No Fixed Line (A Kate Shugak Investigation Book 22)

by Dana Stabenow

  Kurt looked unusually sulky.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped, and then relented. “Sorry. It’s just that—dammit! I can’t find anything wrong with the Bannister Foundation’s database. He started it even before he went to prison, I think mostly because he knew if he didn’t dump a bunch of his assets into a nonprofit that they’d all be confiscated by law enforcement and he’d have nothing when he got out, and he wasn’t having that.” He scratched his chin absent-mindedly. “He’d been planning to do it for a long time before that, though. He had his attorney write up a set of rudimentary by-laws and had him incorporate the Bannister Foundation in the state of Alaska five years before he had me left for dead—” Kate made a rude noise and rolled her eyes “— and he applied for and got nonprofit certification a year later.”

  “Alaska’s answer to Andrew Carnegie,” Kate said. “One of the rape, ruin, and run boys buying a modern indulgence, only not from the church, from the state.”

  He stared at her. “Kate, sometimes you sound like you’re speaking in tongues.”

  “You had to have read Barbara Tuchman.” She waved him on. “What else?”

  He tossed her a folder and sat back in his chair. “He started tithing into it immediately, and evidently, from the influx of cash from other sources, was apparently convincing other people with dough it was a good idea to do it, too. Federal law says foundations have to spend four to five percent of their income every year, and the Bannister Foundation started a grant application process their first year and began awarding grants their second. Substantial grants, too, Kate.” He nodded at the folder. “That’s a list of the grants. All in Alaska, by the way.”

  “What kinds of causes?”

  “A Planned Parenthood chapter in Fairbanks. A library in Unalaska. A voc ed school in Bering.”

  She looked up. “What’s the name of that school? The one in Bering?”

  “I sorted them by community.”

  She sifted through the pages. “Bering VoTech.”

  He’d been googling as she’d been speaking. “Offering certificates and degrees in Alternative Energies, Aviation, Automotive Technology, Cosmetology, Culinary, Diesel and Heavy Equipment Technologies, Industrial Electricity, Information Technology, Mechanics, and Plumbing and Heating. Why?”

  She smiled. “I might know a student there. I’ll reach out. What about donors?”

  “I’m just digging into the donor list now, but that’s a lot harder. There are literally hundreds of small donors, twenty-five dollars here, a hundred there, but it adds up. And then there are some really humongous sums incoming, and they are pretty layered, I would guess mostly because they don’t want to be annoyed by requests for money.”

  “So they donate to the Bannister Foundation, who removes any necessity for them hobnobbing with the great unwashed who benefit from their largesse?”

  “Snide, but accurate. I’m pretty good online but tracing some of these back to the actual people who signed the actual checks is going to require Tyler-level expertise.” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll tell you, Kate, it’s going to ruin my entire day if we prove Erland to be an honest to god altruistic philanthropist, succoring the tired, the poor, the huddled masses yearning to breathe free.” He cocked an eyebrow, clearly expecting astonishment.

  She laughed without taking her eyes from the list. “And I don’t buy it for a New York second, either.” She jerked her chin at his laptop. “Hey, can you find out where Pete Heiman is, right now?”

  “Wouldn’t that be DC?”

  She snorted. “He’s a US Congressman. Probably the last place he’d be. Somebody might put him to work.”

  A few taps of the keys, and he said, “Happens he’s touring the provinces, Fairbanks today, and then driving down to Delta Junction and overnight tomorrow in Ahtna.”

  “Ahtna.” Her finger tapped a name on Kurt’s grants list. “The Erland Bannister Foundation gave the Ahtna Women’s Shelter $250,000 last year.”

