Alaskan Hideaway

by Beth Carpenter

  “What about his daughter?”

  “Don’t you remember? It was all over the news. She went missing, and they finally found her body about a month ago. Everybody’s speculating on whether the boyfriend did it or what. Apparently he’s disappeared. Her father has offered a big reward and hired investigators, but they haven’t found the boyfriend yet.”

  Yes. That was where she’d heard the name Macleod. “I do remember, I just didn’t remember it involved this writer.”

  “Horrible thing for a parent to have to experience. So much sadness in the world.” Mary sighed. “Anyway, don’t worry about returning that book. I think the quilt retreat went well, don’t you?” Mary chattered on about the weekend, with Ursula making agreeable noises at the right intervals. Lucky for Mac that Mary hadn’t been there when he dropped by with all the flowers, if he wanted to remain anonymous. Eventually, Mary wound down and Ursula wished her a good night.

  Slowly, she hung up the phone. No wonder Mac was hurting. His only daughter. Murdered. He was weighed down with grief, and she suspected, regrets. When a child died, regrets were inevitable, even if that child was an adult. Ursula had seen firsthand what regrets and blame could do to a person. To a family. When she lost her brother, she lost her father, too. He’d gone into the darkness and never came back. Worse, he’d dragged Ursula and her mother in with him. It wasn’t until she married Tommy that Ursula realized how much joy was missing from their lives. And she’d vowed never to let that joy slip away again.

  She didn’t want to see Mac go down the same road as her father. But experience had taught her she could only help people who wanted to be helped. Maybe Mac was beyond saving. Maybe not. In the meantime, she’d do what she could, starting with a coat for Blossom, to bring a little warmth into his life.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Ursula slowed as she approached Mac’s front porch, the dog jacket in her hands. It had turned out well, two layers of black fleece with warm batting in between and red piping around the edges for style. Nothing gaudy, just a simple layer to protect Blossom from the cold.

  But what would Mac think? Here she was, butting into his life again. He was perfectly capable of buying a dog jacket on his own if he wanted one. He might suspect she was making excuses to talk to him.

  Was she? She stopped before stepping onto the porch. She had no intention of nagging him anymore about the ski trail. He’d heard her request, and he’d chosen to decline. That was his right. No, it wasn’t the closed gates driving her to him; it was the memory of those wood spirits she’d seen him carving. The pain on their faces. Mac’s pain.

  She’d looked up a few of the news stories over the last couple of days and seen photos of Andi Macleod, a pretty young woman with soft brown eyes and a sweet smile. The disappearance of an attractive woman, daughter of a celebrity, seemed to be an irresistible draw for the media. When her body was finally discovered, they’d gone wild.

  They stood on the lawn of an attractive brick home she assumed was Mac’s to pronounce solemnly that police were still investigating the death of his daughter, and to speculate about the whereabouts of her boyfriend. They’d interviewed Andi’s former friends and coworkers, who expressed shock and sorrow and had nothing but good things to say about her. Mac had given statements through a spokesman, but that didn’t stop them from filming him driving away in a car. She could only imagine what it must have been like for him. No wonder he ran away to Alaska.

  Ursula had also been staying up later than she should reading his book, a fast-paced story of a man charged with stopping a serial killer. The recurring main character, Quillon Ashford, had long ago failed to prevent his wife’s murder. Now, driven by regret, he devoted his life to stopping killers. Although the story had been written well before Mac’s daughter died, Ursula had to wonder if the character wasn’t semiautobiographical. Something told her this wasn’t the first tragedy in Mac’s life.

  She wanted to help him. But was it the ultimate arrogance to think she could have any impact? Of course Mac was devastated after losing his daughter. Anyone would be. If anything happened to Rory, or to her grown son, Sam, or his wife or child, it would tear her heart out, and the kindest words wouldn’t bring them back. Mac was old enough to know what he needed, and he’d made it clear he wanted to be alone. Who was she to say differently?

