“Stop acting like a SEAL. You’re a farm boy from Oklahoma. Remember, the dopey older brother?”
“I know, Sis.” He pointed at the treetops. “Look there. A bald eagle.” The white-headed raptor circled in the sky. “Don’t see them very often at home.” He flashed his half-grin. My insides tingled. Damn. I had to figure out what to do about him. Yep. After this op, I needed some space to clear my head.
“Right,” I said and spun around and followed Joe up the path, the crunch-crunch of stones beneath my feet.
Inside, Mark welcomed us with a grand gesture like we’d walked into Buckingham Palace.
Egads. Gaudy was an understatement. Cathedral ceilings rose high and spread wide to accommodate all the dead heads—moose, caribou, bear, dall sheep. Furs hung on the walls between the heads, draped on the back of the chairs, as rugs on the floor. The chandeliers were piles of antlers with tiny lights attached. The furniture was all brown leather and wood, lamps made of deer hooves and sheep horns.
The wood-plank floors stretched the length of the great room, to the fireplace on the other end, all stone to the ceiling, a giant moose head over the mantle. It was some kind of trophy hunter’s live-in museum.
“Wow,” I said, all bright eyed and impressed. You like to kill things and show them off.
Mark met my gaze. “You’ll be leaving with your own, young lady,” he said. “I guarantee it.”
Irene still had my bag slung over her shoulder. “Show them to their room,” she told Mark, then turned to me. “I’ll take you to yours.” To Joe and Dalton, she said, “And then if you will join us in the dining room, I’m just about to serve up some dinner.”
“That sounds mighty fine,” Joe said, rubbing his belly.
My room was small but quaint, in a hunter kind of way—deer hoof lamp, braided wool rug, red flannel bedspread. On the wall hung the head of a jackalope. Silly thing. A jackrabbit head mounted with antelope horns. Some kind of hunter’s joke, a remnant of some hoax of the early 1800s. I wondered if I’d be able to sleep with its glass eyes staring at me.
Irene plopped my bag down on the bed. “It’s nice to have another woman here to visit,” she said. “Don’t get that very often.”
“I can imagine.”
“Not many women from the lower forty-eights ever touch a gun, let alone hunt. It’s nice to see.”
“Well, I guess you could say it’s in my blood.”
“Good,” she said as she yanked the chain to turn on the deer-hoof lamp, then turned to me with a sadness in her expression. “Not many understand our way of life up here. Sometimes it’s hand to mouth. We got to eat, ya know.” There was an undertone to her voice that I couldn’t quite figure out.
I nodded, not sure where this was coming from. Did she suspect me of being an agent and was she trying to play on my sympathy? Afraid for her way of life? Or was she simply a lonely woman looking for someone to talk to?
She managed a smile. “Though I suppose you’re in it for the sport.”
“I always liked guns as a girl. I suppose hunting was the natural thing to do next. But I admit,” I said, returning a smile. “I’ve never had to hunt for my dinner.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you did.” She paused. “But that ain’t the worst thing in the world.” She sat down on the bed and let her shoulders slump as though this was the only break she’d have all day. “Take my advice, dear. Marry a nice young man with a degree in accounting. Or a doctor or dentist or something. Living off the land, well, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
With the clients her husband had taken poaching, I couldn’t imagine they were hurting for cash. Something didn’t add up. Was it possible she didn’t know? For a moment, I felt uncomfortable. My job was to go after the criminals, undercover, make friends, laugh with them, sometimes cry with them, then, when the moment presented itself, drag them off in handcuffs. They deserved justice, but still, with Irene, I felt a twinge of guilt. How would we know for sure if she was complicit?
She rose from the bed and moved toward the door, then turned and lingered in the doorway. “Well, like I said, it’s nice to have you. And”—she jerked her head toward the window—“be careful out there.”
“Thanks. I will,” I said to her backside as she disappeared down the hall.
I sighed. Damn.
I quickly used the bathroom and headed to the dining room, anxious to meet the other hunters and guides.
