“Because your grandfather was a police chief?”
“No, because my mother is my mother, a unique blend of intelligent, narcissistic, and pissed off about what life has done to her.”
“Well, I might do some looking into things regarding your father. I’ll let you know what I find. I’ll tell her about Walker myself, though. I just got this information today, and you were my first call.”
“Thank you.”
“All right. I’m going to get back to work. You sure you’re okay?”
I looked at the picture on the screen. “I’m good. I’m really good.”
“Excellent. Talk to you later, Beth.”
I ended the call. I knew I needed to get to work, but I couldn’t help but spend a few long minutes looking at the picture of the man who’d taken me. I wondered if I would ever feel the hatred I should feel for him. I didn’t feel it at that moment. I didn’t feel anything warm and cozy, either. I felt nothing, which was better than fear, better than anxiety or panic. But those things were sure to come back. Travis Walker and I weren’t done with each other yet.
The one thing Detective Majors and I didn’t talk about was the fact that if, indeed, Walker knew me, my mother, and my grandfather, he probably knew my father, too. It had crossed my mind that maybe my father’s disappearance and my kidnapper were somehow tied together. I hadn’t given much credence to that idea, but now I wondered if I should. I knew my mother would.
Oh boy. I couldn’t let myself dwell on those ideas.
It was time to get to work.
Thirteen
I sat in my chair, told myself to forget everything except my work. Not only did I have deadlines, I needed to get my head back in a better space, and ironically, writing about fictional characters’ terror sometimes helped me forget my own.
For two hours, as rain fell on the tin roof above, I fell into a writing well. I loved writing wells, their rarity making them precious. The days my fingers flew over the keyboard, struggling to keep up with the story playing out in my mind, were few and far between. Those two hours were one of those times.
Of course, I had no way of knowing if the words were any good. I’d have to read them again in a few weeks. I could hope, though.
Just as the well began to run dry, a knock sounded on the door, startling me back to reality, moving my heart rate up again.
“Who’s there?” I said with way too much hostility.
“It’s me, Beth. Open up,” Viola said from the other side.
I stuck the stack of papers I’d filled with potentially good words into a top drawer and locked it with a small key. I put the key into my pocket and went to the door.
I unlocked the door, but as I pulled it open wide and my eyes landed on Viola, something went wrong. Instead of Viola standing there in the rain, her hat drooping on one side like it sometimes did, Travis Walker was there, his generic features slack as he looked at me, his silver earring catching light from somewhere.
I gasped, blinked, and just before I screamed and maybe fainted, the vision disappeared. Popped away. Viola came back into view, hat included.
“What the hell?” Viola said, and pushed her way inside. “You okay?”
My hand was over my mouth. Shit. This wasn’t good. Get a grip. Get a grip. “I’m fine. Sorry, I thought I saw something out there.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I closed the door and hoped Viola couldn’t hear my heart pounding in my chest. I worked to stabilize my voice. “What’s going on?”
“Some weird shit, let me tell you.”
Oh good. Somebody else’s weird shit. “I’m listening.”
Viola knew where the whiskey was kept. She pulled the bottle and a glass from the bottom desk drawer and poured herself a shot. She didn’t offer me one, which was unusual.
“Ah,” she said after she downed the shot and sat. She grabbed the bottle again but didn’t pour another, just held it on her lap.
I sat in my chair. “You okay?”
“I don’t know. I’m stressed, Beth. What the hell is going on in my town?”
“What’s happened since this morning?”
“Everything, and not nearly enough.”
I nodded. She’d continue.
“The girls,” she finally said after a few moments. “They still aren’t talking, but their father came to get them.”
“What?” I sat up in the chair. “Who’s their father?”
“His name is Tex Southern.”
“Is that his real name?”
“So he says. He had identification.”
“What happened? Clearly, you’re not happy about this.”
“He marched into town looking for Gril. He’d come to report that his girls were missing, said he’d tracked them in this direction. Gril asked him a million questions and then gave him the girls. I wasn’t in on the questions or how Gril determined it was okay for the girls to go with him, but Gril said he’d tell me later.”
“They’re gone?” I said. “What about social services?”
“Social services folks never even left Juneau. Now that Dad is found, they aren’t going to bother.”
“But the girls aren’t talking. They might need help.”
Viola frowned. “I agree, Beth, but that’s not how it’s done.”
“Not how what’s done? Making sure that children are okay? No, I can’t accept that.”
Viola poured another shot into the glass. She looked at me. “You’re going to have to. We’re all going to have to.”
“Wait. He marched into town. Where was he from?”
“He’s a native. He lives in a village not far from here.”
“He’s a Tlingit?” I said.
“Yes.”
I paused. The world was a delicate place. “Viola, I’m only asking this because whatever is the right thing is what needs to happen. Annie is obviously Tlingit. But Mary isn’t. What’s up?”
Viola nodded slowly. “It’s an unavoidable question. Apparently, Gril was okay with however Tex explained it.”
