Murder on the Iditarod Trail

by Sue Henry

  Aware of her attention and Caswell’s amusement, Alex felt his ears redden.

  “Palmer,” he told her and drowned his discomfort in a long swallow of Budweiser.

  As she moved down the bar to mix drinks for the cocktail waitress, several people stood up at a table behind them.

  “Let’s move,” Jensen suggested. “More comfortable there.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Becker gazed innocently at the ceiling. “I sort of like it here. How about you, Cas?”

  “Yeah, Alex, I just got comfortable. It’s pretty interesting here, you’ll have to admit. Great detail and decoration.”

  “Come on you two. Move it.” He sat down at the vacant table, facing away from the bar, pulled out his pipe, and began to pack it with tobacco.

  “I’m back to Cranshaw and Martinson,” Jensen said when the others joined him, grinning. “And I don’t like it that Jessie’s out there running with them.”

  “I know you want to get back down there, Alex,” Caswell said.

  “Being stuck here makes me crazy,” he admitted.

  “If we knew that Harvey’s accident was another attempt, it would eliminate Schuller and Martinson, wouldn’t it?” asked Becker.

  “But we don’t know that it wasn’t an accident.”

  At that moment, the bartender turned up the radio. The hourly Iditarod report was coming on, and everyone in the bar grew quiet to hear it.

  As anticipated, Tim Martinson had reached Elim first, at seven forty-three. At seven fifty-six, however, having passed Dale Schuller and Jessie Arnold, Bomber Cranshaw pulled in second. The other two were in sight of the checkpoint.

  “Hey,” a woman in a bright yellow jumpsuit said to her husband. “Frank, she’s going to win. You just watch.”

  Noticing the grin on Alex’s face, she turned to him. “You know her?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we know her.”

  31

  Date: Tuesday and Wednesday, March 12 and 13

  Race Day: Eleven and twelve

  Place: Between Elim and White Mountain checkpoints and beyond (forty-six plus miles)

  Weather: Clearing, light wind

  Temperature: High –13°F, low –19°F

  Time: Late evening to midafternoon

  Two hours in Elim, barely enough time to feed the dogs, then Jessie was off again, behind Martinson this time. Beating Bomber out of the checkpoint established a second-place position she was unwilling to give up. The team was doing great, and she encouraged them, knowing they would have a required four-hour rest in White Mountain, in preparation for the last sprint through Safety to Nome. What mattered now was holding on, not letting anyone get away from her.

  The storm appeared to be dying at last. Turning off her headlamp long enough to regain her night vision, she could see clouds. In the clear dark sky between them, a few stars drifted overhead. After a minute or two she turned the headlamp back on.

  She could not remember ever being so tired. But knowing the whole thing was almost over sustained her, as did being second. Far behind her on the ice she could see the bobbing headlamps of Bomber and Schuller; occasionally she could see Martinson’s ahead.

  Remembering the look Cranshaw had given her as she passed him leaving Elim, she shivered. If he could have arranged it, she was sure that look would have stopped her from ever running again.

  According to the rules, a musher must give way to another who comes within fifty feet and asks to pass. Outside of Elim Bomber had pretended not to hear her request until she had made it three times. If Schuller hadn’t been in sight, she wondered if he would have refused completely. She suspected he might and resolved to stay ahead of him if she could.

  She considered turning off her headlamp and running in the dark, so he wouldn’t know where she was, but the light helped keep her awake. As tired as she was, she was afraid an unexpected rough spot might tumble her off the sled. She couldn’t risk it at this point, so the light stayed on.

  For eleven of the twenty-eight miles to Golovin, the trail followed the shoreline, curving slowly to the southwest. To shorten the route around Cape Darby, the trailbreakers had taken the way inland through the Kwiktalik Mountains. Jessie followed Martinson across the portage, away from the sea. After running so far on ice and through gentle hills, the mountains that rose over a thousand feet above her seemed enormous. The trail was rough and choppy, frozen and swept by the storm.

