Kat Wolfe on Thin Ice

by Lauren St. John

  “Run!” screamed Harper.

  Kat and the huskies fled too.

  There is a time and a place for theoretical advice, but they weren’t about to argue with a six-hundred-pound bear.

  NINE LIVES

  “Never again,” said Harper from the depths of the sofa, pressing a palm to her forehead in the manner of a Victorian heroine taken poorly after a country walk. A bone-thawing soak in a bubble bath aside, she’d been horizontal on the cushions since their return.

  “Never, ever again,” she added for good measure. “For the next forty-eight hours, I refuse to set one foot outside of this cabin unless the roof is on fire or there’s a nuclear war. If the Dog House—that’s what I’m naming this place—is still standing after Storm Mindy’s finished pounding it, we can text our parents and beg them to collect us by limo and transport us to a five-star hotel in New York City. I am so done with the wilderness. Do not even show me an ant.”

  Kat didn’t blame her. There were only so many near-death experiences a person could stand in one week without feeling overwhelmed. When she thought about the tree branch that had almost crushed them in Jet’s truck, the runaway “toboggan,” the near-bear attack, and the blizzard they’d stumbled through afterward, it did chill her blood just a little.

  It was almost as if she had nine lives, like a cat. Cowering before the bear just a few hours earlier, Kat had been sure that if she made one false move, her current life would be over.

  But it wasn’t over. Nor, for all her protestations, was Harper’s. Their lives were richer, and they were braver. Thanks to the heroism of the huskies, they’d survived to tell the tale. Kat knew she’d never forget the majesty of the black bear as it reared to its full height in the forest. It had worn its wildness like a cloak.

  With snowflakes drifting all around it, the creature had seemed almost enchanted: a spirit bear from another world. Then it had attacked and become a monster. Now in Kat’s mind it was something in between: a wild, free creature deserving of respect.

  It wasn’t only the bear that had had a fairy-tale aura about it that day. Guiding the girls home through the blinding snow, Thunder, Rebel, Matty, and Dancer had flanked them so closely that Kat had felt hugged; a valued member of their precious pack. The huskies’ body warmth and loyalty had kept her going when all she wanted to do was give up. Without them, she and Harper would not have made it back to the cabin, of that Kat was horribly certain.

  They’d clawed their way indoors in the nick of time. The big question now was whether the Dog House was built to withstand a storm like Mindy. The whole cabin shook, rattled, and strained under the force of the gale. The lake and mountain had been erased.

  Even the huskies were glad to be indoors. They’d saved the girls’ lives, but in a way, Kat and Harper had saved the huskies’ lives first. Their kennels offered minimal shelter. Left alone in the storm without food, water, or extra blankets, the dogs wouldn’t have lasted the night.

  Instead, they were safely inside and loving it. On the sofa, Harper was laughing as Dancer and Rebel scrambled up to snuggle her. “I get the feeling the huskies have adopted us. Whether we like it or not, we’re their family now.”

  “Yes, we are,” said Kat, feeling a rush of affection for their furry friends. “We belong to them, and they belong to us.”

  She squeezed between Nomad and Fleet on the other sofa. “Harper, what we did today was stupidly risky and selfish and it could have ended—nearly did end—everything. But I don’t regret it. We did what we did to try to save Riley.”

  “I don’t regret it either,” said Harper. “Not one bit.”

  Reluctantly, she reached for the TV remote. “Shall we do it?”

  “We have to. Not knowing is worse.”

  They didn’t need to wait long. Riley Matthews was headline news.

  A now familiar newsreader said, “Daylesford Bank chairman Wainwright Matthews has posted a one-million-dollar reward for information leading to the safe return of his twelve-year-old daughter, Riley Gabriella, missing in the Adirondacks since early this morning.

  “There are growing fears that Riley, star witness in the upcoming trial of alleged Wish List gangster Gerry Meeks, has been abducted. Riley’s protection officers, who were both wounded in the ambush, remain critically ill and under armed guard in the ICU at an undisclosed hospital. Detectives hoping to glean some answers on the ambush are likely to face a long wait.

