Under the Alaskan Ice

by Karen Harper

  “Here,” he shouted. “A hand and a gun!”

  He passed the gun to her. She took it but stared at the bare hand that had held it. Fingernails nicely manicured and an onyx ring.

  “This is one of them,” she told him. “One who came to the lodge in a mask.”

  They dug him out, still breathing but unconscious. They tied his hands behind his back with his own belt. Meg stared at his face. It seemed vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until Bryce found the other man, who wasn’t breathing, that she knew where she’d seen them.

  “Bryce, is he dead?”

  “No, has a carotid pulse—and I think a broken leg. It’s unlikely he’ll get away, but be ready so we can tie him up with his belt too. I’m going to try CPR first and I need him flat on his back.”

  She helped Bryce count compressions on the guy’s chest by singing the Bee Gees’ rhythmic song “Stayin’ Alive” as she’d been taught in a CPR class ages ago. When the guy choked back to life and they quickly bound his hands with his belt, she knew for sure where she’d seen them.

  “Bryce, these are sawmill men—swampers. They were at Lloyd’s funeral! They would have known him, worked for him, maybe for Rina and Todd too!”

  “Rina, is she here?” the man they’d rescued first choked out. His eyes were dilated, and he blinked in the setting sunlight. “That crazy, paranoid bitch owes us big-time.”

  “Is she the one who put you up to this?” Bryce demanded. The man seemed reluctant to answer, so Bryce reminded him that whomever they were working for stood to be in a lot more trouble than they were—assuming they cooperated.

  “It was her and that moneybags husband of hers,” the second man said. “But Rina’s the one who couldn’t seem to stick to the plan, demanding that we blow up her father’s plane and then set fire to that crazy loner’s house. But hey, I’m no stranger to cop shows. I’m not saying any more without my lawyer present.”

  Meg’s wide-eyed stare slammed into Bryce’s. They were both out of breath, exhausted but triumphant.

  “The state troopers will need to investigate in full, but it sounds like the answers we need are forthcoming,” he said with a weary smile. “Todd and Rina.” He blinked back tears to match hers. “We’ll celebrate later. Right now, as beat up as they are, you’ll have to hold that one’s gun while I get our packs on their snowmobiles. Then I’ll come back for them. Hope there are keys in their pockets,” he added, checking pockets in their parkas and coming up with two of them.

  “And, gentlemen,” he announced, “the lady is very likely to shoot if either of you so much as move.”

  Both men looked dazed. The guy with the ring and great fingernails—and a bloody face—actually nodded.

  “I’ll be right back with our packs, and then we’ve got to get them to the plane. I think you’ll get a big promotion for all this, sweetheart, not only from me but from you-know-who.”

  She was so screaming exhausted she almost couldn’t smile back at him. But she did.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Ten days later

  “But do you have to go that far right before Christmas?” Chip protested. “Why can’t I go to a party in Washington, DC, too? You and my soon-to-be dad aren’t going to—you know—antelope, are you?”

  “I think you mean elope, but no way! Never without you,” Meg said, putting her arms around him, which wasn’t easy since he was holding his ground behind his basement soccer net. “You’re going to walk me down the aisle, remember, and that’s not until next year. This is just a party for grown-ups, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Too much is just for grown-ups,” he pouted, not hugging her back. “But someone’s got to stay here with Aunt Suze, ’specially with Rafe gone, ’cause she’s sad.”

  “You’re right,” Meg said, setting him back a bit. “She will really miss him.”

  “She cried after he left. I heard her in her room. And I bet not just because he’s a good painter.”

  Although she wiped away a tear at how sad Suze had been to see Rafe leave, she was happy Chip really cared about people and was so observant.

  “Hey, you two!” Bryce said, coming down the basement steps to “soccer net alley,” which didn’t look like much after Bryce’s big basement and Mark Ralston’s setup in Juneau. “Does Chip have any questions about our going to DC?”

