He knew Ruthe and Dina, too, maybe not as well as Kate, but well enough. He’d been to their cabin several times since he’d moved to the Park, and he’d liked the two ladies, even if they were older than God. Dina had started right in on him, wanting to know how much he knew about the Park and what lived in it. He was interested, and she didn’t talk down to him, so he didn’t mind. She had showed him a photo album that started out with weird little rectangular black-and-white pictures and ended up with normal ones—in color, with digital date stamps in the corners. There were pictures of bears and moose, and one of two bald eagles fighting each other in the air, only Dina had said they were mating. There was a picture of Dina standing twenty feet in front of a walrus haul, with what must have been thousands of walrus, and a picture of Ruthe standing in what looked like the middle of a vast herd of caribou, the animals stretching out all around her, over an immense plain, as far as the eye could see. A mink peeked out of a snowbank; a beaver got caught slapping his tail; a wolverine, fangs bared, looked like he was about to charge. “He was, too,” Dina had said, cackling; “we barely got out of there in time.”
There were pictures of tracks of every kind—in the mud of spring and the swamp of summer, but mostly in the snow: the long stride and enormous feet of a wolf, the smaller prints of a fox, and the tiny prints of a vole.
In one picture, the hip-hopping tracks of an arctic hare vanished, just stopped altogether. “See?” Dina had said, pointing. Feathered ends of wing tips left a ghostly clue in the show on either side of the tracks.
“Wow,” Johnny had said, awed.
“A golden eagle, from the wingspan. Aquila chrysaetos,” Dina had said, and she had made him repeat the words until he had the pronunciation correct. “Of the family Accipitridae.”
“I’ve only ever seen bald eagles,” he had said humbly, and when she’d turned the page, there was a picture of a golden eagle in flight, at about five hundred feet up, the photo shot from the window of a plane. He could see part of one strut.
“Is that a Super Cub?” he said.
Dina was impressed. “Yes.”
“Is it yours?”
She nodded. “It’s at the strip in Niniltna. How did you know it was a Cub?”
He looked back at the picture of the golden eagle.
“My dad was a pilot.”
“I know. I met him. He drove a Cessna, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. A one seventy-two.”
“I remember. Lycoming conversion.”
“Yeah.”
“Sweet little plane. What happened to it?”
“My mom sold it when my dad died.”
The kitchen timer had dinged then and Ruthe had taken a sheet of cookies out of the oven, the best oatmeal cookies he’d ever eaten. She sent him home with a bagful. She was pretty, and as smart as Dina. He’d liked them both, and he was sorry there would be no more evenings spent at their cabin eating fresh-baked goodies out of the oven and looking at pictures of otters sliding down a snowbank into a creek.
The tea had steeped and melted the honey and he’d stirred all the lumps out of the cocoa. He added marshmallows to the cocoa and carried both mugs to the table, sitting down across from her.
“How long did you know them?”
“Hmm? What?” She looked down and saw the mug. “Oh. Thanks.” She curved her hands around it, warming her fingers, which felt suddenly cold.
“So how long did you know them?”
“Ruthe and Dina?” She stared down at the surface of the tea, a golden yellow. “All my life. They were friends of my grandmother.”
He nodded, very serious, and wiped marshmallow from his mouth. “Emaa.”
“Yes.”
“And she’s dead, too.”
“Yes.”
“Is the tea all right?”
“What? Oh.” She sipped at the tea for form’s sake. “Yes, it’s fine. Thanks, Johnny.”
“You’re welcome.”
She put up a hand to rub her forehead. “It’s hard to believe. They seemed, I don’t know, larger than life. Like they’d live forever.”
“Like Dad,” Johnny said, nodding.
She looked at him then. “What?”
“Like Dad,” Johnny repeated. She didn’t think he knew it when a tear slid down his cheek. “He was like, I don’t know, God. I didn’t think anything could hurt him. Well, except you.”
He was only fourteen and he’d been orphaned by one parent and had orphaned himself from the second as a deliberate act. He was trying so hard to act grown-up, to take matters like divorce and separation and death in his stride, to be independent and autonomous and to move on and keep moving without looking back. Kate knew the feeling.