  She would just leave the dog jacket on his porch, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. But she’d forgotten about Blossom’s sharp ears. As soon as Ursula stepped onto the bottom step, the barking began. Two heavy thumps against the door, and then Blossom was in the window, pushing her head beneath the curtains. As soon as she spotted Ursula, she stopped barking and pricked up her ears. Clearly, she remembered the jerky.

  “Hi, sweetie. Hope you enjoy this.” Ursula laid the jacket on the table, pressed a gloved hand against the window to greet Blossom and turned to go. She’d only made it a few steps when the door opened behind her.

  “Ursula?”

  She turned. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I was just dropping off something for Blossom.” The dog squeezed past him and ran to Ursula. She rubbed her ears.

  “What’s this?” Mac stepped outside and picked up the coat.

  “A dog jacket. I imagine Blossom gets cold if she’s outside for very long.”

  “She does.” He unfolded the coat and held it up. A trace of a smile crossed his face. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Well, I’ll see you around.” She turned to go but his voice stopped her.

  “Would you like to come in?”

  “I, uh, don’t want to intrude.”

  “Come inside. You need to show me how this works.”

  “Oh, okay.” She followed him through the door. Other than an untidy pile of wood shavings in a box at the foot of his chair, the room looked exactly as it had when Betty lived there. Exactly. Mac had done nothing at all to personalize the space.

  He took her coat and hung it in the front closet. “Have a seat. Coffee?”

  “I’d like that. Thanks. Here, Blossom. Come try on your new coat.”

  Blossom allowed Ursula to lay the coat across her back and adjust the fasteners around her chest and middle. As soon as Ursula released her, she trotted into the kitchen as if she wanted to show off her new jacket to Mac. He assured her she was beautiful, gave her a dog biscuit and carried two mugs of coffee into the living room, handing one to Ursula. He’d even remembered the cream. “How’s business at the inn?”

  Okay, they were going to make small talk. At least he was talking. She accepted the cup and set it on the coffee table. “Not bad. Not like summers, of course, but steady. I just hope I can keep it after the new hotel opens.”

  “Is that what they’re building just this side of Seward? It’s huge.”

  “I know. It’s supposed to be a luxury resort with a spa and indoor pool and three restaurants.”

  “Seems a little much for a town the size of Seward.”

  “It’s tied in with the cruises. I gather they intend to sell it as part of a package deal.”

  “Are many of your customers from the cruises?”

  Ursula nodded. “Quite a few. That’s why I was hoping to expand.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you were afraid of losing business.”

  “Yes, so I wanted to open an RV park here next to the inn. It would draw a different sort of guest than the resort, and I could host large groups where some had RVs and some didn’t. I need to make sure I can pay the rent on the inn.”

  Mac sipped his coffee. “If competition from the resort affects your business, it seems to me your landlord should be amenable to a reduction in rent. If you can’t make a go of it at the current rate, no one else can either. That’s always the risk when you invest in a business.”

  Ursula shook her head. “I don’t want Sam losing money on the deal.�
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  “So the landlord is a friend?”

  She laughed. “I guess you could say that. I raised him from a pup.”

  “Your son.”

  “In every way that matters. Sam bought the inn six years ago to keep me entertained. Oh, he tried to pretend it was a business investment and I was doing him a favor, but he’d never shown any inclination toward investing in real estate before. He and his wife had their first child this past summer. The last thing they need is a drain on their finances. Until they’ve paid off the mortgage on this place, I need to make sure I produce enough to cover expenses.”

  “But wouldn’t buying this property put you further in the hole?”

  “I had a loan all lined up. The RV park revenue would easily cover the loan payments and supplement the income for the inn.”

  “I see.”

  She suddenly realized how this sounded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring Blossom that jacket as an excuse to lay my tale of woe on you. I understand why you don’t want to sell, and I’m okay with it. I’ll come up with another way to compete with the new resort.”

  Mac paused before he spoke. “I honestly don’t think you’ll have any trouble competing. You have a beautiful location, and there are plenty of people who would rather stay in a small, personal business than in a huge corporate chain. And you could offer special activities like mystery weekends.”

