“He was an Aleut. A lot of Aleuts have Russian names, from the time the Russian fur traders took over the Aleutian Islands.”
“What do you want to know, Malinche?”
She lifted her eyes to his. Riveting brown eyes, he thought, suddenly uneasy. They looked misty, suspiciously as though she were about to cry. “They said he got lost and froze to death.”
“That’s the way it looked to me.”
“That wouldn’t have happened to Dimitri!” She jumped up from the sofa and paced a few steps across the narrow room. “He was a Native. He knew the territory. Even if that snowstorm was unusual, it would come as no surprise to him. Did they mention how he got there?”
Brian frowned. That bothered him a little, too. “So what do you think happened?”
She sighed and collapsed again on the sofa. “I think somebody killed him.”
Brian stared at her. “That’s quite an accusation.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she said stubbornly.
He had been right; she was going to be a problem. “I gather the authorities don’t think so. Maybe he was hunting and didn’t realize how far he’d gone.”
“He wasn’t a hunter. He was an artist. And a very good one.”
An artist. Was that why the name sounded familiar?
He’d had to answer some questions about the body, but he didn’t recall the authorities mentioning the man’s identity, if they had known at the time.
“An artist could get lost more easily than a hunter.”
He leaned back in his chair, still skeptical, not only about her story, but her motives as well. What was this affair to her? He had to admit he’d been curious about the guy, more curious than he had admitted even to himself. That didn’t mean he wanted to be involved.
“Suppose you tell me why you’re so sure he was killed. And while you’re at it, what’s your interest in him? So far, it doesn’t add up.”
“There was something more.” She hesitated, as though unsure how far to trust him, then apparently made up her mind. Haltingly, searching for words, she told him about the message on her answering machine and the package she had received. “You see, I have a duty to him. Dimitri was my brother”
He lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “But what do you want from me?”
She leaned toward him, eyes glowing with eagerness. “Did you find anything, see anything, that you didn’t tell the police about?”
He hated to quench the hope in her eyes, but he couldn’t think of a thing. Everything had been chaos when he brought the body in. People running around, giving terse instructions, making calls. He had gotten away as quickly as he could.
But wait. There was something forgotten in the confusion. He moved to his parka and took out the tiny green object. He had completely forgotten about it. Only later, at home, when he’d put his hand in his pocket had he remembered. As yet, he hadn’t gotten around to giving it to the police. He extended his arm and opened his fist. “This was lying under the body.”
She gasped. “It’s a Dimitri dragon.”
He scrutinized the object more carefully. The delicately carved dragon had a spiny tail and four clawed toes on each of its four feet. The body twisted in a sinister shape. Every detail was expertly worked from the forked tail to the tongue half out of the wide-open mouth. Brian felt the power of the intricately carved object.
But there was something strange about the head. It had an eerie, half-human look…
“A dragon?” He echoed. “I thought Natives carved seals and polar bears—things like that.”
She shook her head. “Dimitri was obsessed with dragons. I’ve seen several of his exhibits, and there’s always a dragon…it was his trademark. In the brochures I’ve read, he said he’d carved them all his life. There’s probably a Dimitri dragon in every tourist shop in town.”
Her fingers clutched the dragon, and she gazed beseechingly at him. Brian’s fingers trembled. He actually had to close his fist to keep from reaching over and smoothing his hands down over the black silk of her hair, lifting it off her neck to watch it flow like dark water through his hands. The sensation was distinctly unwelcome. Women like her were trouble, soft, unfit for the North. Immediately he wondered why he cared. Instead, he closed her fingers over the dragon. It was hers by right.
Her mouth trembled. “Will you help me find out who killed him? You found his body, you’ve talked to the police. You’ll know who I should talk to first.”
“No.” Brian’s rejection might not have been so brusque if she didn’t affect him so strongly. “Besides, why me? The police must have a reason for thinking the death was an accident. And if you’re determined not to drop it, why not talk to his friends? There must be someone who’ll help.”
“I’m going to talk to whoever I can locate, but I doubt they’ll be of help with the police so adamant that it was an accident. Besides, you did find the body, took it to the authorities. You might not have noticed anything at the time, but you might remember something strange if you look back.”
“What about the body? Where is it?”
“They haven’t released it yet. Said they had another test or two to do.”
That was strange, Brian mused to himself. But it still wasn’t any of his business. “I didn’t notice anything,” Brian reiterated. “The police took only a brief statement from me. I didn’t even know who I’d found until now. It’s nothing to me.”
“I’ll pay…”
Pay! It figured she would think that anything could be purchased. A spoiled woman, used to her own way. He glared at her, angry that she had aroused such a warm sensation in him. “No. I’m not for sale. And it’s none of my business. I’d advise you to forget about it, too.”
“Advise?” Her chin came up. “I don’t recall asking for your advice.”
“Look, I stay out of things that don’t concern me. And if you’re smart, you won’t go around telling everyone your suspicions. Just go on home and forget it.”
“Forget it?” She glared at him. “So, you won’t help me. You still can’t tell me what to do. I don’t need your patronizing advice!”