She didn’t make the mistake of denying she’d ever hurt his father, and she didn’t try to apologize. “I know. He was kind of…indestructible, I guess.”
“Except when he died,” Johnny said.
“Except when he died,” Kate said.
“Can you tell me now?” Johnny said in a low voice. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“I told you what happened, Johnny. Those hunters we were guiding started shooting at each other, and we got in the way.”
“All of it, this time,” Johnny said.
She met the blue eyes fixed so determinedly on her face, saw the pleading look in them. His whole body was tensed with the need to know of his father’s last hours on earth. It wasn’t that she hadn’t meant to tell him the whole story one day, when he was older and could handle it. And she could handle telling it.
“Can you? Please, Kate?”
It seemed, after all, that she could.
She followed Johnny into town the next morning, waving good-bye as he took the turn for the school gym, where Billy was having his new baby party. Johnny wanted to learn to dance, and Park Air had announced there might be dancing. Besides, he liked Billy, and he thought it was cool that he had a new baby all the way from Korea. He’d looked up Korea on Kate’s atlas, so he felt ready.
Kate’s first stop was the Step. She walked into Dan’s office, Mutt at her heels, to find the ranger with his feet propped on the sill of the window and his hands laced behind his head. He had a moody expression on his face. “Hey,” she said.
He dropped his feet but not his hands, until Mutt insisted on a head scratch. “Hey.”
Kate sat down opposite him. “I heard.”
“I figured.”
“You okay?”
“I been suspended.”
“What?”
He tossed her a sheet of paper with the National Park Service letterhead; it was addressed to the chief ranger and placed him on suspension indefinitely, pending the outcome of the criminal investigation into the death of Dina Willner. Kate looked up. “I thought Jim had a suspect in custody.”
“He does.”
“Then what’s this crap?”
“Any stick’ll do to beat a dog with, Kate.” He looked at Mutt. “Sorry, babe. They want to get rid of me. It’s probably enough that I stumbled into the middle of a murder. Guilt by association.”
Kate tossed the paper into the garbage can. “You’re not going to put up with this shit, are you?”
“Well,” Dan said, shifting his gaze from the window to Kate, “there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it. Of course, I’m the only one on duty at this time of year, and it’ll take a while before they find someone qualified to take over. I doubt that any of the suits in Anchorage are going to want to leave the bright lights and the big city to baby-sit in the wilderness.”
“Dan.”
“Kate—”
“You may be going to put up with this, but I’m not.”
He drew a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “I went there to ask Dina and Ruthe for their help in keeping this job. You got me so fired up last time we talked that I figured you were right, that I ought to fight for it, not just sit back and let my friends carry the weight. But now I don’t know. Dina’s dead, Kate, and R
uthe might die. Two great old broads, one gone, one maybe gone. Nothing else seems all that important right now.”
Kate leaned forward. “Dina and Ruthe would be the first to tell you that the land is what’s important, Dan. Not us. The land. We’re only custodians, and temporary ones at that. We do the best we can and then we pass the job along to the next generation. I don’t think you’re ready to hand off just yet.”
He looked at her with the faint glimmer of his old smile. “You be careful there, Shugak. You’re starting to sound like your grandmother.”
She sat back. “Did you see the guy Jim brought in?”
He shook his head.
“Did you see anything yourself?”
“No.” He seemed about to say something else, then repeated firmly, “No. I didn’t see anything. It doesn’t matter, really, if I saw anything or didn’t see anything. Jim got the guy. Crazy bastard, sounds like,” he added as an afterthought.
It sounded like the truth, she thought as she made her way back down the trail from the Step. It also sounded like Dan was trying to convince himself that it was. Which was crazy. Like Dan said, Jim got the guy, had him in custody in Ahtna. Case closed.
The sky had clouded over in the night and the temperature had warmed up to ten above, and if the rising barometer at the homestead was working right, there was a storm coming in off the Gulf. She drove through Niniltna to the turnoff and then, for the second time that week, negotiated the narrow track to the little cabin perched high on the side of the mountain. The snow in the yard was packed down hard from the passage of many vehicles, wheeled and tracked, and there were a couple of snow machines already parked there. She stopped hers and climbed the stairs.