  “Search-and-rescue efforts have also been hampered by Storm Mindy, which has brought whiteout conditions to the northern Adirondacks. With emergency services stretched to capacity and many roads impassable, detectives are concentrating their efforts on trying to track down Meeks’s unidentified accomplices. Progress has been slow due to the number of copycat Wish List crimes—”

  Harper muted the TV. “The good news is, so far as anyone can tell, Riley’s still alive.”

  “The bad news is, she’s probably in the clutches of vengeful Wish List villains,” Kat said emotionally. “How can the police have failed so spectacularly to find Riley when somebody else obviously did? Why can’t they identify the other members of the gang? Nine heists and their only suspect is a ninety-one-year-old. It’s pathetic.”

  “If only I had my laptop,” fumed Harper for the hundredth time. “We could show those plodding gumshoes a thing or two about solving mysteries.”

  “How would a laptop save Riley?” asked Kat. “What use is it as a crime-fighting device without the internet?”

  Harper stared at her in mystification. “Among other things, it has Excel. I could have set up a spreadsheet to organize our clues. Without a laptop, I’m like a musician without an instrument, a dancer without a stage, a champion jockey without a racehorse, a—”

  “I get it,” sighed Kat. “But you could always use a pencil and paper.”

  “That’s only one step up from dipping a porcupine quill in blood and berry juice and drawing wildebeests on a cave wall,” Harper said melodramatically.

  Kat threw up her hands. “Then I can’t help you. I’m going to bake an apple crumble. Some of us don’t need a laptop to organize our clues. We can use our brains.”

  NICE AS PIE

  “Let’s start with what we know,” said Harper, using a red Sharpie to write THE CASE OF THE MISSING STAR WITNESS in bold across the top of Kat’s watercolor pad. Even she had to agree that scarlet ink on hand-milled cotton board was several steps up from a bloodied quill in a musty cave.

  “Our best hope of finding Riley is to do what other detectives haven’t: identify the members of the gang. That’s if they’re the ones who’ve got her. There are other possible motives for a kidnapping—e.g., Riley’s bank chairman father. But for now, let’s assume the Wish Listers have her. Once we’ve done that, we need to figure out where they could be hiding her.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about,” said Kat, rubbing flour, oats, and oil between her palms to make the apple crumble topping. Nomad sat at her feet, nibbling the scraps. “American geography is not my strong point.”

  “You’re forgetting Storm Mindy.”

  Kat raised a floury eyebrow. “Not much chance of that. It’s like a marching band’s playing on the roof. Look out the window. It’s as if nothing exists except snow and ice, you and me, six huskies, a raccoon … and four thousand bears.”

  Harper clutched her head. “Don’t mention the bears. Not for a decade or two. Or ever. What I meant was, the weather might work in our favor. If the emergency services are stretched to capacity and some roads are impassable, the kidnappers might have decided to lie low in the Adirondacks till Mindy blows over.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. They might be snowed in and trapped, like us!” said Kat, cheering considerably.

  “Yes, but we’re in a race against time. Soon as the roads reopen and the High Peaks region is crawling with cops, they’ll be gone like the wind. They’ll either take Riley with them or they’ll make her disappear in the Adirondacks.”

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sp; It was a grim prospect, and when the television popped, they both jumped. On the screen, an image of a tropical island buckled and shrank to a dot before flickering back to normal.

  “No!” cried Harper. “That’s all we need. If Mindy knocks out communications, we could be cut off from the outside world. That would be a disaster, especially since no one knows we’re here. Better text your mom and tell her we’re okay while you can.”

  Kat didn’t hesitate. Wiping her hands on a squirrel dish towel, she typed:

  Hi Mom, hope you’re not too lonely in Lake Placid. Storm Mindy’s arrived but we’re keeping busy. I’m baking the apple crumble you taught me and Harper’s doing something mysterious and artistic with my watercolor pad. K & H xx

  Her mother replied in an instant.

  Darling, I’m proud of you both. Theo and I like to take credit for raising such resourceful daughters, but the truth is you and Harper are wonderful all on your own. Not a lot to do in snowy Lake Placid except laze around reading, eating, and having the occasional massage. Could be worse! Missing you very much. Keep out of the cold! Love Mum xx

  Kat read the message twice. “Why do I get the feeling that she’s secretly enjoying herself?”

