Formula of Deception

by Carrie Stuart Parks

  “It’s smaller than I expected,” Murphy confessed.

  “This is just the family home. The main lodge is behind those trees.”

  They parked on the side of the building and walked to the front door, which opened into a well-appointed living room with a log bar at the end. An extra-wide staircase leading to the second floor partially separated the living area from the spacious dining area on the right. The air was fragrant with the smell of cinnamon and baking bread.

  A craggy-faced man somewhere on the far side of sixty sat in a wheelchair by the window, reading a book. He’d parted his silver hair on the side and combed it backward off his face. His jaw was wide, with a firm chin. A light-blue button-down collar peeked from the neck of his cream-colored fisherman sweater. A red-plaid blanket covered his legs. Lying next to him, a large black Labrador raised his head, thumped his tail a few times on the floor, then went back to sleep.

  The man closed the book at their appearance, marking his place with a bookmark. “Good to see you again, Elin.” He looked at Murphy. “Welcome to Salmon Run Lodge.” His deep voice was well modulated. “I’m Denali Stewart, the owner. You must be the new help. We seldom have openings for staff. Working here is quite an honor.”

  “Yes. Thank you for the job. I’m Murphy Andersen.”

  “Murphy, first things first. You’re not in any trouble, are you? We have an unstained history and a reputation to uphold.”

  “No, sir. I just need a job and a place to stay.” She tucked her hand behind her back and crossed her fingers.

  Denali stared at her for a moment, then looked at Elin. “The cinnamon rolls are out of the oven and Olga has coffee made.” His eyes crinkled in humor. “You don’t have to be polite. Go on in and help yourself. I’ll talk a bit more to Murphy here.”

  Elin didn’t wait for more encouragement. She headed toward the dining room.

  Denali waited until she disappeared behind a door. “How old are you, Murphy? If you’re not old enough to serve drinks, I may have to rethink my offer.”

  “I’m thirty-one.”

  He snorted. “That’s the problem with getting old. Everyone looks like a kid.”

  “You’re not the first to think I’m younger than I am.” She removed her glasses so he could see her face.

  “My mother looked young. That’s her in the photos in the dining room.” He rolled across the floor, then nodded toward the rear wall.

  She moved to where she could see the collection of old photos of Alaskan scenes printed on canvas and framed images of family members. A beautifully mounted Distinguished Service Medal rested in the center of the display. The array had an intimate feel to it. Nearby was an intricate stained glass door leading to an office.

  Denali rolled closer and pointed to a photograph of a handsome man. “That’s the only picture I have of my dad, Paul Stewart.” The photograph was oddly formatted, with his father almost on the edge and a wide space beside him. He had light-colored hair with wide shoulders and slender hips. Before she could ask, he said, “Apparently part of the photograph was mildewed, according to my mother, and had to be cut away.”

  Another photograph showed a much younger, black-haired Denali in front of a floatplane, grinning at the camera. He’d been extremely good looking. “Those two were Elsa and Shawn, my daughter and son-in-law.” He indicated an image of a man and woman on a fishing trawler with a brown tabby cat perched on the railing. “I blame myself that they’re gone. They had fine careers ahead, and this whole estate they would have inherited.” The family resemblance between his daughter and the younger Denali was unmistakable.

  “Sounds like you were very proud of them.”

  “I was. They are Lucas’s parents. My grandson. Lucas is twelve. He lives here. That’s his photo—” He abruptly stopped talking.

  She looked at him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you about my family.” His voice was gruff. He indicated the door through which Elin had gone. “Olga’s in there. She runs the household. She’ll be your boss. Go in and see what she wants you to do.”

  She trudged toward the kitchen. Before she could enter, a plump blond woman came out. “Ah, you must be the girl Elin was telling me about. Terrible about your home.” She looked closer at Murphy’s face. “And you look exhausted. Tell you what. I have breakfast covered here at the family home. We still haven’t hit the high season for tourists at the main lodge, which for us is mid-July to late September. Best bear viewing and great fishing. No one’s exactly overworked right now. Go up and take a nap. Room 4, upstairs at the end of the hall on your left. Door’s open, key on the desk. When you get up, you’ll see a few uniforms in the closet. Find one that fits. You’ll find a three-ring binder with employee information. Before you come back down, read over it and let me know if you have any questions. Okay?”

  “Yes. And thank you.”

  The second floor had more photographs mounted on canvas with the overall theme of fishing. She found room 4 and entered. The small room held a double bed with a white chenille bedspread, battered chest of drawers, desk, and tiny bathroom. Unlike the wilderness-themed lodge, this room was spartan and plainly decorated. The window overlooked the dense woods behind the house. Kicking off her shoes, she pulled out the notebook Bertie had given her and placed it on the chest of drawers, then opened the employee binder.

  Salmon Run Lodge is rich in Kodiak history and heritage. The family has owned this land for four generations, and everyone, from governors to movie stars, from the heads of Forbes 500 companies to Pulitzer Prize–winning authors, has been welcomed through these doors. The staff is charged with keeping and maintaining the high standards that have made Salmon Run famous.

