TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

by Sharon Mignerey

  "She's ornery," he said, taking her with a gnarled hand and leading her through a wide doorway into an old-fashioned kitchen that also served as the dining area for their guests—mostly fishermen who came later in the season for the salmon.

  "I heard that," Bobbie said, turning around from the stove and wiping her hands on a white towel wrapped around her ample waist. Just as gray and old as Bobby, she opened her arms and gave Rosie a quick hug. "What brings you down this way. You're not making deliveries already are you?"

  "It's that time of year," Rosie said. She smiled, then added, "Actually, I hadn't planned to stop at all, but seeing the weather is going to slow me down, I needed to use the phone."

  He waved toward another open doorway. "Well, just help yourself. And don't tell me you can't stay for a cup of coffee."

  "Maybe a short one after I make my call," she said, going into the back room, which they used as their private living room. As usual, Bobby's desk was piled high with papers, in contrast to the rest of the room, which was tidy. Every available surface was covered with doilies and bric-a-brac.

  Rosie went to the phone and dialed the number. As before, a ring was followed by a series of clicks, then another ring, as though the call was being forwarded from one line to another. Finally a man answered, and as before, Rosie provided the required proof that she was, indeed, Lily's sister.

  "You've been reading my mind again," Lily said by way of greeting. "How's Annmarie?"

  "Missing you and being an angel about it," Rosie responded.

  "I miss her, too," Lily said. "More than I imagined. Do you remember Mr. Bowman—our science teacher in junior high school?"

  "Yeah." The response was automatic, but, truthfully, Rosie didn't remember much about the man at all.

  "He's the reason why I wanted to go into science," Lily said. "He loved it so much that he made his students love it, too. When I first went to college, that's what I wanted to do—come back and teach kids how magical science is. Instead…"

  "You became a research scientist who makes important discoveries every day."

  Lily chuckled. "Not quite every day. Rarely, if I'm lucky and the research is on the right track. Most of the time the work is full of dead ends so it's more a process of elimination."

  "What does this have to do with Mr. Bowman?"

  "Spending my life in a lab. I can't do it anymore, Rosie."

  "So quit."

  "I've already submitted my resignation."

  That surprised Rosie. Her sister took forever to make decisions. "You've been thinking about this for awhile."

  "Yeah. To be truthful, since John died. I've already called the folks and told them I'm coming home. We'll see what pops up with one of the community colleges. Or, I could get my teaching certificate and teach high school."

  "You're sure, Lily?"

  "Yeah. You know what? It feels like a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders." Another pause followed. "I think I'm finally understanding why you couldn't stay here."

  Rosie didn't know how to respond. At the time, she had felt as though she was running away.

  "Anyway," Lily said. "Enough about me. Why'd you call?"

  Rosie stared through the window to the rain that was falling harder outside. Since they were talking, Lily would know they were okay, regardless of what any news reports said. "I just wanted to let you know that we're not at home."

  "Ian talked you into going to see whales and glaciers, hmm?"

  "He did." She hadn't known he was interested in either one, but that certainly provided a good reason. It simply wouldn't have occurred to Lily there would be any nefarious reason to have left home. Rosie was content to let her assume their trip was entertainment for Annmarie and Ian.

  "Annmarie will love it, too. And Ian…"

  "Sis, are you in love with him?" The question came out sounding so bald that Rosie cringed.

  "God, no," came Lily's immediate answer.

  Somehow, that relieved Rosie.

  "He's a great guy," Lily added. "The best, in fact. He's been such a good friend. Do you know why I asked him to bring Annmarie to you?"

  "Why?"

  "John told me once that if you ever wanted somebody to cover your back, you'd want somebody like Ian." Lily chuckled. "He's such a gentle man, but when I was trying to decide what to do, I kept hearing John's voice in my head that I should ask Ian. And so I did."

  A gentle man. He'd broken a man's arm, and he'd cradled Annmarie when she cried. He'd pinned her—twice—and he'd kissed her with such tenderness she could still feel the caress.

  "I wish I were there."

