by Mary Daheim
I was still skeptical. “Curtis is a flake, but I’ve never thought of him as a nutcase.”
“Whatever.” Milo waved a hand at Vida and me. “Go home. There’s nothing you can do here. I have to keep the little creep overnight because I can’t formally charge him until morning, when the judge shows up. If that Foxx woman wants to post his bail, she’s out of luck.” The sheriff picked up the phone and glanced at Graham, who was filling out the missing person’s form while Doe sat in silence. “I’m bringing in some extra help. If I have to, I’ll ask the state patrol for some dogs to track down Kelsey—if, in fact, she’s really missing. G’bye.” He turned his back on us and finished dialing. “Sam,” Milo said into the phone, “you’re up first for extra duty. Get your ass in here ASAP.”
Vida and I exchanged baleful glances. I’d expected her to argue about leaving, but she kept quiet and joined me as I started for the door.
“Now tell me about Graham,” she demanded as soon as we were out on the sidewalk.
I hesitated, taking in Front Street with its scattering of vehicles passing by, a handful of pedestrians strolling along past city hall, the courthouse, the Clemans Building, the Burger Barn, and the Bank of Alpine. Some of the red, white, and blue bunting had already been hung from the power poles in preparation for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration. I smelled sawdust from the mill and diesel from a big truck that rumbled past us. Raising my head, I could see the buildings and homes that marched up the steep slope of Tonga Ridge all the way to the tree line. Church spires mingled with tin roofs, and brick with shake exteriors and aluminum siding. I managed to make out my own little log house, snug against the evergreens. The view seemed so normal, though my private world did not.
“It’s crazy,” I finally said to Vida. “Somebody appears to have been impersonating Graham. He was in New York until this morning. I don’t know what to think or believe anymore. I’ve lost my bearings.”
“Temporarily derailed,” Vida asserted.
“I hope so.” I smiled ruefully. “Do you want to come back to my place and have dinner?”
Vida pondered the renewed offer. “No, I think not.” She gazed at the iron post clock by the bank. “It’s almost seven-thirty. I’ll fix something at home. Thank you just the same. I’ll phone you later, and you can finish filling me in. I must confess, I don’t know what to think about all this, either. Most mystifying.”
I didn’t coax. Frankly, I needed some peace and quiet in order to sort out the most recent unsettling events. Five minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen, wondering if I really felt like cooking any of the meal I’d planned for two. I’d been shortchanged all day on food, but I had no appetite. An apple would hold me until I got hungry again.
By nine o’clock I still didn’t feel like eating. I checked my e-mail, but there was no word from Adam or Ben, only the usual messages soliciting my business for everything from floral arrangements to horoscope forecasts. What I really needed was a swami who could figure out what was going on with the so-called Cavanaughs.
Vida still hadn’t called, though I figured that she was catching up with some of her other fruitful sources. I refrained from contacting Milo, assuming—maybe incorrectly—that he’d let me know if there were any new developments, such as Curtis claiming to have been reincarnated after his career as Jack the Ripper.
Just as twilight was turning to dusk, I heard an odd sound that seemed to come from outside. I looked through the front window but saw nothing except for an elderly man from down the street walking his collie. I heard the noise again a couple of minutes later and went to the kitchen. All was calm when I gazed from the window facing my backyard. Cautiously, I opened the door to the carport at the side of the house. Nothing.
Maybe I was starting to imagine things, I thought. Reality beckoned in the form of my full garbage container under the sink. I collected the plastic bag and went out the back way to the trash can beyond the woodpile.
The lid lay on the carport floor, and some of the contents were strewn haphazardly on the ground. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, especially in the colder months, when wildlife was forced to seek food below the snow line. Deer, cougars, bears, wolves, and other animals were often sighted in town. With their habitat dwindling from relentless human encroachment, they were even seen occasionally in big cities, such as Seattle. I picked up the debris and put it back in the can.