  “Maybe she is,” said Harper. “That’s okay, isn’t it? We are too.”

  It was true. As long as Mirror Lake remained in the grip of Mindy’s glacial jaws, the likelihood of the cabin’s owner returning unexpectedly was minimal. The lane was under half a meter of snow at least. With no safe way of reaching Nightingale Lodge until the worst of the storm had passed, the girls had no choice but to relax. For now, the Dog House was home.

  As a consequence, the living room was carpeted in huskies, chew toys, and cushion innards, and a snowdrift of flour coated the kitchen tiles. When Kat lifted the lid on the pot, the heavenly fragrance of stewed apple and cinnamon filled the air.

  “What’s this?” asked Harper, prodding a large cardboard box Kat had deposited on the armchair.

  “I found it in the cupboard under the stairs. It’s full of games.”

  Harper opened it eagerly and was crestfallen to discover they were board games. She’d envisaged something more entertaining. A pinball machine, Ping-Pong, or an indoor bowling setup. “They should be called bored games. Monopoly and Snakes and Ladders have been around since Gerry Meeks was a baby. I do like Scrabble. That can stay. As for the jigsaw puzzles … Wait, what’s this?”

  She pulled a package from the bottom of the box. “Kat Wolfe, you’re a legend.”

  “Can I have that in writing?” kidded Kat, who was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to the crumble.

  “After the rattlesnake story, I was starting to have doubts about our friendship…”

  “Hold on! Two seconds ago, I was a legend.”

  Harper grinned. “Now you’re forgiven even that gruesome tale. From this day on, I owe you forever times infinity because somehow, in this cabin at the end of the universe, in the land that time forgot, you’ve uncovered a brand-new, still sealed Raspberry Pi.”

  Kat was confused. “There’s a raspberry pie in the game box?”

  “Not an edible pie, a Raspberry Pi. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them. They’re dead-cheap, dead-basic kit computers, but if you’re tech-savvy and add a few components, you can really make them fly.”

  “And you can build one?”

  “In my sleep. I’ll start right now. Time me. How long does it take to bake an apple crumble?”

  “Thirty minutes. You can assemble a Pi as quick as that?”

  “Just watch me.”

  ROCKY ROAD

  That night, Harper dreamed she was in a snowbound wilderness theme park. Carnival music thudded relentlessly. Every loop of the roller coaster carried her nearer to a den of pacing bears. She begged the operator to stop the ride, but no matter how loudly she shouted, he didn’t seem to hear her. He just stared ahead with a fixed grin.

  “Why won’t you listen?” she sobbed.

  “Harper, listen!”

  The scene wobbled and was gone. She opened her eyes to darkness as black as velvet. Kat was leaning over her, saying something. Harper tried groggily to comprehend what it was.

  Downstairs, the huskies appeared to be using the living room as a practice run for a sled race. They were husky “talking” nonstop and knocking over chairs. Something smashed. A bell tinkled.

  Adrenaline kicked Harper into life.

  “The owner’s come home!” She fumbled for her glasses on the bedside table.

  “Or it could be robbers,” whispered Kat. “Or the police. Whichever, we’re in trouble.”

  They reached for the lamp at the same time, knocking it over. It hit the ground with a crack and broke.

  Gripping hands, the girls huddled against the wall, as if that would make whatever was happening go away. They waited for footsteps. None came.

  Instead, there was a burst of howling followed by a distinct: Whoop-whoop. Whoop-whoop. Whoop-whoop. Hisssss.

  “Rocky!” Harper exclaimed. “Oh my goodness, if we don’t get down there fast, he’ll be a raccoon canapé for six huskies.”

  Kat flew to turn on the main light, but the electricity was out.

  * * *

  “The fuse might have blown,” said Harper. “I think I saw a flashlight in the chest of drawers.”

  Falling over the suitcase and bumping into a chair added more bruises to Kat’s already impressive collection before she found it. The yellow beam illuminated their untidy space. Harper was sitting on her bed, her black bob mussed up, her pajama top buttoned crookedly.