  “Just that he’s going to miss us and wants to hear all about it, right?” she prompted.

  “And to say, be sure you don’t get in any more trouble. No more Star Wars guys chasing you with guns in a cave until you bury them with snow. I still love Star Wars, but only when the bad guys are pretend, like in the movies.”

  “Me too, buddy,” Meg said. “And I promise we’ll be careful.”

  They left Chip to play so they could talk in private, Meg anxious to hear what Bryce had found out after the call he’d just had with the Big Man. Rina and Todd Galsworth, along with Todd’s father, Senator Galsworth, were now all in custody, along with the two swampers who’d caused them so much trouble.

  “So? Any news?” Meg asked, her voice hushed in case Chip could still hear them.

  “Big news,” Bryce reported. “Rina’s been singing like a canary in exchange for leniency. Turns out the whole thing was Senator Handsome Hanson’s master plan for the next federal election. Remember how we’d discovered he was thinking about a bid for the White House?” He paused and Meg nodded for him to continue. “Well, it turns out, he was planning to fund his campaign with a portion of the stolen treasure while also making a big public show of the fact that he and his associates had tracked down the long-lost Confederate documents and artifacts.”

  “Nice election strategy. A real national hero,” Meg sneered. “But how did he find it in the first place? And how did Rina and Todd get involved?”

  “We’re still working on the original source of the lost treasure, but apparently the senator is a big Confederate history buff.”

  Meg’s eyes widened. “Like Rina’s mother?”

  Bryce nodded. “A crime committed on common ground. Apparently, he’d been looking into the mystery of the lost treasure for a while, even hired a hacker to see if he could track anything down on the dark web. Evidently, they found it and he hired someone to steal it, but to pull off his plan, he needed somewhere to hide it.”

  “Aha. Enter Todd and Rina and Rina’s father, who just so happened to own a remote cabin and wanted to become a pilot.”

  “Precisely,” Bryce said. “Rina reached out to Lloyd Witlow under the guise of wanting to make amends, and then they paid for his plane, flying lessons, the whole shebang. Before he knew it, they’d brought him into the plan—with promise of payment of course—and even asked him to find two of his most corruptible men at the lumber mill to help out.”

  “So that explains the who and the why, but I still don’t understand what happened to Witlow’s plane. And why did the swampers say it was Rina’s decision to blow up the plane and take out Getz?”

  “According to Rina, the plane crash was an accident. When she heard her father had been killed, her loyalty to the senator started to waver. She ordered the swampers to plant the bomb that blew up the plane to destroy evidence before sending them to the lodge to collect whatever we’d already salvaged. As for Getz, when Rina felt her ex was sniffing around too much per the mayor’s instructions, she confronted him and I guess it left her feeling uneasy about what he may have witnessed, so she had the swampers set the explosions at his place too.”

  “Wow!” Meg exclaimed. “She really was paranoid.”

  “Despite her strained relationship with her father, I think his death must’ve hit her pretty hard. Maybe her guilt pushed her over the edge. She certainly had no problem confessing when it came down to it.”

  It was sad, really, Meg thought. Rina had lost her mother, hated Alaska enough to leave it behind, only
to fall in with a corrupt family who brought her right back to the very place she’d escaped. Not to say she was a victim in any way—but it was always sad when life pushed desperate people to do desperate things.

  “I suppose this means we were wrong about Melissa’s involvement,” Meg said. “I guess she really was just looking to build up stock for her jewelry business. Maybe to pay for a divorce?”

  “Very likely.” Bryce shrugged. “But even if she does leave her husband, I’m not sure the mayor plans to leave his wife anytime soon. It seems he’s been doing everything he can to keep his affair with Melissa under wraps, keeping a close eye on the town and what people are saying. He has little birdies everywhere, protecting his interests—those guards he volunteered after the crash, Mason Nowles, Bill Getz...”

  “Poor Getz.”

