She told Boyd about the bloodstained jacket.
“That’s odd. Both the jacket and the cat collar. Odd finds in odd places. Has Ron Halprin told you anything?”
“No, he keeps things pretty close to the vest.”
“It could also be a good sign, Tessa. Maybe they are hot on the heels of somebody and don’t want to give out any information that only the murderer could know.”
“That’s the positive interpretation. I’m not so sure about that. Maybe they are as much in the dark as I am. Halprin asked me if Fran was having an affair. Apparently that was a rumor in town.”
“Aha,” Boyd commented.
“You find that interesting. It’s the worst kind of cliché.”
“Not when it comes from Halprin.”
“I was disappointed when I heard him come up with this.”
“He has plenty of experience to know that such things happen.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Please keep it to yourself, but I heard that Halprin went through a nasty divorce a couple of years ago. Apparently his wife was having an affair.”
“Not every wife is like that. In Fran’s case, I can’t begin to imagine that she would do that.” She was overcome with hopelessness. “I really wish that none of this had happened and that I was back in the office in Vancouver with you.” She was well aware that this sounded childish and resigned.
But Boyd reacted with complete understanding. “It must be just terrible for you, Tessa. Call me up anytime if you need help.”
She thanked him and put the cell phone away. As she headed to Dana’s house, she had great difficulty holding back the tears that were trying to well up. She turned into the wind to let it cool her feverish face. She hadn’t met anyone on the street and was glad about it. The lady with the two kids had disappeared. People were probably all sitting down for lunch. She still had a sandwich in her jacket pocket. Dana’s modest house appeared in front of her. A person was just closing the door to the house. Tessa immediately recognized him by the way he walked.
“Dad!”
He turned around in her direction. She could see that he was as surprised as she was.
“I didn’t think that I’d meet you here,” she said.
“I . . . Savannah came back home without you. I thought that maybe you needed . . . maybe you were at Dana’s. Should I drive you home?”
She hugged him. “Thanks, Dad, but I’d like to visit Dana first. Do you want to come in?” Actually that had not been her intention; she wanted to talk to Dana alone.
He waved her off. “I’ve got to go . . . to the church. Talk to the minister. Should we meet again later?”
The door opened behind them. “I’ll bring her back to you, Ken,” Dana said. “So we don’t have to keep checking our watches.”
Kenneth Griffins nodded in agreement and went back to his Pathfinder.
“Dad has always had this complicated relationship with his cell phone,” Tessa remarked as she sat down on Dana’s sofa. “He could have phoned me. Or you.”
Dana found something to do in the kitchen. “In any case, he has to meet the minister,” she answered. “Are you hungry?”
“I still have a sandwich.”
“My pea soup would be perfect with that.”
“I completely forgot to ask Dad about news. Did he say anything to you?”
“I’m sure that he expected news from you. What actually happened today?”
“Savannah’s already told him, you can count on that.” Tessa summarized what had happened when Lionel shot himself in his foot, as well as the meeting with the two young Sitklat’l. She also mentioned the cat collar.
Dana listened with deep concentration while she filled a bowl with soup and put it down on the table. “Come on, eat. You also stopped by the police station?”
“You already know that?”
“Why are you surprised? Your father was just here.”
Tessa turned the soup spoon over in her hand. “Have the police already talked to you?”
Dana broke off a small piece of bannock bread, which she prepared every couple of days in the traditional Sitklat’l way. “Yes, Ron Halprin and another man came by this morning.”
“Halprin asked me today about the cabin at Beaver Lake.”
They ate silently for a while. Tessa felt like she was in an earthquake: crevasses were opening up all over the place.
She looked down at her soup and suddenly felt tremendously hungry. In the face of death, my body wants to live, live, live.
She put down the spoon and looked at Dana.
“Tell me the truth: Was there an affair going on?”
Dana paused for a time. A few heartbeats long. Then she put a piece of bannock in her mouth as if nothing was more important than this. The whole time she looked down.
Tessa tried to hold back her curiosity. “I know that it’s a cliché and . . . I hate this nasty rumor, but the police seem to believe that there might be something to it. Do you know anything?”
Dana looked up; she seemed to be confused. “Who are you talking about?”
“Fran, of course. Did she have an affair?”
“Fran? That . . . I cannot imagine. She was devoted to Hank.”
“But she was often lonely. And sometimes she was at the cabin on the lake and you took care of the children.”
Dana looked at her as if she were nuts. “Are you trying to tell me that I covered for Fran so somebody could meet up with her there?”
“She wouldn’t have to say anything to you. You wouldn’t have even noticed it.” Tessa now slid into the role of the advocatus diaboli.
“You don’t believe that yourself, Tessa.”
“I’m not asking you this for laughs, Dana. If there really was something going on, it could lead us to Fran.”
She noticed how Dana’s eyes were wandering around the living room. As if she were remembering confused messages from the past that could now be seen in a new light.
Tessa’s heart beat faster.
Dana pursed her lips and said: “What kind of logic is that? Why, then, would she want to move away from here with Hank?”
Tessa didn’t answer. But the answer hung there like a bad smell between the two of them. Because she wants to bury her affair.