  Ten

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 4

  Anchorage

  SHE STOPPED AT SAFEWAY TO STOCK UP. When she got back to the town house she put the steaks on to marinate before heading out onto the Coastal Trail. As she and Mutt went through the tunnel leading from the lagoon to the coast she wondered if Jack had bought the town house on Westchester Lagoon with her in mind because the city’s trail system ran right in front of it. When she first moved to Anchorage after graduating from the University of Alaska Fairbanks Kate had found a mother-in-law apartment over a garage in one of the big houses on the hillside, owned by a Slope worker who was gone every other week and wanted a permanent on-site presence to discourage burglars. It was far enough east that it was almost in the Chugach National Forest and the roads required four-wheel drive and studs all around for three-quarters of the year. At night sometimes she could hear the local wolf pack howling. It felt almost like home. Jack would have known that she would require easy access to the outdoors if he was going to entice her off her mountaintop for sleepovers.

  She smiled to herself. He himself had been enticement enough.

  They were through the tunnel and she picked up speed, Mutt foraying out ahead, playing dodge ball with oncoming traffic in the form of commuters walking from downtown to Turnagain, skijorers trying not to run over their own dogs (Mutt had a high old time with them), and the occasional biker who had screwed Attack screws into their tires for traction and pumped on with grim determination and not a little fortitude, although Kate would much rather trust to her Asics, thanks. They kept it short due to increasing darkness and returned to the town house by six p.m. “Hey,” the neighbor said as Kate kicked the ice from the bottom of her shoes.

  “Hey,” Kate said, and Mutt woofed. She barely showed any teeth but the neighbor went inside and they both heard the lock click behind him. “How many times have I told you?” Kate said severely. “Do not frighten the neighbor.”

  Mutt woofed again, tongue lolling out in a lupine grin.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Kate said, and they went inside. Kate built a fire for Mutt to array herself in front of and went upstairs to shower. Barefoot in jeans and T-shirt, she pattered back down and took a mug of coffee and her phone to the couch. Mutt, gnawing at last night’s bone, barely registered her on her peripheral vision. “Priorities,” Kate said. “I understand. No, really, I do, my feelings aren’t hurt at all. Carry on.” She found Stephanie’s number in her contacts and pressed Call.

  “Kate!”

  Kate grinned into the phone. “Hey, Steph. How are you? Are you home?”

  “In Bering? Yeah, sure, it’s Christmas on Monday, don’t forget.”

  Kate had, actually, but remembered now that the Russian Orthodox celebrated Christmas in January. “Right, I forgot. Have you found all your presents?”

  Stephanie sounded a little disgruntled. “Uncle Ray is getting better at hiding them.”

  Kate laughed. “How is he?”

  “Good.” They talked for a while about Ray, a Bering elder and a very close friend indeed of Emaa’s back in the day. Stephanie Chevak was Alice Chevak’s daughter, and Alice Chevak and Kate Shugak had met at college in Fairbanks. They had reconnected when Kate had spent a brief time in Bering working for an air taxi six years before, which was when Kate had met Stephanie. Stephanie had been ten years old when Alice died. Kate had lost her own parents a lot earlier than that. It made a bond between them that had only strengthened as Stephanie grew older.

  “Are you in the Park?” Stephanie said.

  “No, I’m in Anchorage.”

  “Are you on a case?”

  Kate grinned again. Stephanie sounded so hopeful. “Kinda sorta. Hey, remember when you told me that a school had opened in Bering that could give you the science courses you need?”

  “Yeah, Bering VoTech.”

  “How’s that working out?”

  “It’s kind of amazing, Kate,” the girl said, sounding sober and truth to tell kind of awed. “I never w
ould have guessed we’d have that good a school here in Bering, I thought for sure I’d have to leave home to study aviation and electrical and mechanical engineering. I mean, it’s a small school and of course you can’t degree here, only certificate, but the prep work the school is offering is earning me college credit that’s good everywhere. If I stay on track at Bering VoTech I can slide right into pretty much any related degree program anywhere in the nation, and my advisor says I’m on track to graduate from high school a year early. I’m already working on my college applications.”

  “Oh yeah? Who looks good?”

  “Well, MIT would be the holy grail, of course, but CalTech would do in a pinch.”

  “What’s a heaven for?” Kate said.

  “What? What does that even mean?”

  Kate sighed. “They’re not offering any liberal arts courses at Bering VoTech, are they.”