“Is this all legal?”
“If they’re his daughters, it is.”
“Did you see the girls with him?”
“I did. I think they were scared they were in trouble at first, but then they were happy to see him. I witnessed Gril asking them if Tex was their father, and they both nodded.”
“Did Gril ask him why the girls don’t talk?”
“Not in front of me.”
I pondered, and wished I could have seen Tex. “Did he … look okay?”
Viola shrugged. “He’s a big guy.”
“Okay. How does he or Gril think the girls got lost in the woods?”
“The village is on the other side of the mudslide and a narrow river passage. It is thought that the girls got lost while they were out checking traps.”
That got my attention. “Traps?”
“Yeah.”
I told Viola more about what I’d seen at Lane’s house, this time elaborating on the traps and the back room.
She listened intently, her eyes calming even more. Something came clear to me as I spoke, and it was the same something Viola said aloud.
“This is all because of the mudslide,” she said.
“It’s had quite the ripple effect.”
“Yes, but…”
“I know. There’s more. There’s a body. If the girls really are okay, the body is the real problem here.”
Viola sat forward, balancing the whiskey bottle on her knee. “What if the girls saw something out there? What if they know something about the body?”
“I’m sure Gril has considered that.”
“I don’t know,” Viola said. “I just don’t know.”
“You can ask him.”
“I can and I will.” She paused. “But they weren’t hurt. No injuries whatsoever on either of them.”
I thought a long minute and then grabbed the bottle from Viola. I found my own shot glass and poured. I wasn’
t much of a drinker, but now seemed like a good time for a shot. And there was that vision of Travis. I pushed it away.
“Am I bothered because one of the girls is white? Am I that kind of a person?” I finally said to Viola.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so, Beth. I wondered the same thing about myself and then I realized I’d feel the same way if he was a white man and he was taking Annie away with him.”
I was embarrassed by another sense of relief washing through me. Yes, I would have been bothered by that, too. I wasn’t racist, but still maybe too race aware.
“Where’s their mother?” I asked.
“Long gone, that’s all Gril said about that.”
“Oh boy, any chance she’s the body?”
“I’m sure Gril is looking at that, too.”
It made sense. In my mind, I’d solved the mysteries. The answers were right there. Well, sort of. We still didn’t know who’d killed the woman, or why. Tex was probably involved, though I couldn’t pinpoint how. So was Lane. And the girls would be able to talk once everything was figured out. There was a happy ending coming, I was sure.
“I bet. I talked to Orin about all of this. He’s searching for something that might help.”
“That’s good. That’s very good. No one better than Orin.”
“Who did he used to be?” I’d asked Viola before, but she’d never answered.
Viola quirked an eyebrow. “If I told you, I’d have to shoot you.” She patted the gun holstered at her hip.
I didn’t think Viola would ever shoot me, but we still hadn’t known each other long enough for me to be one hundred percent sure.
We could go around and around on the details, the facts as we knew them to be, but bottom line, it didn’t matter what I thought, didn’t matter if I’d solved any mystery in my imagination. It was all up to Gril. The girls were presumably safe now; that was the most important thing of all.
Besides, I had my own problems, and I wasn’t going to let Travis Walker become a part of this new life of mine.
I poured myself another shot.
Fourteen
Baby girl—Wish me luck. I’m going to the principal’s office. Detective Majors called and I think she wants to see me even more than I want to see her. What’s the skinny on this?
I don’t trust her, and I sense … something’s up.
I read my mother’s short email a few times and silently debated with myself about what I wanted to tell her. I hit reply and wrote a first draft.
I talked to Detective Majors.
The police know who he is, Mom. I still feel terrible for the wild-goose chase I sent everyone on when I had the wrong name, but now they know for sure. DNA on that damn pink blanket has confirmed it. Detective Majors even has a picture of him. She’ll show you. Be on the lookout. That DOESN’T mean I want you to look for him.
His name is Travis Walker, and he was born in Milton, Mom. He might know who I really am. He might know who Gramps was, who you are. Be careful, be aware.
Also, I wonder if he might have known Dad.
I read my own words over again. If I sent this email to my mother, she would have the information before she met with Detective Majors. I wasn’t exactly sure how that would affect their face-to-face, but my gut told me it wouldn’t be good. At least for Detective Majors.
I didn’t delete the message, but I didn’t send it, either. Mill hadn’t mentioned when she was going into the police station. Maybe my note would just have to be a little too late.
I turned away from my laptop and switched gears.
Before my escape to Alaska, I would have wondered how someone could go missing, especially for as long as the woman seemed to have been without alarms being sounded. But even in the few months I’d been here, I’d seen how it was not only possible, but easy. In fact, if I hadn’t found a room at the Benedict House—if I’d found a cabin to rent—my social interactions probably would have been near nil. If something had gone wrong for me, few people would even know who I was or how to figure out what had happened to me.
A chill ran up my spine. I was lucky to have the Benedict House.
