by Karen Harper
What was that crazy quote from Shakespeare he'd thought of in the middle of the night when he was agonizing over keeping Lisa safe if someone really was out to hurt her? The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers.
12
L
isa was really ready to talk to Mitch as she entered the library just before three that afternoon. She needed to have it out with him about Christine, Jonas--even something she'd noticed about Graham. So she was really disappointed to find Christine in the little room, dusting her dolls. "Your dolls," Lisa said, eyeing the door to the wine cellar. "I'll bet they bring back memories."
"I try to live in the here and now."
"Well, I think they're lovely, and I'm sure each tells a tale, or preserves some precious piece of the past."
"You should have been a writer, not a lawyer."
"Lawyers do a lot of writing."
Lisa approached the four-foot-long shelf of dolls, none over one foot high. Most were of single adults, but there was a group of children with one child on a blanket four others were holding.
"What are the children doing with that blanket?" she asked, then realized she should just sit down and pretend to read a book and not engage this woman in conversation. Maybe then Christine would leave. The woman reminded Lisa of the sort of elementary school teacher who had eyes in the back of her head. Mitch had said not to get upset if someone here kept her from coming down, but she was feeling so uptight about seeing him, frustrated but so eager.
"Blanket toss game," Christine replied, blowing on the white fur parka of a female figure.
"I've heard of that. It must be fun and a little scary."
"It is. I made it from a real piece of my own baby blanket."
"I had one of those. I tried to give it to my baby sister once, but it had been washed so much it was pretty ratty at that point, and my mother said not to. It looks like all these clothes are so authentic--not that I've seen Yup'ik clothes."
Christine nodded but Lisa saw her eyes fill with tears. "These are all made from coiled grass I picked, cured and dried," she said. "Sewn with caribou sinew, seal skin mukluks on all their feet, just like full-sized ones. I carved their wooden faces with my knife. And these decorations," she added, pointing to a dry, whitish material, "are scraped-out dried seal gut."
Christine turned to look at her as she said that. Their faces were only a foot apart. "I'm really impressed," Lisa said, not budging.
"You're the first white person who didn't say ick or yuk when I said that."
"Cultures are different. I still think these are beautif--"
"Yup'iks believe in modesty. Cooperation, not competition, like what the Bonners have set up for all of you. That would be frowned on among my people, so I must not boast of my own work."
"I agree that humility and cooperation are admirable, but my culture is losing that with its emphasis on self-esteem, getting ahead and besting the next guy." As she said that, Lisa realized that she, too, had been caught up in that race, maybe a rat race. Where was the line between civilization and wilderness? And were things really different here?
"Since you understand, I will tell you more. This doll here," Christine said, picking up one of a pretty girl in a beige parka with a black-and-white design, "is my 'putting away doll,' the one each girl stores when she has her first menstruation." She put that back almost reverently and selected another one of a young girl who held a half-woven basket in one hand. It looked more worn that the others. "And this is a doll my mother was given as a child to replace a lost sister, just to play with, to hold in the night because of the death--
"What?" she asked as Lisa's eyes brimmed with tears which, when she blinked, speckled her cheeks. "What did I say to--"
"I lost a sister, just a baby. Lost my mother at the same time in an accident--a drowning. I don't tell many people. I just--That's a lovely custom," she said, pointing at the doll again, then fumbling for a tissue in her jacket pocket.
To Lisa's surprise, Christine turned to her and rested her big, strong hands on her shoulders. Lisa stiffened. Were they hands that had pushed her down the ridge into the river? Here, Lisa thought, she'd meant to draw this woman out to find out more about her past and she'd blurted out the defining moment--besides Mitch deserting her--of her own. She had to pull herself together and get down to see him.
"I'm sure you have things to get ready in the kitchen," she told Christine, swiping her tears from under her eyes as the woman pulled her hands back. "I--If you don't mind, I'll just stay in here a few minutes."
