Cold Company

by Sue Henry

  Just after three, she took Tank with her in the pickup and made a quick run into Palmer to a gun dealer’s where she had done previous business. Vic kept an eye on her property for the hour she was gone, though he asked no questions, assuming she had gone for supplies—which, in a way, she had.

  At five o’clock, he was the last to pull out of the drive, promising to be back early the next morning, all his focus on the work at hand and knowing nothing of what Becker and Timmons had told Jessie about possible danger or the threat of the roses. After she watched him pull out of sight, she went immediately to her pickup and carried a couple of packages into the motor home, where she set about familiarizing herself with what she had purchased and preparing to spend the night alone. When all was as ready as she could make it, she stepped back outside to admire the afternoon’s progress on her house, wearing her .44 in its holster around her waist, unwilling to be caught off guard. Though abductions probably took place at night, when darkness made it harder to see, such an assumption could be a serious mistake.

  The persistent silence that filled the clearing once the crane was silent gave her back a sense of ownership in her own property. It always seemed more hers when she was alone, with only the familiar kennel and woodland sounds around her. She knew them all and enjoyed them now.

  The musical twee-twee-twee of tiny warblers combined pleasantly with a siskin’s sweeeeet and the kinglets’ thin see-see-see rising from the branches of the spruce, where they were hunting insects and larvae or seeds from the cones. A couple of squirrels chased each other from tree to tree, taking daring leaps of faith through the air and drawing disdainful glances from several of the dogs, who didn’t bother to move or bark, knowing from past experience that they were uncatchable.

  In an hour, Jessie had fed and watered all her dogs, checked their physical condition, and given each a ration of attention along with their food. It lifted her spirits to spend time with them, for their affection was unconditional and uncomplicated. Though different in looks, temperament, and ability, they were all alike in their absolute trust and respect for her, and she knew she would never be comfortable leaving them alone. The last time something like this had happened, one of them had been badly hurt.

  Though she never felt confused or insecure with her dogs, people were different. It was often hard to know how they felt or what they were thinking. Each was a risk, difficult to weigh and, to Jessie, best kept at a safe distance. When she was uncomfortable, as she was now, she was even more aware and cautious of that calculated distance.

  And there are old reasons for that too, she told herself, finishing with her jobs in the dog yard and locking up her shed. But once again she refused to think about them, knowing just how much she needed to remain attentive and alert.

  Phil Becker showed up, as promised, close to seven, and was not pleased when she told him she intended to stay by herself that night.

  “Dammit, Jessie. I told you staying out here alone was a bad idea. Do I have to carry you around in my back pocket?”

  His frown was a thundercloud of disapproval.

  Ignoring his glower, she answered him with calm confidence. “Better not try. Look, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got it figured out and I’ll be just fine.”

  “You think you will,” he shot back. “What if this guy shows up again?”

  His think struck a nerve and her response was sharper than she had intended. “Then my guys will let me know and I’ll take steps.”

  “You can’t depend on a bunch of dogs to protect you when they’re tethered to their boxes,” he fumed in frustration.

  Regaining her composure, she refused to argue, preferring to convince him with quiet reason, knowing his worry was sincere.

  “But I can depend on their warning. They know you, but some of them barked anyway, didn’t they?” she reminded him. “Anyone comes into the yard, they’ll let me know, loud and clear. I’ll bring Tank and Pete inside for the night, and I’ve made other preparations.”

  “What preparations?” he demanded.

  She took him inside the motor home to see.

  A sleeping bag on a foam mattress that she used on training runs with the dogs lay in the shelter of the bed on the floor, out of sight from any window, all of which had the blinds and curtains tightly closed over them.

  “I’m sleeping there, where I can’t be seen from outside, not in the bed.”

  Becker shook his head. “It’s too easy to jimmy either of the cab doors. You might not hear it till it was too late.”

  “Tank will. And if he knows, I’ll know.”

  “What else?”

