“You sure you want me in your home?” I asked.
“Why, do you have some disgusting habit I don’t know about?”
I smiled down at my friend. “You know what I mean, Dana.”
“Don’t be silly. Besides, I want to hear everything about the investigation, and what better way than to trap you in my home?”
I laughed. “I’m sure you know more about it than I do. You must have informants all over this island.”
“Agent Morgan isn’t bad,” Dana said, as she began unloading her bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter. I moved my own bag to the side to give her more room. “I heard you two had dinner the other night.”
“What,” I said. “Where do you get this stuff?”
“Oh no,” Dana said. She thrust her head in the air and put her right hand over her heart. “I never reveal my sources.”
I rummaged in my grocery bag and plucked out a sack of chips. I pulled it open, stuffed a chip in my mouth, and pushed the sack toward Dana. “Morgan’s okay, but he’s married, and I don’t need that grief.”
Dana’s right hand, gripping a potato chip, froze just short of her mouth. “Now that I didn’t know. I heard he was single.”
“Well, actually, he’s separated from his wife.”
“Mmmm.” Dana shook her head as she chewed the chip. “That’s even worse. Stay away from marital trauma.”
“Not that a relationship with Morgan is even an option,” I said, “but I would never get involved with someone who lived five thousand miles away.”
“What do you mean?” Dana began washing a head of romaine lettuce. “Long distance is the only kind of relationship I want. I don’t want a man around all the time, messing up my lifestyle. I just want him to pop in occasionally for sex and then leave me alone. If I want to talk to him, I can call him.”
I laughed and shook my head. “What are we doing here?” I nodded toward the lettuce. “Can I help?”
“I thought we’d have an early supper,” Dana said. “Then, we can watch those movies I picked out. If we can’t have romance, we might as well watch it.”
“Put me to work,” I said.
“No, you sit down. There’s only enough room for one in this kitchen. I think I see a bottle of wine peeking out of your shopping bag. Let’s uncork that, and you can relax.”
While Dana cooked, I went out to the Explorer to get my overnight bag. The aroma of wild roses and cow parsnip filled the air. The evening was perfect, no clouds in the sky, and it was dead calm. I looked around and sighed. Tomorrow would be a good day, and I would have a good flight. Unless fog settled in overnight, this weather should hold.
I pulled the key from the right front pocket of my jeans and unlocked the cargo door of the Explorer. I swung the door up and froze, my hand still clutching the handle. I heard a faint rustling of leaves and grass in the woods to my left. I felt helpless, a gazelle on the open savannah surrounded by a pride of lions. Why had I dismissed Wesley?
The rustling grew louder, and I turned to face the danger, backing into the cargo hold of the Explorer. Then, I heard a familiar panting, followed by galloping feet and muddy paws that sent me sprawling across the vehicle’s floor.
“Sergeant. You could get shot doing that.” I allowed myself to breathe, gasping for air. I tried to push Sergeant off of me, but he had me down and was licking my face.
I began to laugh, which rendered me completely helpless and sent Sergeant into a licking and slobbering frenzy.
“Sergeant!” Dana yelled. “Get down.”
Sergeant turned reluctantly, looked at Dana, put his head down, and backed out of the Explorer.
I pushed myself up on my elbows, smelling Sergeant’s pungent breath all over me. “Some watchdog,” I said. “Is he trained to lick your intruders to death?”
“Hey,” Dana propped her hands on her hips. “He had you restrained.”
I grabbed my bag and returned to the safety of Dana’s house. I headed straight for the bathroom and washed the doggy drool off my face. My jeans were stained, but not too badly. They were the only jeans I had with me, so I hoped Steve and Morgan didn’t mind the smell of wet dog. It might be overpowering in the cabin of the small charter plane.
I sipped wine and read the latest copy of Outdoor Photographer magazine while Dana prepared our supper. I tried to relax, but I was uncomfortable sitting there while she worked. She divided the salad into two wooden bowls and carried mine to me.
