“No. I’ll stay.”
“Give me a call when you want to head home. Either I’ll pick you up or someone from the department will.”
“Thanks.”
She couldn’t sit still. She paced. Seven steps from the door to the tweed chair. Seven steps back. The clock on the wall seemed to have stopped. Seven steps. Her watch was equally slow. Seven steps. Bertie was the closest thing to a friend she’d had in years, and now she was fighting for her life. And it hurt. A big chunk of clay had lodged in Murphy’s chest. Would Bertie be yet another loss?
When a drunk driver killed Murphy’s parents, she and her sister were only eighteen. They had each other and that had been enough. At least for Murphy. Dallas had been the outgoing one, the social one, who needed more.
Murphy heard her sister’s voice in her head.
Come on, just do this one teeny thing for me . . .
She shook her head, then took off her coat and hung it on a hook. A small bookshelf held coffee in a thermos along with cups, creamer, sugar, and stir sticks. A pen and paper were on the shelf underneath with a package of highlighter pens. Books lined the third shelf. She made a cup of coffee. When she emptied the powdered creamer on the top, it floated in a clump. The coffee was cold. She dumped the cup into the trash and resumed pacing.
An older Native woman wearing a black turtleneck, jeans, and a purple down coat entered with a small girl. The woman’s gray hair was pulled back from her round face, and a pair of oversize brown glasses perched on her short nose. The woman sat on the tweed chair as if her legs could no longer hold her weight. She stared blankly at the wall. Her clothing smelled of saltwater and wood smoke.
Her legs took up two of Murphy’s steps. Murphy picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the shelf, then sat.
The little girl tugged at the old woman’s arm. “Grandma! Grandma! I’m hungry. I want to go home. Grandma, I want my mommy. Grandma!”
The last grandma was a shriek.
The woman stared at the child and gently took hold of her arm.
The shrieking continued.
The wail pounded Murphy’s ears and ran down her spine. She ground her teeth. She picked up the pen and placed the piece of paper on the table. “I feel like looking at a unicorn,” she said over the ruckus.
The child pulled away from her grandmother, preparing for a full-scale meltdown.
Murphy sketched a unicorn and turned it toward the little girl. “How about you? Do you like unicorns?”
The little girl stopped shrieking and peered at the drawing.
“Would you like to color the unicorn?” Murphy stood, retrieved the highlighters, and placed them on the coffee table next to the drawing.
The little girl pounced on the sketch and started coloring.
Swiftly Murphy sketched a princess, chicken, dog, castle, and pony. The child snatched each drawing and continued to color.
“Bless you.” The woman held out her hand for Murphy to shake. “My daughter was in a car accident. I just rushed over here with my granddaughter. I didn’t think to bring her something to do. I’m Vesper.”
“Murphy Andersen.” They shook hands.
Vesper pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from her purse, wrote something on it, then handed it to Murphy. Her name and phone number. “I owe you a big favor.”
“It was nothing.” Just saving my own sanity. But Murphy folded the paper into her jeans.
“Ha! That’s where you’re wrong.” Vesper gave her a top-to-bottom once-over. “You’re not as young as you look, are you?”
“You’re one of the first to figure that out.”
“Your face and body are childlike, but you have old eyes. And you are here . . .?”
“Helping my friend Bertie on a case. She fell.” The words my friend slipped out. They sounded strange.
“A case? You mean the two people killed yesterday?”
Murphy blinked. “How did you know about that?”
“Kodiak is a small town at heart, and it was all over the news. Wait a minute. Yes, I saw your photo.”
“You . . . saw my photograph?”
“In the newspaper.” Vesper’s face crinkled in a smile.
Her heart raced. There was no way Clinton Hunter could have seen it. Was there? “Ah, well, I’m just helping out.”
“Here in Kodiak?”
“On Ruuwaq Island.”
The woman straightened. “Where did you say?”
“Ruuwaq Island.”