I was about to go inside when I saw something move in the shadows near a big Douglas fir. It wasn’t an animal but a man. I froze, aware that I had more to fear from another human than from the forest creatures. Curtis’s confession aside, I was sure that a killer still lurked in Alpine. I might be next on the hit list.
Paralyzed, I watched the man walk slowly toward me. Then I gasped in relief. The long gray hair and beard were familiar. It was Craig Laurentis, the reclusive artist whose painting hung in my living room. I hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Surprised, I waited in the carport, watching him approach with his peculiar, unhurried grace.
“Emma Lord,” he said when he came within ten feet of me.
“Craig Laurentis,” I responded, smiling at him as he stopped at the edge of the carport. I could’ve sworn that he wore the same ragged tank top and pants he’d had on when he rescued me after a nasty fall the previous August. “I never tire of looking at your painting Sky Autumn.”
“Good.” He regarded me with his intense green eyes. “The cubs came calling.”
“What? Oh!” I looked at my garbage can. “Of course. I didn’t think of that. Where are they?”
He made a slight gesture with his hand. “Somewhere by those cedar trees, probably the one that was damaged by lightning last February.” His voice was rather hoarse, a quality I’d noticed on our first meeting, when I had guessed that he seldom spoke to other humans.
“Are you going to raise them?”
He shrugged. “If they stay. That’s up to them.”
“Can I get you something?” I asked.
Craig shook his head. “I don’t need anything. But I have something for you.”
I was puzzled. His hands were empty. “What is it?”
“A girl,” Craig replied. “She says her name is Kelsey. She wants to see you. Shall I call to her?”
I was nonplussed. “Well…yes, of course.”
Craig whistled, long and low. I stared across the sloping expanse of my backyard, but daylight was fading fast. I couldn’t see Kelsey or the bear cubs. After what seemed like a long time but was probably less than a minute, a hunched figure emerged from behind a fallen log just a few feet beyond my property line. Kelsey moved uncertainly, slowly, and, it seemed to me, fearfully, as she approached the carport.
I turned to Craig to ask if she was okay. But he’d vanished like a wraith, moving noiselessly across the grass on bare feet while I focused on Kelsey.
She faltered a few feet from where I was standing. “Ms. Lord?”
I hurried to meet her. “Yes, of course. How are you?” I asked, putting an arm around her.
“Scared. Tired.” She leaned against me as I led her inside.
While I settled her on the sofa, I noticed that her short-sleeved linen blouse and matching cropped pants were dirty. Feathery maple seedpods, green fir needles, and clusters of small cedar cones clung to her clothes and even to her hair. “Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?”
Kelsey shook her head. “I just want to rest. I’m so tired.”
I sat down in the armchair by the hearth. Give her time, I admonished myself, sensing that she was in a very vulnerable state. Kelsey huddled at the end of the sofa, staring at the floor.
“That painting behind you was done by Craig Laurentis,” I said after a long pause.
She lifted her chin but didn’t turn around. “Who?”
“The man who brought you here,” I replied. “He’s an artist.”
“Oh.” She seemed unimpressed.
“How did you run into him?” I asked.
&
nbsp; Kelsey frowned, as if she couldn’t quite remember. “Ah…” She hesitated, running her fingers through her blond hair and dislodging a couple of maple pods. “I was in the woods,” she finally said, closing her eyes as if she had to visualize where she’d been and what she’d done. “I ran away from the lodge.” Opening her eyes, she looked at me in puzzlement. “I was scared, really scared.”
“What scared you?” I inquired in a matter-of-fact voice.
“I heard Dylan and Sophia talking in the other room,” she replied slowly. “They didn’t know I was there. They thought I’d gone to lunch in the coffee shop, but I hadn’t because I’d forgotten my key card to the suite, so I had to find it in the bedroom. Then I hid until they left.”
“What did Dylan and Sophia say to upset you?”
Kelsey’s face crumpled. She was on the verge of tears. “They were going to send me…somewhere. It was called…Resthaven. It’s a place for…crazy people.”
“I don’t think they can do that unless you want to go there,” I pointed out.