  When they completed the passage and dropped down onto the ice for the northwest run to Golovin, the wind hit hard again.

  At three in the morning she arrived at the checkpoint to find Martinson stretched out on his sled bag, his team around him. A few villagers stood discussing the merits of his team and watching the dogs finish their dinner, standing far enough away to avoid disturbing their meal. Martinson sat up as she pulled in from Golovin Bay.

  When she had settled her team and finished feeding them, he wandered over to where she was repacking the equipment in her sled.

  “You’re really pushing me, Jessie.”

  She grinned. “Good. I plan to keep it up.”

  He took a long, thoughtful look at her remaining ten dogs. “They look good.”

  “They are. I left one in Elim, but the rest are doing fine. How’re yours?”

  “Okay. I dropped two. Want some coffee?”

  She stopped what she was doing to turn and look at him. Though they had been in races together in the past, she had never run near him. Given his hostile behavior throughout this one, his offer surprised her.

  “Sure, Tim. I don’t want to go to sleep, just rest a bit. Coffee would be great. Here. I’ll be over in a minute.”

  He took the metal cup she handed him and clomped off in his heavy boots to the fire he had going near his team.

  After checking her own, she followed him. She squatted as close to the fire as she could to warm her hands and took the cup he offered. He settled back on his sled with his own cup. In companionable silence, they watched the flames.

  She had just raised the cup to take a sip of the steaming coffee when a voice called her name and a figure appeared out of the darkness. “Jessie, you got here.” It was Alice Yupanuk, an Eskimo friend.

  Jessie stood up to greet her with a hug.

  “Alice. Good to see you.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t down here to meet you. They woke me up to tell me you came in. You look tired, Jessie.”

  “Don’t remind me. I’m so tired I don’t dare stop in one place too long or I’ll fall over. Tim, this is my friend Alice Yupanuk.”

  He nodded and smiled from his place on the sled.

  “Here, Jessie. Hot chocolate.” She pushed a thermos into Jessie’s hands. “You drink this now. I got reindeer stew on the stove. You both better come eat.”

  “Oh, Alice. I’d like to, but if I come in where it’s warm I’ll never leave. I’ve got to stay awake, at least till White Mountain.”

  “No problem. I’ll bring some down for you two.” And before Jessie could protest, she was gone up the hill to her small house where the lights shone through the windows.

  Turning back to Tim and the fire, Jessie held up the thermos.

  “Want some of this?”

  “Ah . . . Well, sure.”

  She dumped the coffee out of both their cups and poured in the rich chocolate drink. It tasted heavenly.

  In just a few minutes Alice was back, carrying a covered kettle and a large paper bag. From the bag she took bowls, spoons, and hot buttered bread. She ladled stew from the kettle and handed them each a full bowl and spoon. Alice ate a small bowl of the stew herself and contentedly watched them, providing refills until they groaned and turned the bowls over. The large kettle was still half-full and stayed warm on the fire.

  “What a treat. Thank you, Alice,” Jessie said, handing her the thermos as they were dr
inking the last of the hot chocolate.

  “No problem,” she said again. She grinned at Martinson. “You going to win, Jessie? Beat this guy?”

  “I hope so, Alice. I’ll sure try.”

  During the meal, Bomber and Schuller pulled in. Schuller waved as he started to care for his dogs.

  “They friends of yours?” Alice asked.

  “Well, yes.”

  A smile spread over the small woman’s face. “Bet they’re hungry.”

  With a parting hug, she was off to feed Schuller and Cranshaw.

  “Nice lady,” Tim said, watching her go. “Everybody is so generous with what they have. It makes you feel . . .”

  “Welcome,” Jessie finished. “She must have made that stew yesterday and kept it hot all night for when we came in.”

  There was a long pause, then he looked up at her.

  “Listen, Jessie. I don’t want to worry you, but I think you should watch out for Cranshaw. There’s something funny about that guy, and he’s pretty angry at you right now.”

  “What do you mean, funny?” she asked, suddenly alert.