Joe must have been thinking the same thing. He was already there, a glass of scotch in his hand.
Dalton stood beside him holding a bottle of Alaskan Ale. He looked so relaxed, at home, and so fricking sexy. I kept my eyes off of him, off that Navy-SEAL body ripped and hard in all the right places, and purposefully moved to meet the others.
There was no question who were the lodge staff and who were the hunters. Not just the clothes or physique, but there was something distinct about a true woodsman. “This is Jack,” Mark said. “One of my best guides.”
Jack nodded. Blue-eyed with a gentle smile, he must have been in his late twenties. He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. Nice guy.
“And that’s Rocky,” Mark said.
Rocky leaned against the dining table, his hands gripping the edge. I couldn’t see his eyes. It was as though he purposefully hid them under the shadow of his ball cap. Lanky and awkward, he reminded me of a boy I’d gone to high school with. On graduation day, he’d told me he’d tried a hundred times to ask me out. I felt like a real snob because I didn’t even know his name. Billy, maybe?
Rocky touched his greasy hat and muttered, “ ‘lo.”
“He’s also the mechanic around here,” Mark added.
Something about him struck me as one of those people who were drawn to the wilderness of Alaska to get away from life in the lower forty-eight. Most times, they were running from something.
“You’re practically neighbors,” Mark said.
Alarms went off in my brain, bringing me fully alert. “Neighbors?”
“You’re from Mississippi, ain’t ya?” he said to Rocky.
Rocky gave a hint of a nod, staring at me with flat, unblinking eyes.
“You ride rodeo?” I asked, hoping he didn’t.
“Nope,” he muttered without moving a muscle. His eyes dropped to the floor.
Irene came through the door from the kitchen, saving me from the awkward conversation. She wore a starched white apron wrapped around her waist and carried a tray in her hand loaded with mystery meat chunks stabbed with toothpicks. She plopped it down on the table.
“What can I get you to drink, dear?” she asked me.
“Wine?”
She hesitated, eyebrows raised.
Oops. What is the drinking age in Oklahoma? Or Alaska for that matter? “My daddy lets me drink one glass when we’re on vacation.”
She nodded and disappeared without asking white or red. Yep. I was getting White Zinfandel. My penchant for wine wasn’t going to be relevant here anyway.
Mark gestured toward us, addressing everyone else in the room. “This is Joe. His son, Dalton. And his daughter, Penelope.”
“Everyone calls me Poppy,” I said. We’d agreed that Poppy was such an uncommon name that it made the most sense to use it like a nickname when undercover. The last thing I needed was someone outing me by Googling my name.
Mark continued the introductions, turning to two men who appeared as though they’d just stepped from the check-out lane at Cabela’s. Obviously brothers. They had the same rounded jaws, same pencil-thin necks, same pompous posture. East coast, Ivy League bred. In their late forties or early fifties. Eyes zeroing in on me like a couple of jackals. “And these are long time friends of mine, John and Patrick.”
We all shook hands. True to form, Mark purposefully didn’t share last names. No matter. We’d find them all later. Right now, our job was to make friends, get invited to hunt with them so we could witness the poaching act.
Dalton struck up a conversation easily with Patrick whose e
yes lingered on me.
John made the move toward me with a grin, showing his perfect teeth. He’d obviously already had a few drinks. “Mark tells me you’re here on your own hunt.” His eyes lingered on my chest before slowly making their way back up. Eyes up here, buddy. “I wasn’t expecting to meet Annie Oakley on the trip.”
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Excuse me, there’s still a price tag hanging on your jacket. Dope. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I’ve been Crawford County’s Little Miss Sharpshooter champ since I was, like, three.”
“No kidding,” he said, his eyes alight as if I’d just told him I was a champion pole dancer.
“Daddy’s been, like, promising to take me on a big hunt for since, like, as long as I can remember.” I grinned with delight. “I can’t wait.”
“Oh honey, it’s a rush like nothing else you could imagine.”
His eyes dropped to my chest again. Lech.
“At least with your clothes on,” he added.