  Bryce sighed. “He really was just trying to do the job the mayor had hired him to do. And speaking of jobs, are you all set for our trip to DC?”

  Now that was something Meg could feel excited about. She smiled. “All set. As long as I’m by your side, I’m ready for anything.”

  * * *

  Everything seemed so good now, so right, so happy. That is, except for Suze. This spring, Rafe would be sent to Moscow. Probably similar weather to here, but surely he would miss the lodge—and the woman who was falling in love with him.

  “Suze, you just never know,” Meg said, leaning against her sister’s painting bench while Suze just stared at a blank canvas, ignoring the prepared palette of paints at her side. “I could tell Rafe cares deeply for you too.”

  She sighed. “So he says. But duty calls—calls me too. It’s fine for you to live with Bryce most of the year in Juneau and Alex to move to town with Quinn—but it just isn’t going to happen for me even if I’m sure I’ve found my man at last. I don’t mean to be jealous or—or negative about you and Alex. You are both doing the right thing.

  “And,” she said, turning toward Meg, “don’t worry about Chip the two days you’re in DC. He’s good company for me, really he is. But, you know,” she went on as she tossed her turpentine-smelling paint rag against the blank canvas, “I just don’t feel I can use painting to calm down right now. Got to go work on fixing lunch for just the three of us, since Jim Kurtz has gone home to his family too.”

  Meg wanted to say something else to comfort or encourage her, but talk was not enough. Surely there was something she could do to help.

  * * *

  The vice president’s official residence was just the sort of Victorian-style home Meg loved, but she didn’t say so as they were driven through security-guarded black iron gates in an official car. She would love Bryce’s contemporary-style home—or anyplace he lived.

  On the grounds of the US Naval Observatory about five miles from the White House, the three-story home they pulled up to was white with a gray roof, a single round turret and a broad, curved veranda that wrapped around half of the house. Christmas wreaths hung below each second-story window, and a lit tree gleamed through a downstairs one.

  A dinner party for ten, they’d been told, and her presence had been specifically requested. Bryce had joked that the Big Man was going to hire her for undercover work in the hotbed of crime in Falls Lake, Alaska. Then he had laughed and said the only kind of under-the-covers work he himself had for her was in bed.

  A sailor opened their car door, and they got out. Nervous, she took Bryce’s arm as they went up to the front door, which was opened by a naval officer. And, to her amazement, since she had the idea this was going to be an ordeal, out spilled warmth, conversation and Christmas music played by a live harpist in the large round hall.

  There was no reception line, but the vice president and second lady greeted them warmly and chatted for a moment. Darned if they didn’t both look like their pictures, she thought. But this was happening. She was really here.

  “Good work from both of you,” Samson Walters said, then pulled Bryce aside. “Bryce, I’ll have to update you on the latest regarding the illustrious senator from Michigan who had his eye on the White House...”

  Their hostess, Samson’s wife, Katherine, indicated that Meg should come with her, and the men’s voices faded, though she yearned to hear more. She had to get over that, being a part of dangerous events. She had to think about Chip and now Bryce—and she was thrilled. Maybe she’d try using her degree to teach elementary education in Juneau someday, but more covert or black ops, as Bryce called them? No way. She also had her candy business, which she had no plans to abandon. She’d just have to work out the logistics of shipping her candy to her clientele in Falls Lake—and maybe find some new buyers in her new hometown.

  The gracious woman showed her the downstairs of the mansion, while they drank a glass of wine they were offered from a silver tray. So far away from the lodge and yet not so far in other ways, though the reception hall, library, dining room, living room and sitting room were each so beautifully decorated. The grand piano held family photos—and, modestly, the second lady pointed out several framed pieces she had painted.

  “I love that one of the bright red cardinal perched on a pine branch in the snow,” Meg told her. “So perfect for Christmas too.”