"Having some time to yourself can help," Christine said with a solemn nod. "But being alone too much does not work in the long run. Here in Alaska, with so few folks for so many wide-open spaces, people need each other."
"Yes, I see that, and not just because I would never have survived without Mitch in the river and the wilds. People here seem to have time for each other, back to the basics of living and friendship somehow. They seem open, honest and trustworthy."
She studied the striking woman to see if there would be a flicker of uneasiness, guilt, even shame over what she'd just heard. But Lisa saw none of that in her face, body language or demeanor. And in trying to trap Christine, Lisa realized she'd been deceptive herself and that she truly believed what she'd said about the Alaskans she'd met so far.
Christine's gaze remained steady; she even nodded in understanding that made Lisa not mistrust this woman so much as her own past. Had she been superficial with others, too busy or afraid of loss to build deep relationships, maybe even with Mitch? And then, had she shut herself off even more when, like her mother and sister, he'd left her? Now she was suspicious of almost everyone here, when she wanted to be able to trust people more.
"I've gotta admit," Christine said in a soft, steady voice, "despite some problems I've had, this lodge and this wilderness is right where I want to be and stay."
Was that an inadvertent admission Christine had decided not to be alone and to protect her place here with Mitch at any cost? Was it a carefully, softly delivered threat, or was it more Alaskan straight talk, real life?
Here Lisa had been planning to accuse this woman to Mitch and she was coming to trust and like her. But then, she'd once felt the same way about the other suspects, too.
After Christine left her alone with only the dolls watching her, Lisa dried her eyes and blew her nose. She hoped Mitch was still waiting below for her, if he was down there at all. He had responsibilities and needed to keep all his guests happy--even the one he was trying to expose.
She opened the narrow wooden door a crack. A breath of chill air and wan light emanated from below. "Mitch?"
"Be careful on the steps." His voice floated to her.
She saw the steps were actually large notches cut from a big, debarked tree trunk that slanted downward in a narrow passageway of hewn stone. The more she saw and learned about Duck Lake Lodge, the more she wished she'd known Mitch's uncle John, the man who had left him this precious heritage.
She closed the door behind her and descended, keeping her hand on the cool, rough stone wall since there was no banister. Mitch appeared at the bottom of the steps and gave her a hand.
"I used to love this hideaway when I was a kid," he told her. "I don't share it with many people."
She wondered if Christine had been down here, but of course, the chef and housekeeper could well have been. She saw the three walls of shelves were lit from behind. They were not tight to the stone walls but had space for a person to squeeze in behind, either to access wine bottles from both sides or to keep them dry if the walls were damp or cold. He gestured for her to follow him around a shelf, and she was in awe. It was like being in a dim cave with huge, backlit sparkling gems studding the stone. Or as if they were being watched by glowing ogre eyes of green and amber.
A vision flashed at her quick as lightning--her mother's eyes, green as the sea, staring at her through glassy water. She forced it away.
"Quite a collection," sh
e said, looking around. The room itself was only about five feet square, with one chair and an overturned crate for a table. They stood facing each other on the rough-hewn floor.
"A hobby of my uncle's, but I've added to it," he explained. "So, what did you think of the Jonas-fall-from-grace fiasco today? Spike says he's positive all those leather towlines were in excellent working order and that the dogs had no chance to gnaw through one."
"But he can't prove it."
"Did you see anything to make you think Jonas took the risk of cutting his towline?"
"I can't be positive, but if I had to testify, I'd say it was intact when I was briefly on that sled before him. I was looking out at the dogs, talking to them, so I didn't think to check on that. He's the one who suggested we switch sleds, so Graham could get better pictures of him--which means we could ask to see those photos, try to tell if Jonas was bending forward to cut the line. Still, if they're in his possession, he could have edited all that out by now. Like all three of us, he brought his laptop." She heaved a heavy sigh.