  "Me, too, sis," Rosie said. "After you've testified, just let Mom and Dad or Hilda know. They'll get word to us. In the meantime, though, just know that we're all okay."

  "I will. It shouldn't be much longer—by this time next week, at the latest."

  "However long it takes, you just do what you need to do," Rosie said. "And Lily?"

  "Yes?"

  "No matter what you hear, we're all safe."

  "I know you are. And, Rosie?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I know Ian's kind of … well … what I'm trying to say is—"

  "That I can trust him?"

  Lily's voice brightened. "Exactly. From the first time I met him, I wished that you could meet him. He needs somebody like you."

  Rosie couldn't imagine him needing anyone. "Have a good time."

  "We will."

  "Give Annmarie hugs and kisses from me."

  "I will."

  "And Rosie…? I love you."

  A lump formed in her throat. "Me, too, sis." And she broke the connection.

  The call to her parents was easier but not by much. She needed to hear her dad's voice, to know firsthand that he was as fine as Kyle had said. As Kyle had promised, the state police had arrived. There was a lot of speculation in town about what was going on, which her mom related, adding that she was anxious to see Annmarie. Her dad, never quite convinced that his little girls could handle things on their own, was reassured that somebody like Ian was around to take care of Rosie.

  She finished the call and, after a moment's hesitation, dialed Hilda's number. Mama Sarah answered the phone, and Rosie simply related that she was checking in. Mama Sarah assured her everything was fine. They had boarded up the broken window on her back door, and they had made sure everything else was secured—Rosie wasn't to worry about a thing. Mama Sarah didn't ask where she was calling from, and she didn't volunteer. Rosie hung up the phone and sat a moment longer in the old-fashioned room, gathering her composure before she faced Bobbie and the cheerful trading of gossip that would be expected. The conversation with Lily had taken longer than she anticipated. She toyed with the idea of Lily moving close—maybe even as close as Lynx Point. To have her sister and Annmarie that close… She shook her head, reminding herself to not hope for things she might not be able to have.

  She should have told Ian that she'd be an hour instead of a half hour.

  Ian. Why had he kissed her? She brought her hands to her face and pressed the heels against her eyes. Worse, why had she kissed him back? Had she completely lost her mind?

  "Is everything okay?" Bobbie asked from the doorway. Rosie lifted her head. "Yes. Just fine." She stood and moved toward the kitchen, managing a smile. "Whatever you're baking smells wonderful."

  "You know how Bobby is about his pie," Bobbie replied, allowing herself to be drawn into conversation. "Can't have dinner without it." She waved toward the table where a steaming cup of coffee sat.

  Rosie picked it up, wrapping her hands around the warm mug, watching the older woman efficiently clean up the minimal mess on the counter.

  "I don't know how you do it. Making pie is always an all-day project for me, and I get flour everywhere."

  "Practice, my girl," Bobbie responded with a chuckle. "Only been doing this for forty years."

  The back door opened, and Bobby came through with an armload of firewood. "Feels like winter
this mornin'," he said. "Where's your boat, gal? All I see down at the dock is a fine-lookin' yacht. Looks like Mike Eriksen's new boat."

  "It is," she said. There was no point in denying the obvious. "I'm traveling in style today."

  "Well, hot damn, I'll say. And he can't say howdy?"

  "He's not with me, Bobby," Rosie said. "I've … borrowed it. Mine has a leak in the hull." All of that was the truth, so far as it went

  Bobby nodded. "Well, that's damn nice of him. I'll have to revise my opinion a little … always figured him for a stingy son of a gun."

  Rosie chuckled. Bobby had pegged Mike right on, but he could also be generous when the occasion suited him. When all of this was over, she had a lot of explaining to do. She could only hope Mike would be in a particularly generous mood.

  "Too bad it's pouring cats and dogs," Bobby said, looking out the window. "Otherwise, I'd ask you to give me a tour."

  "It's a nice boat," Rosie said, and couldn't resist teasing him. "It might be worth a walk in a cold rain.

  "Nothin's worth a walk in the cold rain," he said, then added, "You just missed your cousin."