  “This.” From an out-of-sight corner within reach of the sleeping bag, Jessie brought forth the shotgun she had purchased at the gun shop earlier that afternoon.

  “Anyone with any sense at all will be very careful of a frightened woman behind a shotgun at close range.”

  He couldn’t help grinning his approval. “Not a bad idea, but I still think…”

  “Phil, I’ll be fine. I’ve got the phone and I’ll use it if I hear or see anything. Okay?”

  “I’ll stay.” He sat down on a bench at the table and folded his arms stubbornly.

  For the first time, Jessie exhibited irritation.

  “No, Phil, you won’t.” Hearing annoyance raise her voice, she backed off and offered a compromise. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent whoever’s on duty around a couple of times tonight, though, just to be sure everything’s kosher.”

  As she watched him consider this option, she wondered just how much of his intractability was due to some request from Jensen to take care of her. It would be like Becker to take that sort of responsibility to heart.

  He looked up, still frowning disagreement, and finally gave in. “Timmons won’t like it.”

  “He’ll live.”

  “That’s just what I’m worr…”

  “Bad choice of words. Sorry,” she apologized, with a grin. “Don’t tell him, okay?”

  “Ri–ight. And you think he won’t ask first thing in the morning—if not later tonight?”

  Jessie changed the subject, knowing Timmons too well to wonder any such thing.

  “Find anything upriver today?”

  “Nope. Heard a plane taking off, but on foot past the end of the road we couldn’t get in far enough to catch up with it. Whoever it was must have flown on over the hill, because the plane didn’t come back in our direction.”

  Becker’s forehead wrinkled in concern and disappointment at the near miss.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “Still thinking. Commander Swift’s reluctant to put somebody out there for days or weeks without any results. We’ve been short-handed since Alex left. Tomorrow I may fly up and take a look beyond where we reached today, if I can get hold of Ben Caswell and his plane.”

  He left, still shaking his head, but looked back to wave as he turned out of the driveway and onto the road, headed toward Wasilla.

  As promised, Jessie brought in Tank and Pete, who were both glad to lie down under the table. She ate dinner and settled on her improvised bed on the floor with a pile of pillows behind her against the wall and a historical mystery she’d been saving, knowing a favorite author would claim a large share of her attention and keep her from thinking too much. She took a flashlight, the phone, and a list of numbers she might need, just in case, and put out a hand to pat the shotgun appreciatively, before beginning to read.

  At nine, she felt sleepy and took a nap, knowing that as soon as it grew as dark as it was going to get she would want to stay awake for an hour or two. Turning off the reading light she had been using, she left the light on over the stove in the galley and drifted off into uneasy dreams. She woke sometime later to the sound of a dog barking outside. Several other dogs added to the cacophony of yips and barks. Tank and Pete both raised their heads to listen but did not join in.

  Slowly, with great care, Jessie rolled forward onto her knees, quietly opene
d the door, and crawled into the lavatory. In the narrow hallway that led to the bedroom of the motor home, the bathroom was divided, a shower stall on one side and a lavatory with toilet on the side facing the driveway, along which she could now hear the sound of tires approaching. Cautiously, with one finger, she pulled down a single slat in the venetian blind till she could see out—and breathed a sigh of relief. A patrol car was coming slowly up the drive with only its parking lights for illumination.

  When the officer knocked softly on the door, she was there to open it.

  He was young and stiffly official. “Officer Duncan, Miss Arnold. Everything okay here?”

  Assured that it was, he was gone again in minutes, and Jessie went back to her bed. But the incident had shaken her confidence slightly. Turning out the galley light, she lay in the gathering darkness, feeling vulnerable and worried. There would be no more sleep this night.