  The main guest buildings were on your left as you drove onto the grounds. You will be primarily working here at the family quarters. You must wear your uniform at all times while working at the lodge. The uniform is denim jeans and a red-plaid flannel shirt with the lodge’s logo on a patch over the pocket.

  We leave the front door of the lodge unlocked during the day, but after 10:00 p.m. all doors are locked. If you’re planning on going out again, please take your room key, which works on the front door. The wet bar is in the living room. Guests of the owners are not to serve themselves, so you will be expected to take care of drink orders before, during, and after dinner.

  The office, located behind the dining room, has a copy machine, computer, and printer for family members only. Employees may not use this service.

  Individual guest schedules for fishing, bear watching, and other events are posted on the whiteboard behind the kitchen door.

  Although your principal duties are to serve the family, you may, on occasion, be asked to help out elsewhere on the resort grounds or in the main lodge.

  Be ready at 5:00 a.m. for breakfast service at 7:00 a.m., and dinner service at 4:00 p.m. with dinner at 6:00 . . .

  She flopped onto the bed and fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

  She was closer to the old house, now level with the jacked-up, rusted truck. She wanted to run, but her legs were made of cement . . .

  She awoke with a jerk. The dream was back with a vengeance. After checking her watch, she pulled out her notes and glanced through them. Quonset hut. She should refresh her memory of the history of that structure.

  Using her cell, she accessed the resort’s internet. She was deep into the background of the Quonset hut when her cell phone rang. “Hello?” she croaked. Her throat was raw.

  It was Elin. “The medical center called. Bertie is awake. They’ll be sending her to Anchorage in the next few hours, but if you’d like to see her—”

  She checked her watch. “Yes, but I need to clear it with Olga.”

  “Already did. I’ll come by and pick you up.”

  She charged into the bathroom. Mercifully the medicine cabinet held deodorant, a new toothbrush, and toothpaste. She took time to slather on deodorant and brush her teeth before racing d
ownstairs.

  A boy with thick, dark umber hair, an oval face, and even features was behind the bar popping the tab on a Coke. He was dressed in a long-sleeved Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. He ducked his head when he spotted her and dashed for a back room. She recognized Lucas, Denali’s grandson, from his photograph on the wall.

  Elin pulled up as Murphy stepped from the lodge. The fog had lifted somewhat, leaving gauzy wisps around the dense spruce that crowded the building. The slap and hiss of water and the smell of sea life told her the ocean was nearby. She jumped into the car with Elin. “Thank you.”

  “I should be thanking you.” Elin put the SUV into gear. “We may have a lead on that drawing you did with Vasily. I wasn’t sure it would work as the drawing was pretty . . . loose, but Bertie said that’s how composites are supposed to look.”

  “I’m glad it helped.”

  “That’s the good news.”

  She swallowed. “And the bad news?”

  “I’m afraid they found a body in the mobile home.”

  Poor Myra. Murphy slumped in her seat. “Do they know how the fire started?”

  “Not yet.”

  When they pulled into the parking lot of the salmon-pink hospital, Elin said, “Richard Zinkerton wants to talk to you. Denali has agreed to let him come to Salmon Run Lodge for dinner tonight. Killing two birds and all that.”

  “He’s not staying at the main lodge?”

  Elin got out of the car and locked it. “Hardly. That place charges over a thousand dollars a night.”

  They hurried inside. The overflowing waiting room smelled of wet clothing and rubber boots. People leaned against the wall or spoke quietly. The nurse at the entrance to the intensive care unit would only allow one at a time to visit Bertie. Elin insisted Murphy go first.

  Bertie looked so fragile amid the beeping machines. A large bandage circled her head, and her face was the same color as the sheets.

  “Murph,” she murmured.

  She took Bertie’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I fell off a cliff.”

  “I’m so sorry. It was all my fault—”

  “Murph, Murph, Murph.” Her words were little more than a sigh. “The wind caught the ladder and I slipped. It was an accident. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “They told me they’re sending you to Anchorage. I guess I won’t be seeing you again.”

  Bertie stared at the ceiling for so long that Murphy reached for the call button.

  “No.” Bertie now looked at her. “Don’t call anyone. I have a favor to ask.”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  “Don’t agree until you hear the favor.” She took a breath and winced. “Ouch. So, Murphy Andersen, I know who you are.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Murphy took a half step backward. “What do you mean?” Her voice came out high and squeaky.

  “You’re not a forensic artist.” Bertie grinned wickedly. “Though I covered for you with Elin. You’re Dakota Murphy Andersen, twin sister to Dallas Andersen, who was the last victim of Clinton Lamour Hunter, the Anchorage serial killer.”

  “Believed to be the last victim. They never found her body.”

  Bertie was silent.

  “How did you guess?” she finally asked.

  “I followed the case, of course. And . . . well, even thinner and with those fake glasses, you have a distinctive look.”

  Murphy ducked her head and touched her scar.

  “After . . . that happened,” Bertie said softly, “did you—”

  “Get advice? Reconstruction? Yes. The best plastic surgeons. There’s only so much they could do.”

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  Clutching the walrus-bone necklace made from her sister’s earring, Murphy inhaled sharply. “So you know who I am. No big deal. All that is ancient history. I’ve moved on.”