"If he risked tampering with the sled, he's desperate."
"Someone's desperate. But is that someone only after me? That was to be my sled, but only Spike could have known that at first. But the point is, Jonas needs watching, not to mention Vanessa."
"Graham warned me Spike does, too, but I know the guy. He wouldn't screw up like that. I've worked with him ever since I've lived here, and knew him from before when he worked for my uncle."
"Besides, Spike emphasized we mushers were to hold on to the handlebow at all costs, and Jonas didn't do that. Even if the towline broke, he wouldn't have toppled off if he'd held on, so he had to have let go."
"You're right. Whether he let go intentionally or not, one way or the other, he caused his own accident."
"Speaking of Spike, you told me not to suspect your staff, but I looked up Christine and am glad I did. Mitch, I found out about the Kagak trial. And the fact you more or less lied to me about her past so--"
"I did not."
"Oh, yeah, fine. Good, brief answer without offering anything else."
She could see Mitch grit his teeth, then unclench his jaw muscles. He crossed his arms over his chest, jamming his fists under his armpits. "She asked me never to tell any of our guests, so I kept that promise. I was going to ask her permiss--"
"Well, I won't tell anyone else, but I should have been told. Of course, I can see why you didn't want me to know. Not only--yes, I know it was in self-defense--did she kill someone, but she pushed him down the stairs first. And she's the only one who knew when and where we were meeting on the ridge. Mitch, listen to the facts. She pushed him."
But even as she said that, Lisa knew she was the one who felt guilty and torn. Hadn't she and Christine just started to build some sort of woman-to-woman understanding upstairs, and now she was trying to accuse her of murder--another murder?
"I get your point," Mitch said, "but too circumstantial, not enough connect-the-dots. Someone else could have seen you--anyone. Vanessa or Jonas, even the Bonners, looking out a window from the second floor when you walked away from the lodge alone."
"But how much does Christine--or Spike--think I need to be punished for hurting you? Or want to scare me off or even eliminate me to be certain I don't try to take you away from all this? Christine's a quiet person, but smart and determined." Again, she felt a stab of guilt, betraying her better judgment about Christine, but she had to pursue all possibilities.
"Forget the idea she thinks you could take me away from here. As for Spike, he's not devious, not clever that way. Graham's lectured me about Spike, and I don't need you siding with the firm's managing partner, who is too damn good already at managing people's lives."
Their voices kept rising, but the deep walls seemed to swallow up the sound. Lisa realized they were getting angry with each other again, going into their argument mode, the one that could accelerate to accusations and rampaging emotion.
"So let's look at Graham," she insisted, desperate for answers at any cost. "If he has a vendetta against anyone, it would be you, not me or Jonas."
"Yeah."
"I'm just grasping at straws with Graham. But with Christine, Spike--even his sister, Ginger--who are obviously loyal to you for keeping the lodge going...they know I hurt you and rejected this life they love so much. Christine especially cares for y--"
"And I care for her, but not the way you're implying."
Hands on hips, she stepped closer to him, however forbidding he looked. "What am I implying?"
"Oh, hell, listen to us when we're supposed to be on the same side. Two bickering lawyers. And certainly, Christine, as perceptive and protective of me as she is, knows there's nothing between you and me anymore that way. Right? Right? There isn't, is there?" he goaded, stepping closer also.
Their gazes held in the reflected light of the wine bottles. It was like a distorted rainbow down there...the reverse of somewhere over the rainbow. Lisa stood mesmerized, frozen with her hands on her hips. His arms were still crossed over his chest. The air between them in the little space seemed to vibrate. She wanted to hit him. She hated him.
They came together before she knew either of them would move, her arms tight around his neck, his hands hard on her waist and bottom, caressing her, molding her flesh to his touch while their lips held, moved, demanded. Pressed to him breasts to chest, her hip bones to his hard thighs, the madness went on and on.