Okay, that was enough. “You know, in Oklahoma, we have a saying—”
“Poppy,” said Dalton, moving between John and me, “be a good sis and get me another beer.” He shoved his empty bottle in my hand.
I shoved it back. “Get your own.”
“Ooh, red hot and sassy,” John tittered.
But Dalton had accomplished what he wanted and kept his place between us, establishing himself as the protective older brother. It was all about roles, playing off your partner’s improv. You could always work it to your advantage. At least that’s what Joe had taught me.
I grinned at John like I’d like to meet him out back later. That ought to keep him interested.
Already enjoying the hors d'oeuvres were a group of five men, foreigners I was sure. Russian. Maybe German. All in their fifties or older with the bellies of serious beer drinkers.
They were nodding and smiling, but I could tell they weren’t sure of the content of our conversation. One of the five made eye contact with me and, with a respectful nod, said, “’Tis nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I said. “Where are you from?”
“East Germany,” he said. “I speak little of the English. My friends, not so much.”
“I see,” I said. I speak some German, learned it when my mom was briefly stationed in Germany, and maybe it would get me invited to hunt with them, but my gut told me that right now, it would be best to keep that a secret, see what I could pick up.
Irene appeared and gave me a wink as she handed me a glass filled to the rim with pink wine. I thanked her and turned back to my German friend.
John hovered at my shoulder, whispered in my ear, “Ask him if he’s a communist.”
“So are you here to fish and hunt?” I asked.
“Here, in America?” John added.
The four other men wore the expressions of those lost in a maze, curiously trying to find their way.
“Fish, some, yes,” he said. “Hunt, some.”
“Of course,” John muttered.
“Bear?” I asked.
“Bear. Yes. Big bear.” He raised his arms like a bear standing on his hind legs. The other men grinned and nodded.
“Yes, big bear,” I said.
“Oh Jesus,” John said and turned away.
“Well, good luck.” I held up my glass and produced the only phrase a red-blooded, American girl from Oklahoma would be likely to know, “Nasdrovia.”
Instantly, all five men came alive, raising their glasses and simultaneously cheering, “Nasdrovia!” followed by chuckles and happy chatter.
Joe eased next to me. “It seems you’re making friends, my dear.”
“It seems so.”
“Joe tells me this is your very first big game hunt,” Townsend said. “I didn’t realize.”
“And nothing but the best will do for my little angel,” Joe said. “I hope you’ve got something real special planned for her.”
I nodded and grinned like an idiot. “I’m so excited.” I took Joe’s hand and leaned into him, a daughter affectionately snuggling up to her dad. “I can’t believe I’ll be hunting tomorrow already.”
“Not so fast, young lady. You’ll have to wait one more day,” Joe said.
I frowned at Joe and looked back to Townsend. “I don’t understand.”
“Tomorrow, we sight in the rifles,” he answered. “I’ll be assessing your skills and discussing with each of you what you want from the hunt. Then I’ll determine where we’ll go. Some of our spike camps are quite remote.” He winked. “I want to make sure you’re up to it.”
“You mean you want to make sure I’m not some frou-frou girl who doesn’t know which end of the rifle to aim at the target.”
He grinned. “Something like that.”
“Well,” I said. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Everyone retired to their rooms, anxious for the next day to begin. Being the only female guest, I had my own room, but we still shared bathrooms. After brushing my teeth, heading back down the hall to my room, I heard voices, a conversation in German. I paused outside the door, listening, ready to bolt at any moment.
„Er hat mir einen Bären als Trophäe versprochen versprochen. Ich komme seit drei Jahren hierher. Ich habe dafür bezahlt und dann bekomme ich das auch.“ He’s promised me a trophy bear. For three years I’ve been coming here. That’s what I paid for, that’s what I’m going to get.
„Und er soll verdammt nochmal auch mit uns rauskommen und nicht einmal daran denken, uns mit irgend so einem Typen, den er angeheuert hat, loszuschicken. Oder wird sind hier fertig.“ And he damn well better take us out himself, not send us with some hired man. Or we’re done. Something like that. My German was rusty.
