Due North

by Jackson, Melanie

  “Come back for dinner,” the Flowers suggested. “We’ll be ready for company by then.”

  The two women shared a look and Butterscotch nodded slightly.

  Chapter 6: The Site

  “Are you ready to go look at the crash site?” my guest asked once he had set his small duffel on the plank floor and looked around the cabin. His expression was unchanging but I knew the eyes missed no details.

  When the Mountie finally spoke again, the tone was stiff and formal. Maybe he didn’t like being fobbed off on my inferior stables when there was clearly room at the inn, and I could hardly explain that his early arrival had interrupted the Flowers while she was doing something she didn’t want the Mountie to see. Like emptying the pub’s still. Or maybe he didn’t care for the cabin’s rustic décor. Probably, in the city, they didn’t use weapons for decorating. Probably they had carpeting and furnaces.

  I tried not to feel defensive when I looked at my cabin through his eyes. Of course my home reflects my taste the same as anyone else’s would, but you have to look harder for my personality than with most people’s abodes because I must keep necessities close at hand. I don’t think that the ice ax is the height of art, but I often need one to break out some mornings, so I have it by the door. And books are important. Lots of books show a curious mind, not an incipient hoarder. Any intelligent man would see that.

  “Of course. Are you sure that you are?” I looked pointedly at his shoes and uniform, which was wool, but not warm enough for anything more than a stroll through town.

  A small smile lightened his expression.

  “I have some boots and snow gear in my bag.”

  “That’s good. I’d lend you some, but you wouldn’t fit in mine.”

  “Heaven forefend,” he muttered.

  “At least you have a sense of humor. Most of your kind seem humor impaired,” I muttered back and got a quick look. I said more loudly, “Okay, get changed. The spare room is through there.” I jerked my head at the oversized closet with a cot that had once been a larder for raw meats. It didn’t smell anymore. Really. “Oh, and guard your socks.”

  “My socks?”

  “Yes, Max likes socks and feels anything off of your feet is fair game.”

  The Mountie and Max looked at one another. Max stopped chewing snow out of his pads and grinned impudently. I couldn’t be sure, but I think the inspector thawed a bit more. He was obviously a dog person. This raised him in my estimation.

  “Clearly he’s a hardened criminal.”

  “And unrepentant,” I agreed sadly. “I am forced to keep the cabin tidy or go sockless.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  I paced the living room, looking for ways to make it instantly more warm and appealing, while Inspector Goodhead changed clothes. There isn’t a lot of space for pacing. The lower reaches of the cabin were built optimistically with large logs and stacked stone that made a kind of bench along the front of the cabin where I leave my boots, coat, and scarf, but not socks or mittens. Mittens, being small and made of yarn, were seen by Max as just being peculiarly shaped socks.

  The inspector’s room, the old larder, had been added later when Black Bart had grown disappointed and bitter and careless, and at first it required constant chinking to stop the wind getting in through the uneven and unpeeled logs that shed a little more of their bark every time they froze and then thawed. I had finally gotten tired of the leaks and bought a commercial foam to fill the gaps. Technology had triumphed over Black Bart’s despair, but since it was a first effort, the patching wasn’t neat or attractive and there was a slight petroleum odor.

  At least there were no weapons on the walls and the old quilt on the cot was faded but nice.

  The Mountie cleared his throat to get my attention and I turned from the small shuttered window where I had been standing, looking at nothing.

  “Shall we be off then?” he asked. He sounded more at ease and was perhaps recovering his mood. I hoped he was an easygoing man. And maybe a little dumb and easily manipulated, though this seemed a bit much to hope for.

  I reached for my coat.

  “Up and at ’em, Max.”

  Days were growing longer but we didn’t have many hours of sun left, so I hurried along the road without trying to play tour guide. Inspector Goodhead was inclined to chat though, so I was forced to be civil and answer questions about the places we passed.