There were two strange men in the house, men she’d never seen before. They swung around, startled, when the door opened. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?” she said.
They were both in their early twenties, hairy and with the aroma of an unwashed winter about them.
They hadn’t bothered to doff their Carhartt jackets, bib overalls or their knit caps, only their identical pairs of black leather gloves. “Just poking around,” one of them said. “Seeing if there’s something we can use.”
Both of them were looking at Mutt, who was standing at Kate’s side and looking both of them over with a long, considering stare. Mutt was half wolf, and when she wanted to, she let it show. Sensing Kate’s rising anger, she bared a little fang.
The man who had spoken visibly paled. “Look, we’re not doing anything wrong. The two old ladies are dead, they don’t have any relatives, and—”
“Wrong,” Kate said flatly. “I’m their relative. Get out.”
He tried to bluster. “Who the hell are you anyway? You’ll just take all the good stuff if—”
“Russ,” the other man said.
“Well, hell, Gabe, we got here first. We’re not going to turn around and—”
“That’s Kate Shugak.”
“What?”
The other man nodded at Kate. “That’s Kate Shugak.”
“Oh.” Russ gulped. “And that must be—”
“Mutt.”
Mutt had perfected the art of the unblinking stare. It could be unnerving.
“Oh.” Russ gulped again. “Actually, we were just leaving.”
“That we were,” the second man said, and beat him out the door.
Mutt looked up at Kate and raised an eyebrow. Kate shook her head. “Not worth it.” Mutt gave an almost-perceptible shrug. “Find Gal,” Kate said. Mutt looked disgusted and stalked out, disapproval evident in the slightly backward set of her ears.
The room looked as if it had been hit by a chinook, one of the spring storms that roared up out of the Gulf like a lion and proceeded to blow everything in front of it out of the way. There wasn’t really any good place to start. Kate shed parka, bib, and boots and rolled up her sleeves. Finding that someone had banked the embers in the woodstove, she loaded it with wood, and waded in.
The bookshelves were freestanding and had been pulled down, but they’d been emptied of books and so were easy enough to stand back up. She began putting books in at random, figuring they could be organized later. She righted furniture, replaced the canned goods and pots, pans, and dishes—plastic, a good thing—in the cupboards, and cleaned up those supplies that had been spilled, mostly flour—both wheat and white, it looked like. Most of a forty-eight-ounce bag of chocolate chips was spilled across the floor, too. She swept it all up and into a garbage bag, which she tied off and put on the porch. The bears were asleep, and she’d get the bag to the dump before they woke up again in the spring.
A lone bunny slipper, one of its ears lopsided, was sitting on its side under the woodstove. Kate fished it out and put it on a shelf, unable to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. She conducted a search but couldn’t find the other one. Maybe it was with Dina’s body.
There didn’t seem to be a dish towel to be found, or a towel of any kind, and then she remembered. Ruthe had been hurt, and transported to the hospital. Someone had probably used them for bandages. She climbed the ladder to the loft and discovered, somewhat to her surprise, that the chinook had hit here, as well. The two beds were off their stands, a pillow leaked feathers, and clothes had been emptied from closets and drawers and were strewn all over the floor. The blankets were gone. Ruthe again, she figured. She got the beds back on their stands, the clothes back into place, and as much of the leaky pillow and its errant feathers as possible into another garbage bag.
When Ruthe got better, Kate didn’t want her coming home to a destroyed house. If she didn’t get better…No, she would.
She went to the top of the ladder and turned around, hands on the posts, foot on the first rung, and gave the loft a long look. Pale light leaked in from a skylight in the ceiling.
Why the loft? The two women had been assaulted downstairs. Why beat up on two women and then trash the loft? Seemed like overkill. She winced at the word. Dan had called the perp a “crazy bastard.” That could be all it was. Enough crazy bastards came into the Park and misbehaved that it was usually enough of an explanation, requiring the full-time attention of three troopers and more than a few tribal policemen. Hell, there were enough of the homegrown variety to keep everyone in business, never mind the newbies.