Agitated, Kelsey shook her head. “Sophia told Dylan I’d do anything he wanted me to. I always have.” She leaned her head back against the sofa. “It’s true. I love him very much.”
“But you wouldn’t let them do that, would you?”
“Well…” She rubbed at her nose. “My mother used to go there sometimes. But she always came back home. After the last time she went, she took too many pills and…” Kelsey’s voice trailed off, and she frowned. “It was awful.”
“I know,” I said quietly and waited for her to go on. But she didn’t. Instead, Kelsey continued to frown and stare at the carpet.
“I’m going to call your brother,” I finally said, getting up to fetch the phone from the side table. “He’s been looking for you.”
Kelsey’s blue eyes grew wide. “Graham’s here? Oh, I’m so glad!”
Holding the receiver, I looked down at her. “Who is the man calling himself Graham?”
Kelsey grimaced. “He’s Sophia’s brother Nick. I never saw him before in my life until he came to the ski lodge.”
I was stunned. “You mean…this Nick is also the brother of the man who was killed at the motel?”
Kelsey nodded. “I guess so. But I didn’t know he had a brother. Or what his real name was. He always called himself Thor.”
I stared at Kelsey. “Thor?”
She nodded. “One of the deputies told me his full name was Maxim Roth Volos. I guess he turned his middle name around because it sounded more artistic.”
Thor. Roth. Josh Roth, the man who was staying at the motel, the man who’d been killed, the man who was…? “Did he father your baby?” I asked with reluctance.
Kelsey nodded again. “He wanted me to get an abortion, but my father wouldn’t stand for it. I think he paid Thor to go back to New York. That’s how Graham met Sophia. To make sure Thor really left San Francisco after we’d come back there, my father sent Graham back East with Thor. Then Graham married Sophia a while later, but it didn’t work out. I never realized Sophia was Thor’s sister. They were married at somebody’s house on Long Island.”
“Did Thor ever meet your son?”
“No. I never saw Thor again.” She sighed. “I missed him, but later…well, he sort of faded from my mind, especially after I met Dylan. Then I saw Thor’s picture in your paper, and at first I wasn’t sure it was him. He’d shaved his beard and cut his hair. I was afraid to ask Sophia. She scares me. I felt trapped. I had to pretend that Nick was Graham or they would’ve…you know.”
I could guess. “Do you know who killed Thor?”
Kelsey turned away from me. “I don’t want to know. I just want to be with Graham. Thor never loved me, and now Dylan doesn’t love me, either. He never did. Like Thor, he only cares about my money. I just realized that these last few days.” She pressed a hand to her temple. “I think you can only trust family. Without Graham, I’m all alone.”
What if I told her she wasn’t alone, she had me? But she didn’t. I was a stranger. And yet she’d come here, apparently of her own volition. For the moment, all I could do was dial the sheriff’s office.
Doe Jameson answered the phone. “Is Dodge there?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “He went home about half an hour ago.”
“Where’s Graham Cavanaugh?”
“I don’t know,” Doe said. “He left, too. Do you want his cell number?”
I told her I did and scribbled the information on a notepad I kept by the phone.
“Is Graham coming?” Kelsey asked plaintively before I could dial his number.
“I’m calling him now,” I said, entering the numbers and waiting for her brother to pick up.
He answered on the second ring. I told him that Kelsey was at my house. Graham expressed his relief and said he’d come right away. He’d been sitting in the ski lodge parking lot, hoping that she might show up.
Kelsey let out a deep sigh when I relayed the message. “Now everything will be okay,” she said.
I sat back down in the armchair. “Tell me how you met up with Craig.”
“Craig?” She seemed mystified.
“The artist who lives in the forest.”