  The Mountie had a kind of stretcher sled that was designed to be pulled by a snowmobile, but unfortunately we weren’t headed for any place that easily accessed. I let the Mountie play beast of burden while I carried the shotgun. The weight didn’t seem to trouble him.

  “Friendly town you’ve got here. I feel about as welcome as bubonic plague.”

  “It’s friendly enough. If you’re a McIntyre or a Jones.”

  “And have red hair.”

  “And have red hair,” I conceded. “I think that’s where your office went wrong. We are very suspicious of people with blond hair. Maybe you should stop in at the grocer and see if they have any hair color. I’m sure people would warm up to you then.”

  “You’re laughing at me, Miss Jones, but something has put people’s backs up and I would like to know what it is. I should think that you would be glad that help has arrived so speedily. Since you requested it.”

  We stepped off the road and began climbing through the trees. It took some backward glancing to be sure the sled didn’t get entangled.

  “It may be the dress uniform that upsets us. Few of us look good in red so we aren’t used to seeing it. It’s our hair. The clash of tones—ah—watch this bit.” I reached out and touched his arm. “The land out here is badly fractured and the light is getting tricky. It’s easy to put a foot wrong. Let Max go first and walk in his tracks.”

  The Mountie obligingly altered course, following in Max’s paw prints.

  “What on earth were you doing out here anyway? This is hardly an after-dinner stroll.” The question sounded spontaneous and maybe it was, but I answered carefully.

  “I was following the fur ball. He’d been inside with me for the better part of three days during the last storm and he doesn’t take confinement well. Knowing another bad one is coming, I decided to let him out for a long play. We went out to the pond for some skating, and then Max caught the scent of something and headed for Potter’s Ridge. I think maybe he knew the plane was there. We don’t usually come this way.” I said this easily because it was true. “I thought at first that I had found an abandoned truck, but Max started digging and I could soon see it was a plane. I looked inside and—” I stopped.

  “And?” Our footsteps were loud in the snow and our breath showed white as we forced ourselves up the hill.

  “And I’d rather not look again.” This was also truth, if not the whole truth. “Unless you need help with the body. He… ah… is frozen solid. There could be difficulties extracting him.”

  “I see. That is troublesome but I think I can manage. It isn’t the first time someone has been frozen and I have proper tools.” I couldn’t think what to say to this and was glad when he went on. “Tell me more about the town. It is an unusual one. Do you have any residents that don’t have red hair?”

  He was a dog with a bone. I had to give him something.

  “Two. And some people have gone gray, of course.”

  “And is everyone unfriendly and reluctant to talk to law enforcement?”

  “Pretty much. The thing about McIntyre’s Gulch, the families who live around here all have a need for freedom. For independence.” To escape abusive spouses and unfeeling law enforcement, war conscriptions, or burdensome taxes. I stopped, trying to think of a way to explain without explaining. “The story is that the first McIntyre was a fleeing Jacobite. Maybe it’s true. The pioneer spirit is still strong out here. We’d rather take our chances with the weather and terrain and wild animals than give up our independence.”

  “And you see life in the city as living in a
gilded cage. And me as one of the keepers?”

  He wasn’t stupid. That could be good or bad.

  “Yes. The city is safer in some ways. Maybe. But it’s very regulated. Like a machine. It’s all schedules and traffic signals and dress codes and rules, rules, rules. Out here, the only rule is ‘don’t be stupid.’ Or you’ll die. The act carries its own punishment. We haven’t much need for outside law. And we don’t really want the law trying to rope us in to doing things its way. Some of us have also….” I stopped. “Let’s just say that some people’s interaction with civilization has convinced them that not all officers are gentlemen.”

  “I see…. And the pilot was stupid?”

  “He sure wasn’t prepared. No survival gear, not even a coat. And a single-engine plane, in winter especially…. This is someone who was either way off course or had done zero preparation for his travels.”

  “Forgive my curiosity, but given the town’s sentiments, why did you bother calling this in? You could have just left him. Let the animals take him in the spring.” The gentle voice suggested the brutality casually. I figured that I was being tested.