“I understand you, Tessa. We’re all very mixed up, even if we don’t show it outwardly. In a situation like this, you hang onto every last straw.”
Tessa nodded. “Cliff Bight told me about the funeral home director’s strange wife. Do you know her?”
“Melanie Pleeke is a quack. That woman should be put away.”
“She wanted to bring a soothsayer on the search for Fran.”
“She’s a fraud. I’ll make sure she keeps her fingers off this investigation. That’s all we needed!”
They both silently kept eating their soup, each one caught up in her own thoughts.
The dishes made a lot of noise when Dana cleared the table. Tessa took the glasses into the kitchen, which as always looked clean and in order.
Except for two soup bowls on the draining rack. Right next to two wineglasses and two spoons. They were still damp.
“What do the police say about the cat collar?” Dana asked.
“I had the impression that Halprin thinks somebody put it there on purpose in order to get us off track. I had to let them take my fingerprints.”
“Really? They think you tried to put them on the wrong track?”
“I’m already in trouble. Especially because of what happened with the pistol.”
“What pistol?”
Tessa rubbed her cheeks with both hands. She quickly told her friend about what had happened in Tennigan Park. She didn’t mention how Telford Reed hugged her.
“I don’t know anymore what I should think. I’m exhausted; all kinds of thoughts continually swirl around in my head. And then there’s the constant fear of what might have happened to Fran. The frustration that we’re not making progress.�
�� Tessa supported her head in her hands.
Dana put her arm around her. “My dear child. I know. I know. It’s so hard.” Tessa let her head rest on Dana’s shoulder until her friend said: “Ron Halprin and his people are still optimistic that they will find Fran.”
“Dead or alive?”
“They haven’t given up on the possibility that they will find her alive.”
“And were they nice enough to reveal to you what the basis is for their optimism?”
“They can’t reveal that, Tessa. They can’t put all their cards on the table.”
“No kidding. That’s exactly what is driving me crazy. Our time is running out. And we still don’t even know who was out there at the farm with Tsaytis Chelin.”
“It doesn't surprise me that Tsaytis won’t say a thing.”
“I’m surprised that the other person hasn’t said anything. That person must have a very important motive for not speaking.”
“You have probably spent a lot of time guessing who this person . . .”
At this moment Tessa’s cell phone rang. She pressed the answer button without looking at the display.
A woman whose voice she could not identify immediately.
“Who’s talking?”
“Noreen Chelin.”
When she heard the name, she couldn’t believe it. Tsaytis’s wife.
Tessa’s silence didn’t make Noreen uncomfortable. “Tessa, I know that this is really hard for you, but I would like to talk to you. Can we meet up as soon as possible?”
Tessa found her voice again. “What’s this about?”
“I can’t tell you on the phone.”
“Is it about Fran? She’s the only one that counts at the moment.”
“Yes.”
“Time is really of the essence, Noreen. If it is important, tell it to the police.”
“I’ve already told them what I know. But there is something I cannot interpret that you may be able to figure out better.”
Tessa thought it over quickly. This would be her chance to fly to Watershed Lodge. With the floatplane, it would be a fast trip.
“When does Kratz fly to the lodge?”
“Around one thirty. He picks up passengers at Whatou Lake.”
“Tell Kratz that I’m going to fly with him. I’m coming to the lodge.”
There was a moment of hesitation. “Do you really want to do that?” Noreen asked.
“Yes, that’s best for me.”
“Okay, I’ll tell Kratz.”
Five minutes later Dana raced away from Whatou Lake like a thief on the run. They had to rush not only because of the flight, but to get away from a reporter who had been standing in front of the house and wouldn’t leave. In any case, he didn’t follow Dana’s car, which Tessa confirmed by looking in the rearview mirror.
“I can’t believe Noreen called you up. Are you sure it was Noreen?”
“Yes. I want to go to Watershed Lodge anyway. Maybe I can find some crucial information there.”
“Do you have any idea what she wants from you?”
“To tell me something about Fran. She didn’t want to talk about it on the phone.”
Dana looked at her from the side. “How well do you know her?”
“I met her a few times at the university in Vancouver. Tsaytis had a different girlfriend at the time. Noreen was friendly and open, and we talked about Whatou Lake and Telt-shaa. Later Tsaytis broke it off with his first girlfriend and took up with Noreen.”
“And here in Whatou Lake?” Dana asked.
“Here I didn’t have much to do with her. For the land claims negotiations, she was only active in the background.”
“And now she’s the boss at Watershed Lodge.”
“That’s what I’ve heard.”
“For a time Tsaytis and Noreen went their separate ways. I mean, privately. Tsaytis’s parents took care of their children. What that says about their relationship now, I don’t exactly know.”
“Dana, please. Just because Noreen works at the lodge and is rarely at home doesn’t mean that they’re no longer a pair.” She broke off because it seemed strange to her that she was defending Tsaytis and Noreen’s marriage. Although she had actually heard the same rumor.
They were at the fork in the road leading to Tessa’s parents’ house. Dana slowed down the car as she said: “You know that back then there were rumors that . . . you and Tsaytis were a pair.”