  “Mystery weekends?”

  “You know. Where you assign each guest an identity and they interview each other to try to discover who committed the murder.”

  “Have you done one?”

  “No, but I’ve seen them auctioned off at charity events. They’re always popular.”

  “Interesting. I’ve never thought of anything like that.”

  “I know of a writer who creates theme weekend packages with scripts, costume suggestions and even food ideas. I can find her website for you, if you like.”

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  Mac nodded. “I’ll email you in a few days. I assume your inn has a webpage.”

  “Yes. Forgetmenot dot com.” Ursula spied another of those carved branches in the box with the shavings. A half-revealed face gazed up at her, a sideswept beard following a natural curve in the wood. The facial features had been roughed in, but didn’t yet show emotion. Ursula set her cup on the coffee table and reached for the sculpture. “These are fascinating. How did you learn to carve like this?”

  “My grandfather. When I was ten, he gave me his pocketknife. He said a man with a knife and a chunk of wood need never be bored.”

  “How interesting. Do you still have your grandfather’s knife?”

  “I do.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a pearl-handled pocketknife and held it out for her inspection.

  “Nice. I have a ring that belonged to my grandmother, but it’s hidden away in a safe-deposit box. It’s wonderful that you create such fascinating art with your grandfather’s gift.”

  Mac laughed. “I wouldn’t call it art. More like the woodworking equivalent of doodling. I find it soothing, almost a form of meditation.”

  “It would be amazing to be able to create something like this. How do you do it?”

  Mac reached into his woodbin and pulled out a short length of branch. He opened the pocketknife, revealing a blade narrow from years of sharpening. Within minutes, he’d stripped the bark from the branch. “First, I take a look at what I have to work with. See how this one has a funny little knot here that sort of looks like a mouth?”

  He used the tip of his blade to sketch wide eyes and raised eyebrows above the round knot. “Then I shape the features, a little at a time.” He whittled away small chips of wood, letting them fall into the kindling box at his feet. A turned-up nose began to appear from the wood. “Here. Give it a try.”

  “Me?” She stared at the chunk of wood he was holding out for her.

  “Yes, you. Here. Hold the knife like this.” He placed the knife in her hand, curling her fingers around the handle. “Careful—it’s sharp. Hold the wood so that you’re not cutting close to your fingers.”

  Ursula placed the blade against the wood and pushed, chipping out a tiny piece.

  “No, you’re going against the grain.” Mac moved to sit beside her on the couch and covered her hand with his. “Smooth shallow cuts.” He guided her hand to push along the grain, removing slivers of wood and starting to round out one of the cheeks.

  “Oh, I see.” Ursula tried a few more strokes on her own. “This is fun.”

  “I thought you’d like it.” Mac continued to watch as she worked, occasionally giving her instructions or guiding her hand. The face grew more animated, a child’s face, lips pursed in an O. It was crude, nothing like the ones she’d seen in Mac’s workshop, but it had a certain charm.

  Without lifting her gaze from the wood, Ursula spoke. “Someone left one of your books behind at the B&B, and I saw your picture. When you said you were a writer, I didn’t realize you were R.D. Macleod.”

  Mac grunted. “Here, take a little more off below the chin.”

  She did as he instructed. “Once I realized who you were—”

  “You tied me to all those news stories about my daughter.”

  “Yes.” She stopped carving to lay her hand on his. “I’m so sorry.” She turned to look at him. “I wasn’t sure if I should mention it, but I didn’t want to feel like I was hiding something from you. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  “Good.” He stared toward the woodstove for a minute before he pulled his hand from under hers and reached for the carving. “Here, let me show you how to add some texture to the hair.” They continued work on the wood spirit. Mac didn’t speak, other than the occasional instruction, but he didn’t withdraw, either. Ursula followed his lead.