  She slanted him a glance. "Which one? I only have about fifty."

  "Kyle. He was here yesterday, and today he was back."

  "I saw him yesterday, too." Apprehension niggled through Rosie's stomach. Kyle hadn't said anything yesterday about coming here, Rosie thought, but then it made sense that he would have. "He must be rounding up a fishing crew. It won't be long before the first salmon run."

  "Could be," Bobbie interjected, "but that fella with him don't look much like a fisherman. If I was watching a movie, I would have figured this guy for a gangster."

  Rosie glanced up, the niggle becoming sharper.

  "Now, don't be judging a man just because he's got a scar," Bobby said.

  "A scar," Rosie said. The niggle became a chill that chased down her spine.

  "A big one," Bobbie said, motioning with her hand. "Ran across his face like this."

  Rosie succinctly remembered Ian describing just such a scar on one of the men who attacked him. Even if Rosie had been willing to believe Kyle's being with such a man was a coincidence, this was stretching it way too far.

  "When was this?" she asked.

  "Like I said, I'm surprised that you didn't run into him. He just left here not more'n five minutes before you got here." Bobby scratched the stubble on his chin. "Kyle met the fella here yesterday morning."

  Rosie stood up, carefully setting the mug back on the table. "I didn't see Kyle's trawler."

  "They came by plane," Bobbie said.

  "I see. Well, maybe I can still catch him. Thanks for the coffee," Rosie said, nearly running back to the front door of the lodge. She threw on the slicker and opened the door.

  "Stay longer next time, gal," Bobby called.

  "I will."

  On the wide porch at the front of the lodge, Rosie paused just for a moment, scanning everything she could see. A few boats bobbed in the small bay around the dock as did a couple of float planes. But, if Kyle had come in one … with a man who had a scar … it should have been near the dock. Unless it was around the bend, close to the warehouse. The rain continued to fall, harder than the usual mist but not quite a downpour.

  Next to her, Sly sat up from where she'd told him to stay when she first arrived. She patted him on the head.

  "Come on, boy." She took off at a brisk walk, the dog at her side. Instead of heading back to the dock where Ian and Annmarie waited in the boat, Rosie turned in the opposite direction at the bottom of the hill and headed for the warehouse. What was Kyle doing with a man with a scar?

  She rounded the bend and came to an abrupt halt. There, in the water and docked next to the warehouse was the plane, just as Bobby had described it. She studied it, chilled more than she cared to admit, both from the rain and from the striking green and red color of the plane—the Santa Claus plane that Annmarie had commented on yesterday. A plane they had seen before their rendezvous with Kyle.

  Her gaze fastened on the warehouse. Standing in an open doorway of the warehouse, a couple of men stood smoking. Even from this distance, she recognized her cousin. The man with him, though, could have been anyone.

  Rosie glanced back to where the boat was docked, a pristine white against the gray clouds wrapped around the hills. From where Kyle stood, it would have been in plain view, and he'd have to be blind not to see it. Rosie stood indecisively a moment longer. Knowledge was power, she finally concluded. So, she headed for the warehouse.

  "Twice in two days," she said to him when she got closer. She skirted a puddle and stepped onto the planking that separated the warehouse from the cove where the plane was tethered. "Am I lucky or what?"

  "Depends on your definition, I guess," Kyle said noncommittally. "What brings you out on a day like today?"

  "I've got a contract with Kennebec," she said, telling him something he already knew and noticing that be hadn't called her by name. In fact, his expression was an impassive one that completely hid what he was thinking.

  Rosie gave the man with her cousin a quick, assessing glance, comparing him to Ian's description of a wiry man with a scar that ran from his cheekbone to his chin. This had to be the same person. His returning stare was just as thorough.

  She looked back at Kyle and saw nothing in his expression. Nothing. And that chilled her to the bone.