“This is wonderful,” I said, after swallowing the first bite of lettuce and chicken. “That’s the best Caesar dressing I’ve ever tasted.”
Dana smiled. “I got the recipe from my sister. It’s good, isn’t it?”
After dinner, Dana popped in the DVD French Kiss, and then we watched As Good as it Gets with Jack Nicholson and Helen Hunt. I’d seen both movies years ago but enjoyed them again, and Jack Nicholson had Dana and I laughing so hard, we were crying.
It was 10:30 when Dana turned off the television. The evening had evaporated, and I felt better than I had in days.
“Thanks Dana,” I said. “That was exactly what I needed.”
She beamed. “I’m a good doctor, and now you’re going to sleep. I seriously doubt that you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep since the plane crash, and you need to rest if you’re going camping. I never sleep well on field trips. There are too many animals in the woods here.”
I knew she was right. The mind could conjure an enormous bear from the sound of a deer walking through the woods at night, and on this trip, I would have more than wild animals to haunt my nightmares. I had an active imagination, and I already could see terrorists in night-vision goggles stalking me in my sleep.
Dana gave me sheets and blankets, and I made up the hideaway bed. I pulled on my nightshirt, climbed under the covers, and was asleep before Dana turned out the lights.
My sleep was deep and untroubled until 3:15. Then, I sat straight up in bed, disoriented and panicked. I’d heard something, but I didn’t know what. I looked around. Where was I?
I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed, alarm bells blaring in my head. A low growl sounded in the entryway, and I remembered Sergeant. I was at Dana’s. I tried to calm down. I sat on the edge of the bed, and then I heard the noise again. Something bumped the outside wall of the cabin.
I stood and backed toward the kitchen. Sergeant issued a short, sharp bark.
“Jane?” Dana called, her voice groggy with sleep. “Are you okay?”
“There’s someone outside,” I said in a low voice, my head pointed toward the loft, hands cupped around my mouth.
“What?”
“Shhh,” I warned
Dana came to the loft railing. “What’s wrong?”
“I heard something bump the wall of the cabin.”
“Jane. Go back to sleep. It was probably just a deer. You’ll never survive a camping trip.”
Dana returned to bed, but I stood in the kitchen for several minutes, concentrating on the silence. Finally, when I didn’t hear another sound, I edged back to the couch and climbed under the covers. I remained awake and alert until Dana’s alarm beeped at 7:00.
I let Dana use the bathroom first, and then I soaked in a hot shower, trying to clear my sluggish brain. The dull headache from not enough sleep was back to visit.
When I opened the bathroom door, the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee lured me to the kitchen, where Dana stood with a mug in her outstretched hand. I took the cup from her and sipped.
I leaned against a kitchen cabinet. “You’d make someone a good wife.”
Dana’s right eyebrow arched. “People have been banned from my house for saying that.”
“Just kidding,” I smiled. “Honestly, Dana, thanks for taking me in last night.”
“Don’t sound so pathetic.” Dana dumped the last of her coffee down the sink. “You’re not indigent.”
“I feel like I am.”
Dana wiped her hands on her jeans and slipped past me
out of the small kitchen. “I hate to rush off, Jane, but I have a conference at 9:00, and I have to get there early to prepare.”
“Sure,” I said. “I should be going, too.”
“No. I think you should stay locked in my house until half an hour before your flight and then drive straight to Trident Basin. Don’t make yourself a target.”
I sighed. Dana was right, but I wasn’t anxious to stay in her small cabin alone. I couldn’t shake the unease I’d felt in the wee hours of the morning. If someone was watching Dana’s home, the observer would see Dana drive to work and know I was alone in the secluded cabin.
I stood in the doorway and watched Dana drive away. Sergeant hopped up and down on his front paws and barked at me. Maybe he would keep an intruder away.