  The clock in the bookcase chimed. Ursula looked up. “Goodness, I didn’t realize it was that late. I have to go. The school bus will be dropping Rory off in twenty minutes or so.” She got to her feet and handed him his knife. “Thank you, Mac. I enjoyed the lesson.”

  He followed her to the door, dog at his heels, and held her coat while she slipped it on. “Your goddaughter lives with you permanently?”

  “Yes.” Ursula zipped her coat. “She lost her family in October of last year. Carbon monoxide from a faulty furnace.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled on her gloves. “Rory’s had a tough time of it, but I think we’re starting to see a little light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “I hope so. She’s a sweetheart.” Mac held the door for her. “Blossom and I thank you for the coat.”

  “You’re both welcome.” She stepped onto the porch. “Take care of yourself.”

  Mac shut the door behind her.

  * * *

  MAC WOKE IN the dark. The last snatches of a dream escaped before he could catch them, but to his surprise, he realized it had been a pleasant dream. He checked the time on his phone. He’d slept undisturbed through the night. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

  His thoughts drifted to Ursula’s visit yesterday, and to the girl he’d met in Ursula’s kitchen. He tended to forget his wasn’t the only tragedy in the world. That little girl had lost everything. Everything except her relationship to Ursula, that is. Mac was starting to recognize what a valuable thing that was.

  He stood and stretched. Beneath him, the floor creaked, summoning Blossom from her bed in the living room. Her nails clicked against the floor in the hallway. When she reached the end, she bumped her head against the bedroom door to knock it open. She’d discovered right away that the latch on that door often failed to catch.

  She joined Mac in his stretches, pushing her chest low in a deep bow before hurrying over to greet him. He fondled her ears. “Good morning.”

  He dropped t
o the floor to do his push-ups. Blossom stood in the doorway, head bobbing up and down as she watched him. As soon as he reached fifty, she began jerking her head toward the hall. Subtle. Mac laughed. “Are you saying you’re ready for breakfast?”

  She was. Mac fed the dog and started a pot of coffee. Once Blossom had wolfed down her kibble, she padded to the door. Mac strapped on her new jacket, flicked on the outside light and let her out. Snowflakes like tiny feathers drifted through the air. Mac grabbed his coat, slipped into his boots and stepped onto the porch to watch.

  His porch light illuminated only a few feet of falling snow, like a spotlight on a ballerina pirouetting across the stage to the music of exquisite silence. He couldn’t have said what sounds were missing, only that the snowfall dampened all ambient noise. He was alone in a world without sound, without color. And yet it was beautiful.

  The spell was broken when Blossom crashed through a drift and galloped up the stairs, her mouth open in a doggy grin. She wiggled and jumped, begging for a game. Amused, Mac tried to gather up a snowball, only to find the snow too powdery to pack. Instead, he broke an icicle from the porch overhang and tossed it like a stick. Blossom pounced on the snow where it had fallen and dug frantically, almost burying herself in the process. After a moment, she emerged victorious, the icicle in her mouth.

  He threw it for her once more before the cold drove him indoors. By the time he’d showered, shaved, dressed and eaten breakfast, the snow had stopped and the sky lightened. Mac bundled up and went out to wrestle the snowblower from the garage. It took a few tries to get it started, but eventually the engine leaped to life and Mac started the long process of clearing his driveway.

  It was slow, mindless work, but Mac found the steady progress satisfying. He piloted the machine up and down his drive, pitching a plume of snow in an arc over the existing berms lining his driveway. Blossom frolicked nearby, occasionally leaping into the air to try to catch the stream of snow in her mouth.

  The snowplow drove past, clearing the highway toward Seward. Blossom barked and would have run toward the road, but Mac called her back. She gave one last woof and bounded toward him, shaking the snow from her coat. Mac had found fifteen minutes was her usual limit before she wanted back into the house, but with her new winter coat, she seemed happy to remain outside with him indefinitely. He didn’t know why getting her a coat hadn’t occurred to him before. It was nice of Ursula to think of it. Even nicer of her to sew a custom coat especially for the dog.