She climbed down the ladder and began to try to make sense of some of the letters and paperwork that she had piled on the coffee table. There were advisory reports on this and that species of wildlife, letters asking for endorsements in political campaigns and for a presence at fund-raisers, some from candidates whose names made Kate’s eyebrows go up. There were fat files on various parks and refuges, environmental-impact studies on a couple of construction projects, including a hiking trail someone wanted to run down the side of the Kanuyaq River from Ahtna all the way to Cordova; it would run partway along the existing roadbed into the Park.
She noticed for the first time that Ruthe and Dina had no family photographs, no pictures of mothers, fathers, grandparents, brothers or sisters. She shrugged. Maybe they were both orphans. Still, it seemed odd. Everybody had pictures of people, at least a few. Ruthe and Dina’s albums were of plants, animals, glaciers, avalanches, and mountain-tops, and if there were people in them, they were usually Ruthe or Dina.
Then she found one with both of them and Ekaterina, posing in front of the Kanuyaq Copper Mine, along with a crowd of other people. The beaver-hatted man on Emaa’s right must be Mudhole Smith, the Bush pilot from Cordova. All four aunties were there, three with their husbands, who were still living at the time. Demetri Totemoff and John Letourneau were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, which would put the date back in the days before they’d split their guiding business and gone their separate ways. John was standing next to Dina and laughing down at her. Anastasia was next to Demetri, looking up at him with a soft smile. Demetri’s arm was draped tentatively around her, as if he had yet to be convinced that he had the right. He probably still feared t
he appearance of Anastasia’s father with a gun, which, from everything Kate had heard, would have been just like Frank Korsakovakof. A protective father and a good man. Anastasia had found it hard to go up against him, so the story went, but Demetri had prevailed, and in the end, Frank had come around. And now both Frank and Anastasia were gone. She made a mental note to stop in and see Demetri soon.
In the photograph, the polyester clothes and the hair, either board-straight or permed to a curlicue, put the time in the mid-to late seventies. They all looked tanned and fit, and so very vigorous. So alive. There was a man standing to the right and a little behind Ekaterina. Kate took a closer look. Ray Chevak, from Bering. Emaa’s—what? Even back then, he wasn’t young enough to be called “boy-friend.”
It was unnerving to see how far back Ray and Ekaterina’s relationship went. Kate hadn’t known about it until after Emaa’s death, and she didn’t want to know more, didn’t want her imagination to work out any of the details.
She heard a noise on the porch and went to the door. Mutt was on the top step, Gal between her front paws, her face screwed up into an expression of deep distaste as Mutt washed her with a raspy pink tongue. They both became aware of Kate at the same moment. Gal sprang away and hissed. Grr, Mutt said in return. Gal jerked her tail and padded between Kate’s legs. She gave an imperious meow, but when Kate got her some food, she barely waved a whisker over it before going right to Ruthe’s chair and curling up.
“Welcome home,” Kate said. She was immensely relieved. She didn’t want to have to tell Ruthe that Gal had disappeared. She bent to give the cat a scratch behind the ears and found her fur damp to the touch from Mutt’s ministrations. She looked over at Mutt. “You make a pretty good nurse.”
Mutt gave an elaborate yawn, and cleaned up Gal’s food with a single swipe of her tongue. It was all show, because Kate knew for a fact that Mutt had dined very nicely the day before on the remains of a moose carcass not a mile from the homestead.
She noticed a book she had missed beneath the sofa and bent down to pick it up. Wedged under the couch was a narrow tin box, of the size to hold standard file folders. It was locked. Kate looked for a key in hopes that there might be names and numbers for her to call—not that either Dina or Ruthe had ever referred to having anyone to call in the event of, other than each other. There was a key rack with hooks sprouting from little tin chickadees, with airplane keys, snow machine keys, and truck keys, but no keys to fit the tin box. She set the box to one side, not feeling things were to the point that she had to break into it.
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