  “That’s just it. I don’t know what I mean. He’s acting real weird. I overheard him in Anvik, telling Paul Banks how you made him and Ryan break trail and never took your turn. How you had to have help all the time.”

  Anger rushed through her once more, so strongly that her fingers clenched around the cup. She sat very still, thinking.

  “You believe that, Tim?”

  “No, Jessie. You’re a good musher. I’ve never heard you ask for help from anyone. You’ve broken your share of trail in the worst of weather, from what I know. I just thought I’d better tell you what he’s saying. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

  He paused and flashed his crooked grin.

  “Besides, I’m not about to let you in front of me now, even if you did have something to prove.”

  She laughed and felt the anger recede.

  “Thanks, Tim,” she said. “I’ll watch him, but I don’t really think there’s a problem if I don’t let him get to me.”

  “You’re probably right. He’s just jealous. He thinks this should be a man’s race.”

  Jealous, she thought. There it is again. Does everyone in this race know about Jensen? Wait a minute, she told herself. He could just as easily mean Bomber’s jealous of my being in second place, afraid I’ll come in ahead of him.

  But she knew she and Alex hadn’t bothered to try to hide their interest in each other. Why should they? And that was a part of Bomber’s anger too, even if Tim didn’t say it.

  “Thanks for the warning,” she said, getting up to go back to her team. “I’ll stay away from him.”

  The rest of the night they ran to White Mountain, arriving just after eight the next morning. Schuller came in forty minutes behind Jessie, ahead of Cranshaw this time. Only seventy-seven miles remained of the long trail, and it was assured the race would end on this twelfth day. Even though times were slower than usual because of bad weather in a few places, it was still a respectable showing.

  With four required rest hours before they could go on, the mushers fed their teams and left them alone to sleep.

  While the dog food was cooking. Jessie emptied her sled bag of all it carried and began to sort out everything she could do without. From here on she would carry only essentials. Her mandatory gear went back in first, then the cooler full of a hot batch of dog food for the next leg of the trip, followed by a few clothes, snacks, and little else. She left out the cooker and charcoal. She also discarded all but one set of extra batteries for her headlamp, two tapes for her player. She put all she was leaving into heavy plastic bags she had sent in along with her supply drop.

  As she carried the rejected gear to the checkpoint to arrange for it to be shipped back to Wasilla, she saw Schuller and Martinson, both surrounded by gear they had removed from their sleds.

  Martinson stood, a sweater in each hand, calculating their relative merits. “Oh, hell,” he muttered, tossing both on his heap of rejects. Jessie laughed.

  Cranshaw’s sled, parked away from the others, was surrounded by watching kids. His head snapped around at the sound of her voice, and he glared. Taking advantage of his inattention, one of the boys reached out to lay a finger on his gun, which lay, temptingly, in plain sight. “Hey,” Bomber yelled, turning back quickly. “Get your hands off that.”

  As he turned, his parka opened and Jessie caught a glimpse of metal at his belt. He grabbed up the gun and stuffed it into the handlebar bag. The curious boy jumped as if he had been struck, ran a few steps, and stopped to make a face at Bomber’s back.

  Jessie empathized with his impudence.

  “Lighten the load time,” Dale called out as she passed him. “How you doing, Jessie?”

  “Good. Hanging in there.”

  “Watch out. I’m going to turn up the burners now.”

  “Give it your best shot. I’ve got most of an hour on you.”

  “I can hope your mutts quit in Safety.”

  “Not my guys.”

  This was something they all worried about. Safety was the last checkpoint before Nome. Through the years, tired dogs, used to stopping for a rest at each checkpoint, refused to go on through it. Some quit and wouldn’t be driven on until they had rested to their satisfaction. Frustrated mushers watched themselves slip several places in the standings as others came through and passed them. Races had been won and lost on the whim of a team in Safety.

  As soon as she completed her chores, Jessie tried to feed herself, but couldn’t find her appetite. She picked at her mom’s macaroni and cheese, drank several glasses of orange juice, and stretched out for an hour’s sleep on the sled.