Tessa fumbled around with her seat belt. “Why don’t you simply just say an affair? It was a nasty rumor that made the rounds back then, during the land claims hearings. Typical small-town gossip.”
Dana remained unmoved. “I just wanted to make sure you knew about it.”
“Tsaytis doesn’t hook up with white women, Dana. For him there are no women better than the Sitklat’l. And in any case, what does that have to do with Fran and her dead children?”
“They’re the reason you’re flying to Watershed Lodge, right? I’m sure you’re definitely not going to waste your time on a false alarm.”
Dana stopped in front of the house behind the ruby-colored Pathfinder and looked at Tessa with affection. “Your instincts have always been really good, Tessa. I hope that they will lead you to Fran. And to her murderer.” Tessa felt the emotional warmth that came from Dana. She could see that her friend was holding back her tears. She hugged her and quickly got out.
“Should I wait?” Dana asked.
“No. Dad can take me to the floatplane. Thank you, Dana. You’ll hear from me.”
It was only when she opened the door to the house and her friend had already driven away that it hit her like a lightning bolt. Dana said, her murderer. Dana assumes Fran is dead.
When she got into the kitchen, the two cats greeted her, meowing and rubbing against her legs. They wore their candy-colored collars and seemed to be hungry. She couldn’t see or hear the dogs.
She called hello, but didn’t get a response. There was a note on the kitchen table in mother’s handwriting: Savannah and I are in Whatou Lake. Another interrogation by the police. Chicken and mashed potatoes are in the fridge.
Lost in thought, Tessa fed the cats. She suddenly felt ashamed. She had delivered her mother to the police. She had told Halprin about her remark, that Fran had gone to Whitesand Bay in order to find some ominous proof. What she actually should have been doing was protecting her parents from mistakes they might make when talking to the police and the media. Maybe her mother’s remark didn’t mean anything. Deep down she knew nevertheless that she had to give everything a try. How often had it happened that seemingly unimportant details were overlooked for years, but eventually solved the crime?
She called for her father. Once again, no response. He didn’t answer his cell phone, either. He should have been back from talking to the minister, and his car was in front of the house. Maybe he was out in the neighborhood walking the dogs. She packed her backpack for the lodge because she didn’t know if she would fly back on the same day. Then she went outside again. The door to the house had not been locked. Not a good idea. She again tried her father’s cell phone, but no luck. After some hesitation, she called Savannah, who for some reason had turned off her phone.
Tessa was getting impatient. She thought it over. If her father didn’t turn up soon, she’d have no choice but to take the Pathfinder to the floatplane. She stared at the driveway as she saw a dark-blue pickup drive up, one she didn’t recognize. A tall, imposing man opened the driver’s door. Harrison Miller.
There was one thing she had to give to him: at age fifty-five, he was still very attractive. His wavy dark hair had only turned a bit gray, and his gait was bouncy. He was known equally for his charm and his untrustworthiness. It was no coincidence that he was the long-standing mayor of Whatou Lake.
“Is Ken there?” he asked without greeting her. Who had time for formalities these days?
“No, his car is here, but he’s probably out with the dogs.”
“When is he coming
back?”
She shrugged. “No idea. He was already gone when I arrived.”
Harrison Miller thought a bit and then asked: “I’ll come around again on my way back. Tell him that. In about an hour.”
He was already opening the car door when Tessa called: “Are you going to Whatou Lake? I have to catch the floatplane.”
To her amazement, he didn’t hesitate a second. “Sure, I’ll drive you there.”
The trip in his car would be torture. But she couldn’t avoid meeting Hank’s father forever, and now she would at least have the chance to talk to him alone.
“I’ll be ready in two minutes.” She ran back into the house.
In the kitchen she hastily wrote two sentences on the piece of paper: Important meeting in Watershed Lodge. At the latest I’ll be back tomorrow at noon.
25
During the trip to Whatou Lake, Miller’s first question was not why she was flying to Watershed Lodge, but rather “Why won’t Ken let me have the dogs?”
This question came so unexpectedly that Tessa was almost at a loss for words.
“But he . . . never said that he didn’t want to. He was the one . . . at least that’s what he told me . . . who said that you’d get the dogs.” When Harrison didn’t reply, she added: “What makes you think otherwise?”
“I know exactly why he doesn’t want to,” the mayor retorted as he turned the car onto the main road. “Because the dogs know who the murderer is. They would never have allowed a stranger onto the property.”
Tessa needed a couple of seconds in order to understand the implications of what he had said. “So you think that the killer is one of us?”
“How do the police put it? All options must be considered.”
As a lawyer, she had known plenty of people who had suffered so deeply and were so angry that they were open to wild speculation to make what was beyond their grasp comprehensible. She was in familiar territory.
“But Hank was there, Harrison,” she replied softly. “He held the dogs back. He always did that when visitors came. He locked them in the storage room.”
Harrison ignored her argument. “He was shot dead in cold blood. The dogs know who the murderer is. That’s why Ken wants to keep the dogs. Maybe he wants to protect the murderer. Or he wants to make it difficult for the police to carry out their investigation.”
MURDEROUS MORNING: A heart-stopping crime novel with a stunning end. Page 15