  Stephanie sounded mystified. “Why would they?”

  “Why indeed.”

  “Anyway.” Stephanie dismissed the topic with the scorn it deserved. “Will you write me a letter of recommendation for my college applications?”

  “Of course,” Kate said, feeling suddenly very old. “Send me the deets. Stephanie, do you have any idea where Bering VoTech gets its funding?”

  “Sure,” was the surprising answer. “Our teachers have all of the students write thank-you letters every time we get a grant. We got a big one from somebody in Anchorage last year, I forget their name—”

  “The Bannister Foundation?”

  “That’s it!”

  “How much did they give you?”

  “It was huge, like half a million dollars or something. I remember the teachers were all walking around acting like they were drunk after the news came out.”

  “I can see why.”

  “I know, right?” Someone said something in the background. “Oh, okay, Uncle, I’ll be right there. Gotta go, Kate.”

  “Merry Christmas!”

  Kate clicked off and set her phone to play music. Larkin Poe was first up, whiplashing from wah-wah alt to ersatz heavy metal but with some of the best harmonizing since the Mamas and the Papas and maybe even since the Everly Brothers. She sang along, as much as the scar tissue bisecting her throat would allow.

  She tore and washed the romaine, coddled an egg, shaved parmesan, ran garlic cloves and anchovies through the garlic press, and made croutons. There was something to be said for living in a city big enough to support a good store where you could buy good anchovies and good parmesan. It was six-thirty by then so she preheated the oven and poked and greased the potatoes. She even set the table, with a pitcher of ice water and a stick of butter on a real butter dish and everything. Another glance at the clock and she went upstairs to change her T-shirt to one that smelled less like garlic. She checked her hair and she even went so far as to put on a dab of perfume from a bottle of Chanel No. 5. It predated Jim and she had no idea if perfume went bad or not but it smelled okay so good enough.

  She regarded the results in the mirror. Her nipples were clearly outlined by the fabric of the tee. It was entirely possible she had picked the lightest weight tee she could find. It was also entirely possible that dinner would be late. She grinned at herself and went back downstairs to put the spuds in the oven and set the timer. There was a monster gas grill on the back deck so the salmon steaks could go on any time, and grilling was a job best left to men anyway. Her friend Denise said it was because women were so distracted by a hundred different responsibilities at once that they always forgot and burned the food, whereas men were able to focus on two things and two things only: the beer in their hand and whatever was on the grill. She checked the fridge. Good, she’d remembered to buy a six-pack of Alaskan Amber.

  She went to the living room and peered through the curtains. People were skating on Westchester Lagoon and someone had a burn barrel going and someone else had parked a food truck across the street, selling hot chocolate and empanadas. A car pulled up and Jim got out of the back seat, reaching in for a small duffel. He slammed the door and came up the walk.

  She met him at the door. “You lost?”

  He dropped the duffel and gave her a once-over, eyes lingering on her breasts. “No, I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be.” He reached for her and she made it easier for him by jumping up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Hey,” she said, grinning at him.

  “Hey,” he said, grinning back. He kissed her, softly at first, and then with more determination. He nibbled, he licked, he bit, all the while adjusting the fit of their bodies so that his erection was pressed firmly into the notch between her legs.

  Her heart was thundering in her ears when she finally pulled back. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Wow,” he whispered back.

  “Wow,” the guy next door said.

  She laughed out loud and after a moment Jim did, too. He stepped through the door and shut it behind them, and then pressed her up against it like there wasn’t a perfectly good bed with clean sheets on it upstairs. He played with her nipple. “Feels like you’re glad to see me.”

  She slipped a hand down to cup his erection. “Backatcha.”

  He groaned and rested his forehead against hers. “We have a kid-free night all to ourselves. We don’t have to be in a rush.”

  “Speak for yourself,” she said breathlessly, pulling at his shirt.

  “Woof,” Mutt said.

  Jim looked around to see Mutt standing in the doorway to the living room, great yellow eyes fixed on them.