“Oh.” Kelsey cleared her throat, sat up straight, and folded her hands in her lap, looking like a pupil reciting in class. “I went into the woods and found a trail. I followed it, and after a while it sort of disappeared. I was afraid to go back down in case they were looking for me, so I sat on a log for a long, long time. It was so peaceful there and I could hear water, so I finally got up because I was thirsty and followed the sound. The creek was really pretty, with ferns and moss and even some little white flowers in bloom. I got a drink from it. I’ve never tasted water so wonderful. But I wasn’t sure how to find the trail again. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t taken anything with me, not even my cell phone. Then I saw those little bears. At first, I was scared. But they didn’t seem to notice me and went farther on to get their own drink from the creek. That was when I saw the man coming close to them. He didn’t see me at first. He looked like one of those homeless people you see in San Francisco. I wondered if I should be afraid of him, so I didn’t move. And then he saw me and walked down the hill to ask if I was lost. I told him I was. The little bears had gone off by then. The man—you said his name is Craig?”
I nodded. “Craig Laurentis. He has a home in the forest.”
Kelsey nodded. “He asked me where I wanted to go. I told him I was afraid to go back down the trail because…I couldn’t say why. He asked if I had any friends around here. I said I didn’t, and then I thought of you, so I told him. He knew where you lived, and that’s where we went. So did the bears.”
“You were lucky he came along,” I said. “He’s very kind.”
The doorbell rang. Kelsey gave a start. I checked first through the peephole to make sure it was Graham. He looked impatient, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Come in,” I said after opening the door.
Kelsey had gotten to her feet. “Graham!” she cried and flew into his arms. He held her close for a long time as she said his name over and over again.
Tom’s children. His immortality, tangible evidence that he had lived. Clinging to each other in my little log house. It was almost as if Tom was standing beside me.
I began to cry.
Graham and Kelsey finally eased out of their embrace, but he kept an arm around her as they moved to the sofa. I went into the kitchen so they couldn’t see my tears. It took me a couple of minutes to regain my composure. I wiped my eyes with a piece of paper towel and returned to the living room.
Graham spoke first. “I’m appalled,” he declared. “Kelsey’s telling her side of this ghastly story. Can’t your sheriff arrest all these creeps on enough charges to put them in prison? Fraud, conspiracy, identity theft. Even if that reporter confessed to the murder, these people are criminals.”
In light of Milo’s rigid adherence to
following procedure, I hesitated. “If you two brought charges against them for Nick Volos’s impersonation of you, Graham, then the sheriff could bring him in for questioning.” I looked at Kelsey, still in the circle of her brother’s protective arm. “Did Dylan or anyone else threaten you with bodily harm?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and shook her head.
I sat down again in the armchair. “Do any of them own a gun?”
“I don’t know,” Kelsey said in a rueful voice.
Graham frowned. “If they declared it was in their luggage and they’d bought it legally, it’s possible.”
“It might have been acquired illegally,” I murmured as a thought occurred to me. “I’m going to call Milo. The sheriff,” I clarified, getting up to reach the phone. “I’ve never heard if he checked the flights these people arrived on. Sophia and Maxim were here first as far as I know. But this Nick came later, after you got into town, Kelsey.”
I dialed Milo’s cell. He picked up just before the call went over to his voice mail. “What now?” he demanded.
“Call off the dogs,” I said. “Kelsey’s here with me.”
“You found her?” Milo asked, sounding surprised.
“She found me. I’ll explain later,” I said and then posed my query about the suspects’ arrivals. “Anybody who came before Volos was killed?”
“Frigging red tape,” Milo grumbled. “We didn’t hear back until late this afternoon. I’d left by then. What’s wrong with these idiot airlines?”
“And?” I coaxed.
“The phoney Josh and Ginger Roth arrived at Sea-Tac late Tuesday from New York. Fake IDs from California, but nobody caught that. Graham Cavanaugh, a.k.a. Nick Volos, was on a flight out of JFK the next morning. We haven’t had a chance to check on Graham the Second.”
“Never mind,” I said, glancing at Graham. “I believe him. I believe Kelsey, too. But what about the real Dylan Platte?”
“He took a flight out of San Francisco just after Kelsey left to come here. That means he’s out of the loop as the killer.”
“Yes, it does.” I paused. “Hang on. I’ve got a question for Kelsey. She and Graham are here at my house.”