  “I like that one, though I more often do buildings. I stick to watercolors rather than oils. I have a minor in art from my college days, and my big cause now is art therapy for ill children.”

  “My twin sister paints, mostly in oils,” Suze said. “She has a friend—actually one who works for the NTSB as Bryce does—who suggested she host an art camp at our lodge, but perhaps that could turn into some sort of therapy—for her too.”

  They chatted on about the decor of rooms, about Christmas traditions. Although she was honored and enjoying herself, Meg’s mind went into full fight mode. First, had this kind woman whisked her away so the men could go over some new plan—something that might take Bryce away like Rafe?

  And second, dared she ask for a favor?

  She steered their conversation back to Suze, but she knew she sounded nervous. “It would surely help my sister’s art project, especially if it could incorporate art therapy too, if her inspiration and encourager, Rafe Coffman, could be pulled from his coming assignment in Moscow to stay a bit longer in Alaska. Hopefully by next spring at least, so they could plan a summer artist’s therapy retreat.”

  Katherine Walters gently grasped Meg’s upper arm. “We artists stick together even if we don’t know each other,” she said, her face so serious and her voice in earnest. “I can do one thing, and that’s put in a word to my husband, play up the Alaskan outreach for art therapy. The Lord knows, we all need some sort of therapy, and love is the best, right?”

  “I can’t thank you enough. For listening. Understanding. For your hospitality.”

  “I must tell you that my husband says you were very brave and helpful in—well, whatever you have been through. I promise you, there will be engraved invitations for you, Bryce, your sister—and perhaps this other artist—when we open the exhibition of the stolen, hidden Civil War treasures at the Smithsonian next year, featuring never before seen documents and Confederate artifacts.”

  “Already this is such a lovely evening, thank you for listening—for everything.”

  “Now, don’t cry or the two of them will suspect something before I waylay ‘the Big Man’ about this Rafe situation. I have to choose my causes carefully. Let’s join the others now and enjoy our meal. You know,” Katherine added as they walked back toward the library where new arrivals were gathering, “I think an outreach to Alaska with two artists heading things up there might just be an excellent new project for me too, though I’m going to chair the Lost Civil War Treasure exhibit. Yes, nothing like coast-to-coast therapy of one kind or the other!”

  * * *

  “What I think!” Suze screamed over the phone when Meg called to tell her the next day what had happened. “I think I’d vote
for her for queen of the world! Rafe called and his assignment has been changed already but he didn’t know why. He can even come for Christmas, but won’t be free from some desk job in DC until April. I can’t believe this all happened so fast, so perfect.”

  Meg heard her cover the phone, or at least her voice was muffled, talking to someone.

  “I know I screamed, Chip, but I’m all right,” Meg overheard.

  “Suze, are you two getting along okay?”

  “I made the mistake of saying I’d guard the net while he took shots. He’s getting quite good, and my shins are sore. Meg, can’t wait until you’re back because we have a lot to do. Besides Rafe, I got a call from Alex that they will be here not only for New Year’s Eve but a few days before, so I told her we’d have a double holiday celebration when they get here. What was that Tiny Tim said in A Christmas Carol? ‘God bless us, every one.’”

  “We all need that after what we’ve been through—Alex, you and me. And speaking of Rafe getting reassigned, I think our luck is changing. So much good news. I mean, what could possibly go wrong now?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  The second holiday celebration at the lodge was even more special than the first on Christmas Day. Alex and Quinn were back with tales to tell and happiness to share. Rafe had flown in despite a storm delay for his flight in Chicago. Bryce had been testifying before a closed-door NTSB congressional committee, but he’d been here for nearly a week while they made wedding plans.

  Chip and the dogs seemed on their best behavior, and Suze was ecstatic but trying not to act as if her relationship with Rafe was a done deal, because really it wasn’t. She and Meg were picking up on vibes from him that—despite the fact he did not want to spend months in Moscow—he didn’t like his career and life being “tampered with.”