  Bertie squinted at her. “Sure. Right. Whatever you say.”

  “It’s true.”

  “And that’s why you’re in Kodiak?”

  “I like it here.”

  “And it’s just coincidence that your sister was in Kodiak before she . . . disappeared.”

  “Everyone believes she’s dead. They believe she was dating Hunter, came here on vacation with him, returned to Anchorage, and he killed her there. But I don’t. Hunter never confessed to her murder. So I’ll continue to look. If only I hadn’t taken that trip, I would have been home when he first started dating her, taking her places. Maybe I could have stopped everything from happening.”

  “Well then. Given that, I think we could still have an . . . arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?” Murphy leaned against the wall.

  “I don’t want to leave this case in the hands of Richard Zinkerton. Every time he’s stepped in on any of my cases, he’s blown it. I think it’s deliberate. He’s trying to head up the crime lab, and to do so he’s got to make me look bad.”

  “But—”

  “In return for helping me, I’ll help you get information on your sister. What do the police know? What happened to her body? And I’d bet no one’s in any great hurry to solve that mystery with Hunter safely—”

  “He’s escaped.”

  Bertie again went silent.

  “They don’t know where he is. I got a letter . . .” Murphy shifted her weight.

  “A letter?”

  “From the witness people.”

  “Oh, Murph, that must be terrifying for you. Are you afraid he might track you down here in Kodiak?”

  “I don’t know. After all this time, I wouldn’t think he’d be after me.” But someone burned down my house. “I do want to find out what happened to Dallas. What do you need me to do?”

  Bertie took a cautious breath. “Right. I want you to stay close to this investigation. Report what you hear to me. If I’m lucky, you’ll be able to give me something on that Stinkerton skunk.”

  “What do you specifically want to know about . . . ah . . . Stinkerton?”

  “Everything.”

  “If he’s really that bad a crime-scene technician, how does he still have a job?”

  Bertie’s face wrinkled up as if she smelled something bad. “He’s really not such a bad criminalist. He’s just ambitious, bent on mucking up my cases. He’s trying to destroy my reputation. I want to catch the rat red-handed.”

  “How can I find out about Stinkerton? My role in this investigation is at an end.”

  “They still think you’re a forensic artist. Use your abilities.”

  “Art?”

  Bertie shifted and winced. “Yes, art. And your ability to get people to talk to you.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it. Call me.” Bertie closed her eyes as if exhausted.

  “But—”

  The nurse from the night before entered and pointed at her watch. “Time’s up.”

  Murphy gently squeezed Bertie’s hand, then followed the nurse as she made her way to the smaller waiting area. The nurse handed her a card. “Here’s the number where your mom is being transferred. You can call later today to see how she’s doing.”

  “Thank you.”

  Elin was waiting for her in the larger waiting room. “What do you think?”

  “I think she’s looking pretty good, but in a fair amount of pain.”

  Elin grimaced. “This whole thing just stinks. Let me get you back to Salmon Run before you lose your new job. I’ll come back and pay a quick visit before she leaves.”

  The fog still hung like cotton batting around the hospital. They got in Elin’s car and headed toward the lodge. Murphy licked her lips. “You, um, mentioned you may have a lead on my composite drawing.”

  “I got a call from one of the managers at a seafood processing plant. I’ll be heading over there tomorrow.”

  “It’s my custom to follow up on any leads my sketches bring. Do you think I could go with you?” She slipped off her glasses and looked at Elin. “I might think of
something to ask.”

  Elin glanced at her, then did a double take. “I’ve never noticed your eyes. They’re an unusual color.”

  “Gray blue. What do you think of my suggestion?”

  “It makes sense. The appointment’s at ten. I’ll pick you up before that. We’ll get to the bottom of this case yet and bring whoever is responsible to justice.” She nodded as if agreeing with herself, then concentrated on the road for a few moments. “I’ve looked further into the timing of Vasily’s visit to Ruuwaq. I couldn’t pin down the exact date he went there, but around that time period, several boats were stolen. As none of the boats were large, and none recovered, it’s possible the five bodies he discovered were the thieves. They may have taken refuge on the island from a storm, or met there for some reason.” She shrugged. “I’ll be following up on that more.”

  “Is Stink—uh, Richard, taking over the case?”

  “No. But when I picked him up from the airport, he told me he wanted all my case notes and everything Bertie had collected. I said I’d give him copies of the notes and bring him the camera tonight. He made me drive straight to the hospital to get the evidence from Bertie’s vest.” She snorted. “She was barely out of surgery.”

  “Mmm.”

  “He was incensed that you, a civilian, were allowed to go out on the island to collect evidence, even when I told him your background. He said he would be writing Bertie up for compromising the scene.”

  Instead of dropping Murphy at the front door of the lodge, Elin drove around to the side and put the car into park. “They’ll want you to use the kitchen door.”

  “Thanks.” She got out of the car.

  “Oh, and, Murphy, I apologize for rattling on and on about my cases. I don’t usually do that, at least not with someone outside of the department. Thank you.”

  She shrugged. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”