  They took the stairs in action-hero bounds, Kat still clutching the torch. When they burst into the living room, the huskies froze in place like museum waxworks, their expressions ranging from guilty to unapologetically mischievous.

  Dancer was on her hind legs in the kitchen, her paws reaching almost to the top of the refrigerator door. Brave Rocky was shooting her a death glare from up high, like a lone knight under siege in a castle turret.

  Kat was no raccoon expert, but she did know that they were intelligent, sociable, and capable of more than fifty different vocalizations. Cornered, Rocky whistled, snarled, whinnied, grunted, and growled like a one-raccoon orchestra.

  Two words from Kat and the huskies slunk out of the kitchen. Dancer was the last to leave, casting a wounded How dare you spoil my fun? look at her as she went.

  “If you keep an eye on the huskies, Harper, I’ll try to calm Rocky. He must be hungry or else he wouldn’t have risked the wrath of six huskies. I’d like to try to feed him something before he goes back to his den.”

  As Kat spoke soothingly to the raccoon, Harper went to turn on the lights. None worked. Her phone had no signal. Though it was plugged in, the battery was flat. The TV was dead too.

  “Kat, remember how on our first night you said it was as if aliens had abducted everyone and we were the only people left in the world? I think it might actually have happened.”

  Absorbed in opening a can of peaches for the raccoon, Kat laughed but didn’t look around.

  “I’m serious,” said Harper. “Not about the aliens, but about feeling that we’re the only ones left alive. We’re cut off from everyone and everything. And the scary part is not one person on the entire planet knows we’re here. We might as well be marooned on an ice floe in Alaska.”

  Now she had Kat’s full attention. “Jet drove us here, so at least he can give his aunt the address if anything really bad happens to us—which it won’t. How long do you reckon it’ll be before the power’s restored?”

  “Who knows? In history, we learned about an ice storm in Washington and Idaho that knocked out power for a couple of weeks, but I doubt that would happen now.”

  “I don’t care about the electricity,” said Kat. “We have candles, a fire, and a gas stove. Storm Mindy won’t last forever. I do care about Riley. If we can’t watch the news and we don’t have Wi-Fi, how will we know if she’s been rescued?”
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  A piercing whoop-whoop was their one-second warning before pandemonium erupted again. Unnoticed by the girls, Dancer had sneaked back into the kitchen. She jumped as high as she could, trying to reach the raccoon. Squealing and mewling, Rocky took evasive action, but Dancer managed to nip him before Kat could grab her collar.

  The raccoon shot behind the cabinet and was gone.

  “Phew, that was a lucky escape,” said Harper, shaken.

  “It wasn’t lucky for Rocky,” said Kat, indicating a smear of blood on the tiles. “Looks as if he’s wounded. Wherever he’s taken refuge, we need to find him.”

  SNOWMAGEDDON

  “We’ve done a lot of mad things, but this has to be the maddest,” said Harper as they inched their way along a rope that they’d secured to the porch railings. “It’s Snowmaggedon out here. What if one of us breaks a limb or catches pneumonia? We can’t exactly call for help. How do we get to the emergency room—by husky sled? Oh, I forgot. We don’t have one.”

  “Yes, but it’s our fault that Rocky was bitten.” Kat raised her voice to compete with the wailing wind. “There was always a chance he’d come back. We should have created a safe area for him. He must have got the shock of his life to find six huskies lying in wait. Now he’s bleeding. He might need stitches or an antibiotic.” She turned away, shouting over her shoulder, “Go be in the warm Dog House if that’s what you want. I’m going to find Rocky.”

  “Okay, okay,” grizzled Harper as spiky shards of ice needled her cheeks. “Kat, wait. I promise we won’t give up till you’re one hundred percent satisfied that he’s the happiest, healthiest raccoon in all the Adirondacks. But maybe there’s a better way.”

  “What better way?”

  For all her fighting talk, Kat was ready to consider all options. The chef at the Full-Belly Deli had been talking from experience when he warned them about winter in the wilderness. She no longer doubted that a person could freeze to death in their own backyard.