I wondered if Gril had heard back from Christine, the ME. I thought about calling him but decided not to. Maybe the woman hadn’t been killed. Maybe a murder hadn’t occurred. It seemed that most things that had appeared alarming over the last couple of days weren’t as outrageous as first assumed. A dead body was always alarming, though.
Something else had occurred to me when I’d seen Mill’s email. An idea sparked at the back of my mind. I grabbed the burner phone from my pocket and dialed a number I hadn’t called for years until recently, but had known all my life. It was even more ingrained in my memory than any of my own phone numbers.
“Milton Police,” the female voice said. “Do you have an emergency?”
“I don’t. I was hoping to talk to Chief Graystone.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Sure. This is Beth Rivers.”
The pause became more and more pregnant. I was surprised that my name was still known. No, I wasn’t surprised it was known by some people in the place my grandfather had run, a place I’d worked, but I was surprised the woman who answered, who sounded young, seemed to recognize it.
She finally spoke. “One minute, please.”
I wasn’t on hold long.
“Beth? That you?” Chief Stellan Graystone picked up quickly.
“Hey, Chief. It’s me.”
“Prove it. What did you carve into the corner of your grandfather’s desk?” I heard the smile in his voice.
“SuperGramps,” I said with my own smile. Maybe someday, memories of my grandfather wouldn’t be mixed with so much pain, but I missed him terribly.
“It is you.” I could hear his chair squeak through the phone line. “How are you? Where are you?”
“I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m doing well. Healed completely from everything.”
“That’s great news. You’re still hiding?”
“I am. The guy who took me hasn’t been caught yet.”
“Shoot, Beth, I hoped he’d been found by now. What can I do to help?”
“Well, I have a name now. Has Detective Majors called you yet?” I knew Detective Majors had worked a little with Stellan on the search for my captor.
“No. Who is it?”
“Travis Walker, and he was born in Milton.”
“Holy moly,” Stellan said. “Give me all the details you can.”
While I was sharing the few facts I knew, Stellan got an email from Detective Majors with Travis’s picture attached. I’d thought she might be in touch with him soon. I’d timed my call about right.
“I don’t recognize him at all, Beth,” he said after looking at the picture.
“I remember some Walker families in town, but I don’t remember any problems with them,” I said.
“No, no problems that I’m aware of. I’ll do some research, though, look into things. If he still has family around, he might be in touch with them.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Detective Majors is probably thinking the same thing, but she and I didn’t discuss that specifically. I’m calling for another reason, too. I’m just going to be blunt. If my mom comes around, that means there could be more trouble. I guess I just want to send fair warning.”
“Well, I do appreciate that, and it is something I’m aware of. She’s a woman with a mission.”
“Two missions. My father, and now Travis Walker.”
“Two missions. That could get messy.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be on the lookout, Beth. My staff, most of us around town, are doing a good job of keeping your secret. I can’t control everyone, but I’ve got an officer scouring social media for any locals posting anything that gives away who Elizabeth Fairchild really is. Something might be slipping somewhere, but we’re working to catch things and shut them down.”
“Thank you,” I s
aid, but I knew how impossible it would be to catch everything. The truth would all be out in the world someday, and I suspected Travis Walker knew my real identity already. I wasn’t going to discourage Stellan’s diligence, though.
“You are welcome. How can I get ahold of you?”
“I’ll get back to you, Stellan.”
“I understand. I guess. I can help with protection,” he said.
“I appreciate that, but I’m my own protection, and I like it that way.”
“Got it. Be safe.”
“Will do.”
We ended the call and I packed up my stuff. It was time to work on exactly what I’d told Stellan I was working on: me.
However, I decided it was also time to destroy this phone. I still had another one, but I’d talked to too many people, said too many things using this phone. It was time for it to go. I’d figure out a way to order more.
I only had to stomp down hard once and the phone exploded into a million pieces. It was one of the most satisfying things I’d done in this new life of mine.
Fifteen
Serena looked at me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Hit me!”
“All right.” She pulled her fist back and swung it at my head, the side without the scar.
I put my arm up defensively, a pose our instructor had first shown us at last week’s class. My arm stopped hers. I twisted it just right so that Serena’s came down. I turned my body, held tight to her arm, now around my waist, and found some power in my core as I flipped her over my back. She landed on the mat.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“Great. But I wouldn’t be if there wasn’t a mat there. Nice job,” Serena said with a smile up at me.
I helped her stand.
If Annie and Mary had still been in town, the self-defense class would have been canceled. But the beds and table and piles of clothes had been cleared away, making way for thick mats that were used for everything from yoga to gymnastics to this class, Benedict’s newest: self-defense training.
Serena had come to Benedict years earlier to escape an abusive husband and had thrived here; she was now our local knitting instructor. When the sign-up sheet had been posted for this class, both of us had put our names under about five others, and we’d ended up as sparring partners. Though we’d both learned a lot and improved, we’d managed a few bumps and bruises, too.
Cold Wind Page 9