  “I thought about it. We even had a town meeting to discuss what to do.” I paused, wondering if this was too much information. I didn’t want to lie any more than I had to, but that didn’t mean giving everything else away. The inspector let me think it through. I appreciated the courtesy. “The pilot may have been stupid. He was certainly unlucky. Maybe he had an instrument failure. I don’t feel the need to judge. He’s paid the ultimate price for his carelessness. But even if he was an utter moron, he might have a family somewhere, waiting and wondering what has happened to him. A family that is stuck with your rules that say you have to have a body to collect life insurance. It’s a nuisance, but we did the humane thing. We are all hoping we don’t regret it.”

  The stuff about the insurance was almost certainly not relevant in this case, but it sounded good. And if the pilot did belong to some mafia, we wanted them to know that the Mounties had been out and taken everything away with them.

  “Not everyone agreed with the decision though?”

  “In the end, they all agreed. We wouldn’t have called you otherwise,” I said firmly as Max came running back to check on us. “We’re here. Watch for the darker patches of snow. It may mean there’s a hollow beneath.”

  “This is hardly the pristine wilderness I was expecting, given the rough country we’ve traveled. This spot has been visited and recently.”

  It had indeed. I hardly recognized the clearing. Someone had wiped out my sledge tracks and churned up the virgin snow with a dozen pairs of boots and snowshoes. The damage to the plane was more apparent.

  “I guess people were curious,” I offered. Curious to see if I overlooked anything of value. “It’s nice that they’ve dug out the plane so you can see it clearly. This way we can get the number off the tail. I didn’t think to do that. I guess I was in shock.” At seeing that much money.

  “If this was a crime scene, it would be tampering with evidence.”

  “But it isn’t a crime scene. It was a crash. An accident.”

  “Hm.”

  The sun was waning, the wind gaining speed, and my bones felt brittle. I knelt next to Max and cuddled him for a moment. This was for my comfort, not his.

  “At least there’s no danger of fire,” Inspector Goodhead said, looking under the carriage. “The fuel has wept out.”

  I nodded, just to show I was listening. He got up and went to the opened door. I kept my eyes averted as he searched the dead man’s clothing.

  “Did you examine the body?” The voice was no sharper than before, but I knew that he’d found something.

  “No. I saw the wheel stuck in his head and he was obviously frozen and past help. I…. No, I didn’t look at him. Inspector?”

  “Please call me Chuck. I don’t think we need be formal under the circumstances.” He began taking pictures. “Did you notice his tattoos?”

  “Not really. Max was jumping around, trying to get in the plane, and I was worried about him getting cut on the broken glass. I just—well. He was dead. I didn’t want to see anymore. Maybe I should have checked him for identification, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.”

  “That’s understandable,” he said gently, but he glanced at my shotgun, probably wondering why I was being so squeamish when I was used to bloodshed of the animal kind. “Why don’t you take Max away for a couple minutes while I get the body out?”

  “Okay.” But it wasn’t. He had seen something that I missed. “What’s wrong with him? What didn’t I see? He was dead. I know he was dead. Please don’t say you think I left an injured man.”

  That sounded both guilty and needy. The inspector waited a long moment before answering. He had probably decided that once the Bones had seen the body he would blab the details anyway, so he could risk being compassionate.

  “He’s been stabbed. It didn’t kill him, but blood loss might explain how he got so off course.”

  “Stabbed?” I repeated blankly.

  “Stabbed.”

  “Like with a weapon?”

  “Yes.”

  Well damn.

  “Are you sure that you can manage the body?” I forced myself to ask, wanting less than ever to touch it.

  “Oh yes. He isn’t a large man.”

  “I’ll watch for bears then.” Max and I moved away. I didn’t see him pry the body out, but I heard him breaking ice and the sound made me a little bit ill. Even Max was subdued.

  “So, there really are bears?”

  “Yes.”