“There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. Uncle’s father knew that island.” Her gaze drifted toward the ceiling and grew distant. She sighed. “I wish you could have met him. Fascinating life—” Vesper blinked and stared at her. “You’re a soul searcher.”
“A what?”
A nurse stepped into the room. Both of them turned.
“Vesper Amason?” The nurse looked back and forth between Vesper and Murphy.
“Yes?” the older woman said. Her hand clamped onto her coat, white knuckles showing.
“Mrs. Amason, your daughter will be fine. You can see her now.” The nurse opened the door wider and stood to one side.
“Wait.” Murphy reached for the other woman. “Before you go, Vesper, what’s a soul searcher?”
“We’ll talk later. You have my phone number.” Vesper took her granddaughter’s hand and left.
“Excuse me?” she said to the nurse before the woman could leave. “Do you know anything about Bertie, um, Bertie Fisher?”
“Your mother?”
That’s right, stupid HIPAA laws. “Yes.” The lie slipped out smoothly.
“I believe she’s still in surgery.” The nurse quietly closed the door.
The lump in her throat made swallowing impossible. She jumped to her feet and moved to the window, lifting her chin to keep the tears from burning down her cheeks. Please, God, please spare Bertie. If You need someone, take me.
God didn’t answer. The clock continued to crawl through the seconds, minutes, then hours. She paced and tried to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach.
Her phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, Murphy, it’s Elin. Any word?”
“Not yet. I’m staying here until I do hear.”
“Give me a call, no matter what time, okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” She disconnected. More pacing. Maybe she should go outside? Get fresh air. No. What if the doctor came?
The doctor did finally arrive, still wearing the Disney bandanna, at 4:42 a.m. His eyes were red-rimmed and surrounded in purple, his skin pale. He stared at her.
Now her legs couldn’t support her weight. She dropped to the chair. “Is she . . .”
“The nurse said Bertie is your mother. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. She’s in intensive care. It was touch-and-go there for a bit. Once she’s stabilized, we’ll transport her to Anchorage. Is there someone we can call for you? Your dad?”
“No. I’ll go—”
“I’m sorry. You won’t be able to travel with her. You’ll have to book a commercial flight or private plane.”
“Can . . . can I see her?”
“Just for a few moments.”
She followed the doctor to the ICU, a two-bed facility. Bertie was hardly recognizable under the bandages, tubes, and wires. She touched Bertie’s hand. “Ah, Bertie, you can’t leave me. You’re the first friend I’ve had in a long, long time.” When are you going to learn not to let people get close? There’s so much less pain when you keep life simple.
A nurse moved next to her, checked Bertie’s IV, and said, “Get some sleep. Leave your number at the nurses’ station and we’ll call you if there are any changes.”
Nodding, she did as the nurse said, then returned to the small lobby and picked up her coat. Before putting it on, she took out the notebook Bertie had given her and opened it. Finding a clean page, she transferred Vesper Amason’s name and phone number from the slip of paper. Underneath she wrote Soul searcher?
Eli
n had told her to call when she needed a ride home, but somehow calling before 5:30 in the morning seemed rude. She didn’t live that far away. And it would already be light out. She could walk. After putting on her coat, she paused.
Her house keys were with her art bag in Bertie’s rental car on Lily Lake. She’d have to wake Myra and endure a lecture.
She headed outside.
The raging storm from the day before had passed, replaced now with a gray-white fog bank that cloaked the landscape. Five steps from the medical center’s front door, she couldn’t see the building or the cars parked in front of her. Her footsteps were muffled in the foggy stillness. The air was clammy and penetrated her clothing. She shivered.
Clack, clack, clack.
She stopped.
Clack. The footsteps also ceased. Someone wearing hard-soled shoes was on her right. Someone who paused when she did.
Again she moved forward, this time as silently as she could.
Clack, clack, clack. The steps grew closer.
She ran back to the hospital, backing away from the door once inside. No one followed her in.
She dialed Elin’s number.
“Elin Olsson.” The woman’s voice held no sign of being awakened.