  Still, she dozed a little from time to time, waking to small familiar sounds from outside. It was very still at one o’clock in the morning when Tank, who had curled up on the mattress by Jessie’s feet, suddenly stood up and turned to stare toward the front of the Winnebago. His movement startled her from a dream she was having about struggling through deep snow during the Yukon Quest race and feeling she was getting nowhere. Sitting up, she listened with him, and adrenaline flooded through her at the sudden metallic sound of someone quietly trying the door on the passenger side of the cab. The sound stopped, and there was nothing for a moment, before whoever it was tried again on the driver’s side.

  Heart pounding, Jessie climbed silently to her feet, laying a hand on Tank’s muzzle, to warn him not to bark. She had stretched out a hand for the shotgun when she remembered Pete but could not reach him in time. Moving from under the table, where he had been sleeping, he barked sharply. Instantly, the sound at the door stopped. One dog in the yard barked in response to Pete, but the rest were quiet.

  From behind the motor home, somewhere close to the edge of the trees, she heard a thump and a muffled expletive, as if someone had tripped over something. Then, for a long minute, there was no other sound. Tank relaxed and turned to let her know that whoever had been trying the doors was not now an immediate threat. Satisfied with himself, Pete sat down and waited to be congratulated.

  With a shaking hand, Jessie reached for the flashlight, turned it on, and found her list by the phone.

  First, she called the troopers’ office, then tried Lynn Ehlers. Call the law, then call me, he had instructed, and she took him up on the offer. To hell with independence.

  But his phone rang and rang until she could almost hear it echoing in an empty house, and no one answered.

  “Damn.”

  Selecting her second choice from the list, she dialed again and waited. Hank Peterson answered on the third ring with a groggy, “Hullo. It’s fuckin’ one-thirty in the morning. Whaddaya want?”

  “Hank? It’s Jessie.” She could hear the slight quiver in her own voice.

  There was a hesitation, then, “Jessie? Arnold? Jeez, Jessie, I’m sorry I…”

  She interrupted his sleepy string of apologies.

  “Listen, there’s someone in my yard, trying to get into the Winnebago. Can you come?”

  He was wide awake now!

  “I’m on my way. Call the cops.”

  His receiver clattered back into the cradle, cutting her off and leaving her “Already did” hanging in air.

  She could only hope he would arrive before whoever was out there tried again to get in and she would be forced to defend herself.

  17

  PETERSON CAME ROARING UP THE DRIVE IN THE FLATBED truck he used to haul around his Bobcat, still wearing the T-shirt he slept in, though he’d yanked on a pair of sweats over his underwear shorts. He leaped out, snatching a wrench from under the driver’s seat, and came running to pound on Jessie’s door, bare feet in a pair of leather slippers.

  “It’s Hank, Jessie. You okay? Open up.”

  Young Officer Duncan arrived right behind him, without flashing lights or siren, and was out of the patrol car with his gun in his hand when Jessie opened the door. She called out to let him know that Hank was not the person who had tried to break into the Winnebago, and he holstered it.

  “What happened, ma’am?” he asked, such a total contrast in his neat duty uniform to Peterson in his sleepwear that Jessie’s sense of humor was tickled. She giggled and realized that it was a nervous reaction.

  “Someone tried to get in through both cab doors,” she explained to the men, “but one of the dogs barked and scared him off. I know he ran into the woods, because I heard him trip over something and swear.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “No. There wasn’t time, and it might have been too dark anyway.”

  It was dark, though not totally, for there was still a pale line of light on the western horizon that she could see through the trees across Knik Road.

  The young officer nodded. “He picked the darkest couple of hours, all right. I’m going out to take a look around.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Peterson told him. “Lend me a jacket, Jessie?”

  “Sure, but if you think I’m staying in here by myself, you’re both crazy.”

  They searched the clearing and the edge of the surrounding woods even more thoroughly than Jessie and Lynn Ehlers had searched it the night before. When he found a footprint next to a stump behind the motor home, Officer Duncan marked it and said he would call in for someone from the crime lab to come the next morning to make a cast. Several branches had been broken, seemingly from a person rushing to leave the scene. One had a gray thread of what looked like wool from a sweater or other knit garment hanging on the sharp broken end of it. Other than that they found nothing, until a second officer arrived from farther out Knik Road.