The next hour and a half crept past. I made eight sandwiches for my trip and packed them and the chips in the plastic grocery bag. I then tried watching television but couldn’t stomach the morning programs. Everyone was too cheery. I called Kodiak Flight Services and confirmed that my flight still was scheduled for ten, and then I thumbed through Dana’s magazines and paced her tiny living room, glancing at my watch every two minutes. At 9:20, I’d had enough. I gathered my overnight bag, my purse, and the food bag. I locked Dana’s door, told Sergeant goodbye as I was pushing him off me, and climbed into my vehicle.
I drove slowly to town, enjoying the perfect view of fishing boats cruising over the calm waters of Chiniak Bay. Only a few days earlier, the bay had churned like a boiling pot, but this morning its smooth surface reflected the unblemished blue of the sky. The morning fog had not materialized, and the weather was perfect for flying. The conditions were just like the day I’d stood on the floatplane dock waiting for Craig to return.
I shuddered and tried to close my mind to the memory of the crash. I needed to be brave today, and I could not accomplish that feat if I dwelled on the events of the last few days.
I eased my foot off the accelerator as I entered the city limits. I scanned the faces of people on the sidewalk and watched the drivers of vehicles I passed. Everyone was a stranger; nothing looked the same to me today. I felt like a slow-moving target in a crowd of snipers, but I already was pushing the speed limit and didn’t dare drive any faster.
I exhaled a long, slow breath when I turned onto the Near Island Bridge. Just a few more minutes and I would be there.
I drove past the marine center and was surprised to see a large construction crew already at work. Had Peter gotten the building surveyed already, or were these bomb experts, sifting through the debris? I hope they would find the answer to this mess in the rubble that used to be my office, but I doubted this crisis would be solved so easily.
I turned my attention from the marine center just in time to see a red pickup truck barreling down the center of the road toward me. I veered off the side of the road and jammed on the brakes, my heart thundering.
A cloud of dust surrounded the pickup, but when it was adjacent to me, the driver turned and looked into my eyes, an angry frown on her young face.
I parked my Explorer in the lot above Trident Basin, grabbed my gear, and ran down the road and then down the ramp to the base where the two-oh-six was tied.
Steve and another man, whom I assumed was the bomb expert, were inside the plane on their hands and knees. Morgan stood on the dock, hands on his hips, watching them.
Despite my distress, I smiled when I saw him. He wore new blue jeans that looked stiff and uncomfortable and a bomber-style jacket that sported the logo of the local sporting goods store on the back. I bet they were happy to see him walk into their store. He had probably purchased all his camping gear there on the spur of the moment.
I stopped a few feet from him and caught my breath. I knew he’d heard me run down the metal ramp, but he must not have picked up on the fear in my pace. His attention was riveted on the men in the airplane.
I walked up and stood beside him, and he looked at me and smiled. “Hello, how was your night?”
“Fine. No problems,” I said. “But I just passed Toni Hunt on the road near the marine center. She was driving very fast and coming from this direction.”
Morgan spun to look at the road. “I didn’t see her drive by here.”
He walked toward the edge of the dock and called to Steve. “Jane passed Toni Hunt on the road near the marine center. You were here before I was; did you see her?”
Steve backed out of the plane and stood on the float. He wiped the back of his right hand across his sweaty forehead. His voice was low and calm. “No, but I wouldn’t worry. She’s been coming down here several times a day since Bill died. She just sits in her truck and stares at the water.”
I wondered why Steve was so unconcerned by Toni Hunt’s actions. A few days earlier, he’d felt she was the prime suspect in the plane bombing. What had happened to quiet his suspicions? Maybe if he had seen her tearing down the road in her truck, he wouldn’t dismiss her so easily.
Morgan looked at me, shrugged, and clicked his tongue. “I’ll tell Saunders,” he gestured to the man in the plane, “to have someone watch her.” He shook his head. “She might have had something to do with the plane bombing, but I doubt she planted the explosives at the marine center.”
“Why?” I turned toward him, hands on my hips, legs spread apart. “Remember the note on my office door? I think Toni Hunt wrote that note.”