  “Back off,” Kate said, “mine.” She knotted her hand in his hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, all while pushing his jacket off and pulling his shirt out of his jeans. She paused for a moment to admire. “I absolutely hate to admit that I am this shallow.”

  His laughter sounded a little ragged. “Shallow about what?”

  Her fingers skimmed lightly over his throat, shoulders, arms, chest. “Dude. I don’t even know the names of the muscles you threw out over last summer. You are just flat fucking beautiful. You look like Ashton Eaton. Only, you know. White.” Her hand slipped back between his legs. “Although I admit to a special liking for this particular muscle.”

  “It’s yours to command.” He flipped their positions and pushed her back against the door. “And you should talk. Hand-building a cabin from the ground up evidently agrees with you.” He went on his own journey of exploration, only he followed his hands with his mouth.

  “Oh,” she said, her voice faint. “Do that some more.”

  He laughed again, more deeply this time.

  Dinner was in fact late. They cooked and ate it attired in the minimum amount of clothing and adjourned to the living room with a tub of vanilla Haagen Dazs and two spoons. Kate put on a video she’d bought with the groceries. Jim groaned at the opening credits. “No way! What is this, the fiftieth rewatch?”

  “No,” Kate said indignantly. “It’s only the tenth. Well, maybe the eleventh.” The opening title crawl began with the John Williams theme trumpeting over it, and when the time came she recited the line in unison with Yoda: “‘Page turners they were not.’” She glanced at Jim, who was looking at her, not the screen, a crooked grin on his face. “What’s so funny?”

  “Not funny, hilarious.”

  She pounced, shoving him down on the sofa and straddling him. “Hilarious, my ass. I’ll show you hilarious.” She attacked in mock ferocity, nipping, biting, and pulled back in equally mock outrage when he only laughed harder. “What!”

  “A book joke in a Star Wars movie gets you hot. Who knew?”

  She was going in for the kill or something like that when Mutt sat up in front of the fireplace and barked.

  Mutt had a range of expressions, from the all-purpose sneeze meant to denote polite agreement to the “woof” that could mean anything from a deprecatory “Excuse me” to a “Would you like to rephrase that before I rip out your throat?” The growl was deployed as a threat and was never mistaken
for anything else. She never whined and she rarely yipped. Her bark was deep, robust, carrying, and of a timbre that inspired the feeling that one had suddenly been sent back in time to the Cretaceous Period and not as one of the predators. She seldom barked, and almost never barked more than once because she didn’t have to, as her first bark had a way of traveling directly to the amygdala and thence to the hypothalamus of anyone within earshot. Those people found their hearts beating so loudly in their own ears that they wouldn’t have heard a second bark and it didn’t matter anyway because by then they were breathing hard enough to send themselves into hyperventilation. There were on occasion secondary issues with their gastrointestinal tracts. When they recovered the power of thought they generally found themselves already in motion going in the opposite direction as fast as humanly possible.

  In this case, her bark was reactive rather than proactive because at almost the exact same moment Mutt gave voice someone shot at the house. There was a small crunch and the drape moved, followed by a corresponding splat in the wall over their heads.

  Kate and Jim hit the floor and Mutt hit the door. Kate had forgotten to throw the bolt and Mutt had long since figured out how to open a lever handle. She was outside and taking the sidewalk to the street in great leaps before Kate realized what was happening. “No! Mutt! No!” She scrambled after her and made it to the door just in time to hear Mutt bark again. The one lone skater remaining on Westchester Lagoon had to be a thousand feet away but he screamed anyway and fell hard enough to crack the ice. It sounded like another shot firing.

  Kate made it to the street in time to see taillights receding rapidly down West 15th Avenue just before taking a wildly fishtailing left onto S. She didn’t have a hope of reading the tag. There was no problem seeing Mutt, however, by the light of the streetlights settling into a loping, predatory stride far too close to its bumper. “Mutt! Come back! Mutt, dammit! Get your ass back here!”

  It looked for a moment as if Mutt was going to ignore her and keep chasing the car, but at S she slowed and turned and came trotting back, looking very pleased with herself.