She whirled, grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch, and strode out the door. The closing slam reverberated through Brian’s apartment and down his spine to the small of his back.
MALINCHE CLOSED HER EYES, leaned back against his door, and took several slow, calming breaths. Why was she reacting so strongly? His words hadn’t really been that offensive. No, but he had been so sure he knew what was right for her, had tried to order her around just as Buck did. She hadn’t come all the way to Alaska just to find another controlling male.
Yet she had to admit something about him had attracted her immediately. He wasn’t incredibly handsome, if you were talking about classical features. His strong nose was a bit off center, probably broken in a fight. His firm jaw looked determined, even pugnacious. He wasn’t a man to be pushed around.
Well, she wasn’t a woman to be pushed around, either. And did he really know as little about Dimitri, about what the authorities had found, as he said? He had found the body, he had given a statement. Wasn’t he the least bit curious?
She shoved her hands in her pockets, shook her hair back from her face and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She would walk the mile and a half to her apartment. Brian’s refusal to help wasn’t the only thing causing her despondent mood. She had thought that when she got to Alaska things would be simpler, and that she would finally feel that she belonged someplace, but she was as much a stranger here as she had been in those snooty schools her dad had persisted in sending her to. Schools where she had felt hopelessly out of place, where people spoke a cultural language she didn’t understand.
Perhaps it was natural to feel alienated. She’d never known her mother. She had lived her first seven years in the safe, enclosed world of a Native village where Buck had left her while he prospected for gold. She
’d been loved and cossetted by everyone. Then Buck Adams, dreamer and prospector, had struck it rich, remembered he had a child, and her life had changed irrevocably.
She knew she wasn’t entitled to sympathy for having a rich, indulgent—and autocratic—father, but the change in her life had been dramatic. She could have anything she wanted—except a feeling of belonging.
She wondered if she should go to the villagers for help, but it had been years since she’d been in contact with anyone from the village. She might not know anyone who lived there now. And they were simple people, not likely to have much influence with the authorities.
There was also Dimitri’s friend, the one who had sent her the letter. She would talk to him later, but she still thought since Brian had found the body, had talked to the police, he was the logical place to begin. She had made a few inquiries about him and he seemed well-known in the state—and well-connected.
Deep in thought, she lowered her head and kept her eyes on the sidewalk, hardly aware of the cars passing, the occasional pedestrian walking briskly along.
She glanced up, suddenly aware that traffic had thinned. A shiver of uneasiness skittered down her back; she still wasn’t used to the solitude one sometimes found in Anchorage.
Then she relaxed. Anchorage wasn’t that far from the arctic circle. Even though it was late, the sky still retained a soft, golden light; the summer days were as endless as the winter nights. Of course there was no traffic. Everyone was probably home in bed.
There was one car, though, driving slowly behind her. Although she hadn’t been consciously aware of it, she realized now it had been there for several minutes.
Unable to stop herself, she glanced back over her shoulder. The car slowed even more, then pulled up to the curb and parked a couple of hundred feet behind her. She sighed with relief. Obviously, the driver had been driving slowly looking for an address.
Her thoughts swung back to Dimitri, the brother that she would never know. The loss stung, brought tears to her eyes. She was his only hope for justice; she couldn’t let him down. The police maintained it was an accident, and at this point she had nothing but intuition telling her it wasn’t.
She was passing a vacant lot now. The landscaped yards of houses had given way to a thick stand of alpine fir underplanted with thick brush. She shivered. This strange northern night, with its faint, wavering illumination, wasn’t at all the familiar light of daytime. It was more like twilight, an in-between time, a time that encouraged fears and fantasy. That must be the reason her neck was tingling and she felt as though someone were staring at her back.
She heard the screech of tires. With her heart slamming against her chest, she whirled. The car had pulled out from the curb and was speeding down the street toward her.
Why was it coming so fast? It was almost upon her! And it was swerving toward her!
For an instant she was immobilized with fear. A few details burned themselves into her mind. It was a late model sedan. The windshield was tinted. She could only see a dark silhouette behind the wheel.
Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The vehicle was only a few feet away but it seemed to take forever to cover the space. Breaking her paralysis, she jumped backward, feeling herself moving as slowly as though she were swimming in molasses.
She didn’t feel the impact of the fender slam against her leg. She only knew she was flying through endless time. Then everything went black.
Chapter Two
The pontoons touched lightly, and Brian taxied across the mirrorlike lake to the pier where he tethered his small Cessna. The fishing trip had been a mistake; he couldn’t keep his mind on it and after three days finally admitted he didn’t care whether he caught a trout or not.
The problem was Malinche; he couldn’t get her out of his mind. And it was ridiculous. Even the damned woman’s name was ridiculous. He had always prided himself on his ability to control his life, to stay clear of the sentimental impulses that most people seemed prone to, and he didn’t like this development.
Malinche seemed all emotion. Certainly she had a temper. The slamming door still echoed in his ears. He’d resisted an impulse to run after her. At least see she got home safely.