  When she got up at the end of the hour, she was so disoriented that for a minute she hardly knew where she was. It took her another five just to get in motion. Again she drank juice, then went to rouse the dogs.

  She waited at the checkpoint for the last ten minutes and watched Martinson pull out. Just as he reached the last house in town, a village dog ran out to bark at his team. Despite his shouts and curses, his whole line of ten dogs swung to the right to chase the challenger. Several people ran to help stop them but, by the time this was accomplished, half his dogs were tangled in their traces, requiring assistance. The village dog had disappeared.

  Martinson, still swearing heatedly, was working hard at getting them back in line when Jessie passed him and drove out of town.

  She had to laugh. Then she glanced back at the tangle, relieved. It could just as easily have been hers.

  But she was off cleanly and running for the fifty-five miles of Topkok Hills between White Mountain and Safety. She checked the team chugging away in front of her. She had left two dogs and was now down to eight, her best and fastest. All of them were pulling well and smoothly, keeping the lines tight. Tank ran lead as if he knew they were on the last leg of this long trip.

  Suddenly, it dawned on her. For the first time in the race, or any Iditarod, she was leading the whole field, with no one between her and the finish line. It was a heady feeling, but not one to get attached to. Martinson wouldn’t be more than a few minutes behind her, coming strong. For the moment she enjoyed her lead.

  All the way to the hills, she ran first. Once into them, the going grew harder. The wind had swept the slopes to smooth, icy patches, making it difficult to keep the sled from sliding downhill on long traverses. Mile after mile, she struggled with the sled, all but lifting it back to the trail behind the dogs. Like a roller coaster, it was slow going up and frustratingly slippery coming down. The brake made little difference, and she had to watch carefully to keep the sled from hitting her wheel dogs.

  She stopped the team for a rest and snack in the shelter of a couple of short spruces in a frozen creek bed. She swung her arms to get rid of the ache across her
shoulders. Falling back across the sled bag, she waited for the dogs to finish eating.

  Just as she was ready to leave, she heard a yell. Martinson appeared above her on the hill and came sideslipping down it.

  “Thought I’d never catch you,” he called as he went by. “See you in Nome.”

  You’ll see me before that if I have anything to say about it, she thought, calling to her team to follow in his tracks.

  What a strange guy, she thought as she watched him pull away. How odd for him to be so antisocial most of the race and then suddenly offer coffee and well-meaning advice in one blow. She frowned, considering it.

  Why should he be so friendly now? She wondered. What if I had drunk his coffee? He had time to put something in it. I gave him my cup, like an idiot. If Alice hadn’t brought hot chocolate, I would have. Did he look funny when I poured it out?

  “Damn,” she said aloud. “I’m getting paranoid!”

  Tank pricked up his ears and turned to look back at her.

  Suspicious of everyone. And Bomber, carrying two guns? Why would he have two? Oh, God. Maybe one of them’s mine.

  The thought made her catch her breath, and for a minute she couldn’t think.

  She hadn’t really seen the one he stuffed in the bag. Could it be hers? She knew Alex suspected him, but he suspected almost everybody, didn’t he? No: he was focusing on Bomber, Martinson, and a few others, maybe.

  Think, Jessie, she told herself. Could it really be yours? He had plenty of opportunity before McGrath. How about the rest of the things that had happened? George’s death? Ginny and Steve? He was there, too. Racing ahead of them toward Takotna, he could have run the moose into her and Ryan. Had lost enough time to do it, according to the checker’s record, if he’d moved the snow machine the night before when he went home. Was he also responsible for Martinson’s trail mail being in Harvey’s sled? He could have done it at Eagle Island, when they were all stormed in.

  She realized that Martinson couldn’t have hurt Harvey; he had been sleeping in the shelter with her and Schuller when that happened. But Bomber was unaccounted for. If it is him, he doesn’t know I have another gun, she thought. Patting her parka, she felt the reassuring bulk of the weapon beneath it. I mustn’t let him catch up with me. And I must get to Alex as fast as I can. I could call him from Safety.