  “There’s a green pickup parked off the road in the Settlers Bay parking lot,” he informed them. “Whoever it is won’t be moving it anytime soon. I took the distributor cap.”

  Jessie scowled, as a sudden unwelcome idea found its way into her mind.

  “Does it have a dog box in the bed?”

  “Yes. Do you know whose it is?”

  “I might. Let’s go take a look and I’ll see.”

  Getting out of the patrol car, she stood looking at the green pickup and shaking her head.

  “Whose is it, Jessie?” Peterson asked.

  Without a word, she turned, walked across the parking lot, and called across the road toward the trees on the other side.

  “Lynn Ehlers? If you’re in there, come on out.”

  There was a rustle of brush and the Minnesota musher, wearing a dark jacket open over a snagged gray sweater, came walking out of the trees toward them, a rifle over one arm, its barrel pointed at the ground.

  “Put down your weapon,” Officer Duncan snapped immediately, hand on the pistol in his holster.

  “It’s okay, officer,” Jessie hastily assured him “I know this man. He’s a friend, aren’t you, Lynn?”

  It took a few minutes to convince the officers that he should not be placed under arrest and questioned, but they eventually departed, giving him back his distributor cap with dubious looks and a warning not to try anything similar in future.

  “This lady may refuse to press charges, but you frightened her half to death,” the young officer scolded him sternly. “She would have been justified in shooting you. And I’ll be watching you, so don’t forget it.”

  “I’m sorry, Jessie, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lynn apologized when he, Jessie, and Hank were all back in the motor home with the two dogs and their arsenal of weapons. “I’ve been watching your yard for the last two nights—came back last night after you’d gone to bed. I tried the doors to make sure they were locked and you didn’t hear a thing. How was I to know you’d take a dog inside tonight—or have company?” he added, giving the sleeping clothes Peterson was wearing a jealous glance.

  This was one error too ma
ny for Jessie, who sat down abruptly on the forward sofa and laughed until tears ran down her face.

  “What?” he demanded, ego obviously smarting. “What’s so damned funny?”

  Hank was also chuckling, realizing the humor in the situation, and Ehler’s defensive question made them both laugh even harder. The scare Jessie’d had, the irony of the situation—thinking she was taking care of herself, when all the while there had been someone else looking out for her—the very fact that she was trying to stop laughing and couldn’t: none of it helped.

  “You just—don’t—understand, Lynn,” she attempted to tell him.

  “Oh, I think I do,” he snapped back.

  “No—you—really don’t.”

  “Sit down, Ehlers,” Hank told him. “We’ll clear it up for you as soon as Jessie gets sane again. Beer, anyone?” He helped himself to a bottle from the refrigerator and handed one to Lynn. Jessie shook her head at the offer, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands, but came to the table to join them.

  “I called the troopers first,” she told Lynn, gaining control of her hilarity. “Then I tried to call you. Nobody answered. Obviously you weren’t there; you were here, but I didn’t know that. So I called Hank, who came in a hurry, in what you see him wearing. He’s a very good friend, nothing more. He wasn’t sleeping here, Lynn.”

  He stared at her as comprehension dawned, along with a shamefaced expression to match his embarrassed blush.

  “Boy!” he said finally. “I really screwed that one up, didn’t I? Sorry, guys. Tonight was pretty much of a total screwup, I guess. But I know how you like to take care of yourself, Jessie, and I didn’t want—”

  “I know, Lynn. It’s okay,” she interrupted, still smiling. “Actually, you’ll have to admit it’s pretty funny. I thought I was being so self-sufficient, and the minute something goes down what do I do? I call the police and you—and Hank, when you don’t answer. You were being considerate of my stupid independence and, in the process, scared me into howling for any help I could get.”