And get yourself involved in something you don’t want, he thought. He’d met women like Malinche. They were a hazard of the North—rich, spoiled women who thought a rugged Alaskan man would be a good diversion. A trophy. But when things got tough they couldn’t hack it. He’d met one in particular—had a beautiful summer that meant more to him than it did to her—and she’d left with the first hard frost. An Alaskan man might look glamorous, but the hard facts of arctic life soon wore the glamour away.
Yet something had been worrying him ever since Malinche had insisted Dimitri had been murdered. It was the first time he had wondered if there might be a connection to the bizarre things that had been happening to him. He was sure his apartment had been searched, he’d felt that he was being followed, and there was that strange message on his answering machine: “We know you have it. We’ll be in touch.” Wrong number, he’d thought. He had no explanation. There was nothing in his place to steal, and the cryptic message meant absolutely nothing. But if Dimitri really had been murdered…and someone thought he knew something…
Unless it was that silly dragon. If so, he couldn’t see why. Malinche had said her brother had carved dozens of them, that there was probably one in every shop in town.
He took his backpack from the plane, walked up the pier to where his Jeep was parked. He jumped into the vehicle and headed down the steep, winding road toward Anchorage, driving perhaps a little faster than he should.
It happened on the first turn. He braked, and the pedal hit the floor. The Jeep was headed right off the road into a ravine. Fear and surprise stabbed him. Desperately he fought for control. He bounced off the shoulder, turned the wheel into the bank. The resulting crash shook him up, but at least he was still alive.
He climbed out of the Jeep and scooted under the frame. As he’d suspected, the brake lines had been severed. Cursing, he radioed for a tow truck and sat on the side of the road going over what had happened. It was becoming too obvious to explain away. Someone wanted him out of the way, and they were serious. Only luck had kept him from ending up in the ravine.
The only thing out of the ordinary that he’d done recently had been to find Dimitri’s body. A cold chill went down his back. Perhaps someone thought he’d reached Dimitri before he died. And that Dimitri had talked. If Dimitri had been murdered, that would explain these bizarre incidents. He was a threat.
Arriving finally at his apartment, he threaded the key into the lock, then paused. The door wasn’t locked. He was sure he had locked it. Gingerly, he entered the room, then halted, his gaze sweeping beyond the foyer to the living area. He whistled softly. He’d thought someone had searched his apartment before. This time it was definite. Someone had taken the place apart.
He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, fists clenched. He didn’t care much about material objects, but the invasion of his privacy infuriated him. He made a quick search. It appeared nothing had been taken. Putting back the cushions that had been ripped from his couch, he sat down and contemplated the situation. Things were piling up. The accident with the Jeep might well mean that whoever had searched his apartment hadn’t found what they wanted and had decided to eliminate him.
He went out into the hall and rapped sharply on his landlady’s door. It opened immediately.
“Brian.” Mrs. Lindsay’s rotund face creased into a cheery smile. “I wasn’t expecting you back for a few days.” She broke off, her eyes suddenly anxious. “Is anything wrong?”
“Horrible!” she interjected, as he outlined what had happened. “Did they take anything?”
“Not that I can tell. Did you hear anything?”
Mrs. Lindsay flushed. “No—but then, I go to sleep early.”
Brian didn’t pursue it. Mrs. Lindsay liked a few nips of whisk
y at bedtime. Probably the place could have tumbled down around her and she wouldn’t have heard a thing.
She reached behind her and picked up several papers from a table by the door. “I brought your papers in.”
He thanked her and went back to his apartment. He should call the police, but he doubted there was anything they could do. Certainly not, if he was right about the reason for the break-in.
Several hours later he had his apartment back in shape, but he was too restless to relax. He decided to call his boss and tell him he was back in town. Joe Pasco, a middle manager at Universal Oil, was also his friend.
“Brian! Glad you’re back.” Pasco’s voice boomed across the wire. “So, all that nature finally got to you. I never could figure out why a man who makes his living in the wilderness would go there for a vacation.”
“Just perverse, I guess,” Brian replied, grinning. There was no explaining the pull of the vast solitude, the sheer joy of being alone on the tundra with the electrical extravaganza of the northern lights flickering overhead, the haunting cry of a wolf in his ears. “Besides, I’ll have enough sun and sand in Mexico. Anything happen while I was gone?”
“Nah, same old stuff. Some of the Native groups are kicking up a fuss about that new oil field we want to drill.”
“Serious?”
“Probably not. Many of them know the benefits oil has brought.”
“Anymore information about that guy I carted into Prudhoe?”
A slight hesitation. “Not that I heard about. Universal Oil wasn’t involved, except to hand him over to the authorities. Don’t find any more dead bodies, Brian. Too much paperwork. You should have my job—you’d find out what work is.”
Brian laughed. It was an old discussion. He could have been well up the corporate ladder now, but he insisted on staying in the field. He couldn’t see giving up freedom for money.
“I almost forgot,” Pasco continued. “There was one thing. Somebody was around here asking about you—where you were, if you were the guy who found the dead stiff up on the tundra. Real nosy.”
Under The Midnight Sun Page 2