He backed her up as if he'd pin her against the wall, until the bottles behind them shifted and rattled. It was like being in the wilderness again without the rules of civilization, like riding a wild river wave. She ran her fingers through his hair as he clutched her to him so she could hardly breathe.
Yet they did breathe in unison, slanting their lips, missing noses, to get closer, closer. Tasting each other, devouring the painful past. She tingled all over, and a shiver wacked her.
"Mitch!" was all she could manage when they finally came up for air.
She needed him, but not this life he had chosen. She trusted him to help her through this, and yet he'd deserted and hurt her before.
To her utter dismay, he set her back at arm's length, still holding on to her upper arms as if to prop them both up.
"I'll have to plead," he said, breathing raggedly with a determined expression hardening his rugged features, "temporary insanity. We can't--this isn't going to help. I want more, and there's not going to be more."
She stared dazedly at him.
"I've got to be sure you're safe and we discover who might want to harm you. You trust me to help, don't you?"
"I'm afraid I'll commit professional suicide with the Bonners by accusing Jonas or Vanessa." Her voice was still shaky and breathy--not her own. The old, ambitious lawyer Lisa talking.
"I want to hear you say you don't think I was the one who tried to harm you."
Hair prickled on the back of her neck and a shiver snaked down her spine again. "And then risk your life to save me? No. I'm so sorry we didn't--it didn't work out for us, but I do trust you in this. Mitch, I brought the bracelet you bought for me--a pre-engagement gift, you said, the seagulls flying. I know it was expensive, and I want to give it back, a pledge that I do trust you--forgive you."
"I'm glad for that, but you keep the bracelet. I gave it to you in happy times. You gave me the ring back, so that's enough. Wear it if you want--if you trust me still."
He loosed his grip on her upper arms and nervously wiped his palms together, a move so uncharacteristic of him, since he always seemed to be in control. He looked as shaken as she felt. And he wanted her to keep the bracelet he'd bought her when they first knew they were in love; it was such a pretty piece, two seagulls with wings outspread, flying high together. Now he wanted her trust more than kisses.
She took a small step away, back into the center of the cellar. "About Graham," she said, trying to get back on track so she didn't throw herself at him again. Her voice was shaky. "When you mentioned y
ou were afraid someone had gotten to him on the casino case, he looked like he was going to explode until you added that you thought someone might be threatening him. So that means it upset him that you thought someone could be bribing him--his fault. But when you explained that someone might be threatening him--their fault--he calmed down."
"And right after that, he took offense when I said we needed to trace someone up the trail of suspicion. He quickly insisted it was some lowlife who must have been behind it. So what if he wasn't trying to protect us but himself or some of his wealthy, powerful cronies from something he didn't want us to know in that case?"
"The Bonners and their crowd are definitely on the high end of the social and political feeding chain in the sunny south. But I still think our number-one candidates are Vanessa or Jonas. I'm going into Bear Bones with Vanessa before dinner so I'll see if I can rattle her cage a little more."
"I'll drive the two of you in. Maybe we can work on her together, and I don't want you alone with her."
"Mitch, whoever shoved me in the river was sneaky, when she's more blatant. I can handle Vanessa face-to-face."
"I'm still going along. I have a few errands to do while the others have their downtime."
"Vanessa's across the lake visiting Ginger Jackson right now, then Ellie's going over. I'm going over tomorrow. We didn't want to inundate Ginger with chattering, gushing females asking for recipes and gawking at her. If she's anything like Christine, she's very humble about her accomplishments."
"Glad to hear you say something good about Christine," he said as he followed her to the steps. Without his even discussing it, she knew they needed to go upstairs one at a time.
"You called her Cu'paq," she said as she started up.
"You pronounce it better than I do. Duck Lake is really Lake Dukoe, you know, and it doesn't mean duck. That's just another distortion by the whites who came in and renamed everything, including turning Denali, 'The Great One,' into Mount McKinley."