„Da bin ich ganz deiner Meinung.“ I agree. I recognized the voice of the one I’d spoken to at dinner. „Ich werde ihm sagen, was ihr wollt.“ I will tell him our demands.
„Und ich gehe auch nicht mit diesem verwöhnten kleinen Mädchen auf die Jagd.“ I’m not going out with that spoiled little rich girl either. A new voice.
I frowned. Maybe I’d overdone it. If they got their way, and Mark took them out hunting himself, without at least one of the three of us, we’d be here for nothing.
„Ich hatte schon mit Frauen wie ihr zu tun. Pfff. Amerikanerinnen.“ Pfff. Americans. I’ve had to deal with women like her before.
„Alles klar“ said the leader. I understand. „Ich spreche gleich morgen früh mit ihm.“ I’ll tell him first thing in the morning.
The door flew open. I jumped back with a start, dropping my toothbrush. It skittered across the hardwood floor.
The German hesitated, suspicion in his eyes.
“Omigosh, you startled me,” I said, gripping the front of my robe to hold it closed. “I thought everyone had gone to bed already.”
The one who spoke English poked his head through the door. “So sorry, my lady.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “No harm done.” I flashed him a grin. “Got my heart going though.” I added a giggle.
“Yah, yah. Good thing not a bear in da woods, no?”
I nodded and giggled some more.
The first man picked up my toothbrush and handed it to me.
“You will need to keep better grip on your gun, I am thinking.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” I said, all girly embarrassment. Jerk.
I slinked back to my room. Damn. My chances of hunting with them were nil. Joe would have to make that connection. I was left with the chest-ogling Lech Brothers if I was going to be successful.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sourdough pancakes dripping with boysenberry syrup, reindeer sausage the size of my arm and a heap of scrambled eggs covered my breakfast plate. My eyes must have revealed my overwhelmed appetite.
“Everything’s big in Alaska,” Mark said. “Eat up. We’ve got a busy day planned.”
Dalton, playing up the annoying big brother, stabbed my sausage with his fork and dragged it over to his plate.
“Hey!” I said, secretly thanking him.
“Eat your eggs, then maybe you can have some more,” he said with a smirk.
After the plates were cleared, Mark instructed us to bring our rifles from our rooms and we headed to a clearing behind the lodge, the two dogs following us as if they were our guards, keeping the wild things at bay. The shooting range had been set up with sighting benches on one end, targets on the other.
The Germans went to work right away, loading rounds into guns the size of shoulder-fired rocket launchers and pacing the distance to their targets. All business.
The Lech brothers hung back, more interested in watching me than getting their own weapons ready. I smiled and nodded, acting like I enjoyed the attention.
They were my target, our best shot at catching Townsend. The tricky part would be proving a monetary transaction occurred between them and Townsend. But we could make a case with the assumption. The odds were good that once we threatened them with jail time, they’d flip on Townsend. Fine by us. It was Townsend we were after.
Today was my chance to form the relationship.
Rocky came up to me. “You need any help?” he asked without making eye contact.
“Nope, all set,” I said. “Old hat.”
He nodded but with a hesitation, as though he were disappointed, then moved on to check with the Germans.
Dalton set the gun case on the bench and I removed my rifle, a brand new Ruger 375 H&H Mag, single-shot. Story was, Daddy Pratt had bought it for me, special for this trip. I dropped a single round into the chamber, then snapped it shut.
“Now for the show,” I whispered to Dalton.
“Easy, Sis,” he muttered.
I got myself situated on the sight bench and took a couple deep breaths. I hadn’t done this in a while, but I wasn’t worried. I’d won the firearm medal back in training. I knew how to obliterate a target.
When Mark hollered all clear, I lined up the crosshairs, inhaled, then on my exhale, gently eased my finger back on the trigger and fired a round. The butt kicked against my shoulder. I looked down the sights to confirm. Right smack in the bullseye, dead center. Shazam! I rock.
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 41