Morgan stepped closer to me, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe,” he said. “But, the bomb experts combing through the debris at the marine center told me this morning that the device used in that bombing was a sophisticated plastic explosive with an expensive timer and maybe even a multiswitch detonator. Those aren’t items you’d pick up at the local hardware store. They came from somewhere else and were assembled by someone who has made bombs before. The bomb boys are relatively certain that the device that blew apart the Beaver was nothing more than dynamite and a kitchen timer.”
I wrapped my arms around me, suddenly noticing how chilly the morning air felt. “You said before that a smart terrorist might build a simple bomb to confuse the authorities.”
Morgan nodded. “That’s possible, but the marine center bomber is an experienced bomb maker, and these guys are arrogant. It is unlikely he would build one highly complex bomb and another bomb that was nothing more than an inaccurate homemade job. These guys generally learn their trade and then refine their technique over time.”
“I can’t believe that two bombings on Kodiak Island within a week of each other aren’t related.” I strained to keep my voice low. “I think that’s a bigger coincidence than your experienced bomb maker bundling together some dynamite to throw off the police.”
Morgan rubbed his chin. He was freshly shaved and showered, but he looked tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “I’m not saying the bombings aren’t related, I’m saying the bombers were two different people. If I know that, I look at these crimes differently.”
“What do you mean?”
Morgan spread his arms and was about to explain when a brown van sped down the road and stopped at the top of the ramp. The logo on the door said, “Bear View Charters.”
The four doors of the van opened and people climbed out. The driver walked to the rear of the van, swung open the back doors, and began unloading gear.
One of the passengers from the van walked down the ramp toward us. “Hey, Steve, how’s it going?”
Steve crawled out of his plane. “Hi John, where are you headed?”
“Taking a party to Red River. Everything alright there?” He squinted and turned his head to one side, studying the activity in Steve’s plane.
“Fine. I’m getting ready for a flight to Uyak.”
John nodded his head, frowning. He watched for a few more seconds and then turned toward the blue-and-white two-oh-six tied directly across the dock from Steve’s plane.
The van driver and the other two passengers weighed their gear on a scale in the parking lot and then beg
an hauling it down the ramp toward the plane.
I watched the activity for a few minutes and saw a grey-haired man shuffle down the ramp, both hands gripping a large, cardboard box. He nodded to us as he passed and then lowered his load on the dock in front of the blue-and-white plane. His partner, a younger man, followed, hauling two large duffle bags. They returned up the ramp together, discussing whether they had remembered to buy coffee. I watched them walk by a load of bags and equipment piled at the top of the ramp and then blinked my eyes. Some of the stuff in that pile was mine.
I turned to Morgan. “Our gear is up there.” I pointed toward the palettes near the scale.
“Yes.”
“While a bomb expert looks over our plane with a microscope, our gear sits exposed where anyone can drop something into it.”
Morgan shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I’ve been watching it. These are the first people to arrive since we’ve been here.”
I didn’t point out that he hadn’t seen Toni Hunt. Instead, I turned and marched toward the ramp. I smiled again at the older man, who was setting a large, wooden box on the scale as I passed. I grabbed my duffel bag, swung it over one shoulder, and grasped the handle of the wooden radio box that housed the sideband. I began down the ramp, passing Morgan, who was on his way up.
“Jane, we have to weigh this gear.”
I let out a long sigh and felt certain steam was coming out of my ears. I turned and smacked into the grey-haired man and his wooden box.
“Sorry,” I said.
“We’re done weighing things if you need the scale,” he said.
I plopped my bag and radio on the scale and felt in my coat pocket for a pen and paper. I recorded the weight, grabbed the gear, and took it down to the dock.
We weighed and hauled all our equipment down the ramp, placing it in a neat pile near Steve’s two-oh-six, while Steve and the FBI bomb specialist continued their search. Steve was still in the plane, but the FBI agent was outside, checking the propellers and then the engine.
Murder over Kodiak Page 20