security here. How about I go along and wait with Chip while you talk to the pastor? And let’s buy all three of us the same jerseys if we can find them. Folks who play together stay together—or so I’ve heard.”
She nodded with tears in her eyes. He was thinking of all three of them as a family—or at least a team.
* * *
From the back seat of the truck, Chip said, “I think you guys should put your jerseys on right now too. Mine looks real good.”
“Your mother is going to talk to a minister for a few minutes while you and I wait inside the church for her.”
“Is it about a wedding?”
“Chip—” she started to protest, but Bryce cut in.
“Not yet, pal. It’s too early to talk about weddings when the three of us haven’t even played soccer together yet.”
“Oh, yeah,” the boy said as they pulled into the half-cleared church parking lot, nearly deserted on this Wednesday afternoon.
Meg had been watching for cars behind them while Bryce drove. Since the home invasion, she’d had the feeling they were being watched—even targeted.