“Murphy here. I’m sorry to disturb you, but could I get a ride? There’s . . . it’s foggy.”
“Someone will be there soon.”
She took a seat where she could see all the doors.
A rusted truck, windows shattered, sat up on blocks on an overgrown lawn. The house was barely discernible in the overgrown trees surrounding it. Evil hissed from the door . . .
She jerked her head up. The hissing came from the hospital doors. She’d drifted off to sleep.
Joshua, dressed now in civilian clothing, glanced around the room and spotted her. He strolled over. “Need a ride?”
“I think Elin is arranging—”
“Yep. I’m it. Shall we go?”
She reluctantly untangled her legs, stood, and immediately sat back down. Her foot had gone to sleep. “Sorry.”
He held out his hand.
She stared at it for a moment before taking it. At his touch, a ripple ran up her spine. She let go as soon as her feet could hold her weight. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.
They left the hospital, moving through the dense fog to an older silver Toyota pickup. The only footsteps she heard were theirs. Whoever had been outside, he wasn’t following her now.
He unlocked the passenger side door and held it open for her. “Thank you,” she said again, this time without the frosty overtones.
“You live on Mission Lake?” He started the truck.
“Yes.”
“One of those big houses facing the sound?”
“Hardly. One of those rusty trailer houses facing the lake.”
He pulled out of the lot, his truck crawling through the fog. The early-morning air smelled of campfire and salt. The odor of burning wood grew stronger. An officer materialized on the side of the road, waving a light. Joshua rolled down the window. “Hey, Steve, what’s up?”
“House fire. Gotta turn around. Road’s blocked.”
Her stomach clenched. She grabbed the door and jumped out. Steve called to her, but she raced ahead.
Pungent smoke filled the air. Flashing lights tinted the fog with yellow, red, and white. A crackling roar, punctuated by men yelling, split the normally peaceful morning air.
She jerked to a stop beside a firetruck.
Myra’s house was a raging inferno.
CHAPTER 10
A fireman grabbed Murphy’s arm and propelled her away. “You need to stay back!”
“I live there.”
He let go of her arm. “Come with me.” He led her over to a fireman directing the action. “Chief. This kid says she lives there.”
The chief turned to her. “Who else lives there?”
“Myra Hampton. She lives upstairs.”
“Your mom?”
“My landlady.”
He took a closer look at her face. “Okay. I’ll need to talk to you. Tom, put her in my SUV.”
“Wait!” She took a deep breath of smoky air. “Where’s Myra?”
The chief wouldn’t meet her gaze. “We’re not sure. Fire’s too hot. Please wait for me in my rig.”
“There was a cat. A yellow cat named Mr. Brinkley—”
The fireman jerked his thumb. A neighbor sat in her car parked on the street, holding Mr. Brinkley.
Something crashed.
Murphy flinched and looked at the inferno. The roof had caved in. Firefighters had been training their hoses on the houses on either side of the blaze. They now directed the sprays of water on the gutted shell of Myra’s trailer. The stench of burned plastic, wood, and fabric filled the air.
Without knowing how, she found herself in the back seat of an SUV. All her painting and jewelry-making supplies were gone, along with the only photograph of her sister. She literally had only the clothes on her back. She wrapped her arms around her shoulders.
Selfish thinking. Myra could very well have lost her life, and you’re fussing about a few brushes and beads.
Had her landlady fallen asleep with a cigarette?
Or had Hunter seen the photo in the paper and found her?
A shudder ripped through her. She slid down in the seat, then peered around at the activity.
Don’t be silly. How would he have found her so fast?
Easy. He had family. They believed he was innocent, framed by the police and her. He’d head straight to their house, ask for money, probably borrow his brother’s driver’s license.
I have no place to go. No money. No identity. She pictured Joshua’s strong arm around her, protecting her.
No. She had to be her own strength, tend to her own life and lies. Forming bonds with people like Bertie and Joshua would only keep her from what she was here to do.