  There were some more nasty crunchy sounds. I hummed to myself and looked at the sky. There was only a pencil-thin break in the clouds and it was turning orange.

  “So, I can see why they call the pilot ‘Wings’ and the doc ‘Bones,’ but why are you ‘Butterscotch’?” the Mountie asked as he unfolded a tarp and began lashing it over the body, which of course didn’t lay flat. When he was done I picked up one of the ropes and he took the other. We began pulling. It moved more easily than my sledge had.

  “It’s my favorite pudding,” I answered at last. “But that isn’t my nickname. It’s what my grandpa called me.” Not the whole truth but close enough. “Around here I am known as ‘the Numbers.’”

  “Ah. Big gambler, eh? I could tell at the first glance. I bet poker is your game.”

  A big gambler? Not hardly. That honor belonged to my father. I had gambled only once and that was because I was desperate to avoid the police. These days I play everything safe.

  “No. I’m an accountant. I do taxes and such.”

  “So, I don’t suppose there is lots of tax evasion out here? Lots of hiding spectacular wealth from the tax collector or anything interesting?” He sounded ridiculously hopeful, and I realized he was actually teasing me. Maybe trying to put me at ease.

  If he only knew. At least half of the town could be charged with tax evasion.

  “None,” I lied. “We’ve no fear of the tax collector. Mostly because we have no money. And haven’t you heard? We have no crime in McIntyre’s Gulch.”

  “Well, maybe you hadn’t before.” He suddenly sounded more serious.

  “That crime didn’t happen here,” I said sharply. “None of us stabbed that man, and we certainly didn’t crash his plane.”

  “No, the stabbing didn’t happen here,” he agreed, but I had the feeling he wasn’t buying the no crime thing. I suspect he was looking at loose threads we’d left lying around and was trying to figure a way to weave them into a noose. I wondered what else we had overlooked. “Well, I must say that it all sounds rather boring for a policeman. That must be why you have none.”

  “Very boring,” I agreed. “You had best leave at once, or perish from the tedium.”

  “I can’t leave until the body thaws and we have a postmortem. Bones can do that, I suppose. He is a real doctor?”

  “Of course.” Just drunk all the time. “You aren’t t
aking the body away to be autopsied?” I sounded appalled. Because I was. I could have the Mountie in residence for one night, but not more than that.

  “How? In Wings’ puddle jumper?” he asked reasonably. “I doubt he’d care for that.”

  “We could get an ambulance up from Little Fork,” I suggested. “They have an actual funeral home there. They could keep the body while it thaws.”

  “I doubt they could get an ambulance up here before the storm. I hear it will be bad. I may be here for days.”

  I looked up at the sky and cursed silently. He was right. I thought frantically about ways to stuff the genie back in the lamp and came up with nothing.

  “Yep, it looks like you’ll be stuck with me for a few days more,” he said cheerfully. “That will give me a chance to really get to know everyone. I’ve never been in a town that has no crime. It should be instructive. Maybe I’ll take some valuable lessons back to my gilded cage.”

  I wondered how long it would take him to realize that we had no outlaws here because we had few laws to get outside of. There were only two. Keep your mouth shut with strangers. And help your neighbors when they ask, even if you don’t like them.

  “I’m sure everyone will be thrilled.”

  “Yes, especially when I start asking what was taken out of the airplane.”

  “Wh—what? Something was taken?”

  “Oh yes. I’m quite sure of that. I don’t suppose you noticed anything missing today?”

  “No. I have been doing my best to notice nothing.”

  “Understandable. Death is unpleasant for the sensitive.”

  “It is unpleasant for anyone,” I said sharply. “And you keep staring at my gun—like carrying this makes me a heartless killer. I’ll have you know that I don’t hunt. I don’t like killing things. But I don’t want to be eaten by a bear either,” I said tartly. “We have wolves too. Max is great, but he’s just one dog. Only an idiot would go out without a weapon.”

  “And the big rule is don’t be stupid?”