  "And I stopped off to have coffee with the Bobs," she said, wishing she knew what was going on, seized with an awful sense of danger. She glanced back toward the dock and the boat, which suddenly looked much too far away. "They told me you were here, so figured I should say hi before taking off." She glanced at the sky, then down at her dog, who had remained at her side. Sly's posture was rigid, the hair on the back of his neck raised. "And I need to get going before this weather gets any worse."

  "Good idea," Kyle said. "You don't want to get soaked."

  "You haven't introduced us," the man next to him said.

  Kyle looked at the man, then glanced at Rosie. "Get goin', gal."

  There was still nothing in his eyes, and Rosie knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. "See you soon."

  "Yeah," he returned, his voice flat.

  "Let's go, boy," she said, briefly touching the dog's shoulder. She hurried onto the rocky path that led toward the dock. The rain began to fall harder, blowing cold against her face. As soon as she was a hundred feet away from the warehouse, she looked back.

  The two men were arguing, and to her horror, the man with the scar pulled a gun from inside his coat and aimed it at her.

  "Run!" Kyle yelled at her.

  And run she did. A second later she heard a gunshot and had to look over her shoulder. Kyle and the man were struggling, their arms extended above their heads. Another shot broke the silence. This time she saw Kyle slump, then fall.

  "No!" She ran faster toward the boat, blood pumping through her head and her heart, making it pound until she thought she would split open. "Oh, God, Kyle."

  Ahead of her, she saw that Ian was untying the boat with one hand, his gun in the other, his movements looking leisurely compared to her own panic. She heard the engines running.

  "Hurry up!" he shouted.

  She watched him climb to the flying bridge as she ran the last few yards up the dock. She and Sly jumped on board. He steered the boat away from the dock. The instant they were clear, he revved the engine, and the boat shot away from the dock in a wide curve. They headed back the way they had come.

  Panting, Rosie rested her hands on her knees and looked back toward the village and the warehouse. At first she didn't see anyone, then as she glanced toward the float plane, she saw two men boarding. Neither of them was as big as Kyle. She looked up the hill toward the lodge and wondered if either of the Bobs had heard the shot. Oh, God, was Kyle dead? Dying?

  The float plane moved away from the dock and began its takeoff run.

  She opened the door. Sly slipped in ahead o
f her.

  "Ohhh, you're wet!" Annmarie exclaimed, patting the dog's head.

  "You okay?" Rosie asked.

  "You're wet, too, Aunt Rosie."

  Unable to speak for a second over another rush of emotion, Rosie took the child's response as an affirmative. She was okay.

  "I'm going to get a towel from the bathroom—the head." Annmarie glanced up with an impish grin. "That's what Mr. Ian said it's called. And I'm going to dry off Sly. Okay?"

  "Okay. You stay in here where it's all warm and dry. I'll go up and see if I can help Ian."

  Rosie let herself out, making sure the door was firmly closed behind her. She took a breath and climbed to the flying bridge. Ian stood with his legs braced, the wind and rain whipping against him. He wasn't wearing his poncho or a jacket, and he was already soaked.

  "What the hell happened?" he asked loudly enough to be heard above the roar of the engine and the wind and rain.

  "Kyle was there," she said. "And they shot him." Tears sprang to her eyes. "Dammit, they shot him." She wanted to rest her head in her hands and cry her eyes out. "And, they have a float plane. We're going to be seeing it any second now. It's the one we saw yesterday, the Santa Claus plane."

  "I saw it," he responded, his voice tight. "Drive." The ever-present weapon appeared in his hands.

  Automatically Rosie stepped to the wheel.

  "You checked on Annmarie?" he asked.

  "Yeah. She's busy drying off the dog."

  "Good." He went down the ladder to the aft deck.

  Their cover had been blown to smithereens, she thought. For the moment the whole world might know where they were, so using the radio wouldn't matter. She picked up the mike and switched to the emergency channel where she reported that a man had been shot at the warehouse in Kanwau and was in need of medical attention. Please let it be only that, she prayed. Everyone monitored the channel, so at least the Bobs would know to go check on him.

  What in the world was Kyle doing here? She steered the boat straight down the channel. Fierce tears burned at the back of her eyes. She had trusted him with their lives. Damn him!