More people arrived to watch the fire. They drifted in and out of the swirling fog like apparitions. She recognized a few. The woman who lived next door. An older man who walked his basset hound past the house every day. She spotted Joshua looking around, probably for her. There was Elin.
Murphy jumped from the car and raced to the detective. “Elin!”
“Murphy! You’re safe! When the call went out on the fire, I recognized your address. How about your landlord?”
“I don’t know.”
Elin folded her arms and stared at the fire. “Any ideas on how the fire started?”
“Ah, well, Myra was a chain smoker.”
Elin nodded. “Be sure you tell the investigator that. And I still need to sit down with you and get everything that happened on Ruuwaq.” Her phone rang. “Detective Olsson. Yeah, I’m at the fire now. How did you hear about it?” She listened for a moment, her gaze moving toward the Russian Orthodox cross on the house across the street. “I suspect she will. Let me ask.” She looked at Murphy. “Where will you be staying?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find someplace.”
Elin spoke into the phone. “No. She could use your help.”
“I’ll be fine.” Murphy swallowed hard. “Really.”
Elin raised her eyebrows at Murphy but spoke into the phone. “Salmon Run Lodge? Of course I know it. I go there often, but that’s way out of our budget—” She listened another moment. “Can you get hold of him ASAP and get back to me? It needs to be a live-in position. Oh, that’s good. Thanks.” She disconnected. “I know you mentioned you’re ‘on sabbatical.’” Her fingers made air quotes. “But I suspect you’re not independently wealthy or you wouldn’t be living under a trailer, riding a bike, or wearing the wrong size clothes.”
Murphy winced. “Maybe ‘between jobs’ would have been a better choice of words.”
“And Kodiak isn’t the cheapest place to live—” Elin’s phone rang and she answered it. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll ask.” Elin looked at her. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a position on the force, but can you wait t
ables, clean, and mix drinks?”
What choice do I have? At least I’d be out of sight. “Where is this lodge?”
“What lodge?” Joshua stepped next to Elin.
“Salmon Run Resort,” Elin said. “Murphy needs a place to stay and a temporary job.”
He turned to her. “It’s not a remote resort. Big place northeast of town. You can actually drive there.”
“In that case . . .” She nodded at Elin. “Yes on tables and cleaning. As for bartending, I can open a bottle of wine and pour a beer.”
Elin returned to her cell. “Yes. We’ll be there in a little bit.” She waved her hand at the fire chief. He raced over. “Chief, Detective Wright will be working with you on this. I’m taking Murphy here out to Salmon Run Lodge. She’ll be staying there should anyone need to get any information from her.”
“Gotcha. Thanks.” He turned back to the fire.
“I can drive her over,” Joshua said.
Her heart sped up slightly. She tried not to look at him.
“Bad idea,” Elin said sharply, then smiled at him. “It’s almost time for breakfast. Have you ever had one of their cinnamon rolls?” Elin left Joshua behind and led Murphy through the tangle of emergency vehicles that loomed out of the fog.
“Elin, um, Joshua claims he isn’t married, but he wears a ring . . .”
“So you noticed. And he’s noticed you.” Elin’s gaze slid down Murphy’s body. “Yes, he would notice.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat. “You’d bring out the white knight in him. He is a twelve on the one-to-ten hunky scale. And he’s a widower.” Elin didn’t speak for a few moments, then nodded her head as if agreeing on something. “He thinks it’s the ring that keeps women at bay, but they run like jackrabbits when they find out part two.”
“What’s part two?”
“Baggage.”
“Baggage?”
“He comes with four boys.”
Elin grinned wickedly. “Still interested?”
“I never said I was interested—”
“Right.” Elin stopped in front of her SUV. “Hop in.”
Salmon Run Lodge, as it turned out, wasn’t that far from downtown Kodiak, but it took almost an hour to drive there. They pulled up to what looked like a giant log house, surrounded in white cotton-candy fog, with a spacious porch spanning the front. The entrance featured a pair of oversized carved doors. Above, on the second floor, eight dormers punctuated the log siding.
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