Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  “Not enough. Damn it, not enough,” she muttered after running a document search.

  Leaning back, she laced her fingers together under her breasts and looked around. The room had no answers, prompting her to once more close her eyes. She started to drift.

  A sound. Faint. Beyond the walls.

  Determined to capture what she could, she let darkness continue to surround her. The quiet, soft vibration seemed to be coming from all directions. Thinking it might get louder, she steeled herself, but the chant—yes, a chant—remained as much imagination as reality. She couldn’t call it a song or even a rhythm. Rather, it was as if a number of people were whispering in several languages.

  Were the Natives out there? Conducting some kind of nighttime ceremony? Maybe asking the spirits to—to what?

  Stop it! There weren’t such things as Ravens that stole the sun or Thunderbirds capable of creating storms.

  And yet there was Wolf.

  How could she explain Wolf?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thunderbird was in a benevolent mood this morning, Jay concluded as he stepped into the forest behind his cabin. According to the Old Peoples, Thunderbird’s eyes gave off lightning, and his wings were responsible for creating thunder. The spirit might change his mind before noon and fill the sky with clouds, but, right now, only bright blue showed above the treetops.

  To say he’d slept would be an exaggeration. He’d dozed off a few times but had been unable to turn off his mind, which had bounced between images of what he and Winter had seen at Ghost Totem and questions his sleep-deprived brain couldn’t process. He’d be late for work, but there was no way he could concentrate on what he needed to do until he’d gone for a solitary walk.

  More than a walk, he unnecessarily reminded himself. He waited until he reached an elk trail before facing what he needed to. Uncle Talio and other tribal members, mostly the senior ones, accepted their spirits without question. As a child, he’d assumed that in time he’d find his own spirit, which would guide him through life, but that belief hadn’t survived his teen years. All the time he’d been away from there, he’d managed to shove the question of what he did or didn’t believe into the back of his mind.

  Shortly after his return, he’d started taking a mature look at the fiber of Hoh principles. He’d done so in an analytical way while keeping what he thought was an open mind. He might have given the subject more attention if he hadn’t been so busy with work, helping his uncle get back on his feet, and doing everything he could to keep his brother from self-destructing.

  Then Winter had driven into his world.

  Winter, who said she’d seen and heard Wolf and had had a wolf’s head image imprinted onto her flesh.

  He stopped and looked up. “Raven? Are you waiting for me to ask you for help? Maybe you want me down on my knees begging for you to—to accept me.”

  The wildlife was out in force this morning, but for too long he tried to convince himself that that wasn’t what he was hearing. He needed to believe his spirit was reaching out to him. Then a chickaree clinging to a limb high over his head started chattering, and he had no choice but to stop deluding himself. When he whistled at the rodent, it responded by shaking its bushy tail and climbing higher.

  When he could no longer see the chickaree, he started walking again, but so many bracken ferns were on the elk trail that he turned around so he wouldn’t destroy the fragile fronds.

  And because he needed to see Winter.

  Five minutes later, he approached her cabin and knocked. When she didn’t respond, he tried turning the knob. It was locked, but a shoulder to the door would probably pop it. He nearly called her cell number, but wouldn’t she have contacted him if she’d wanted to get in touch?

  Maybe she couldn’t? Maybe something bad had happened to her? The question knotted his belly, and he looked in the windows. She’d straightened her sleeping bag and the open bathroom door told him she wasn’t in there. He didn’t see a reason for her to return to Ghost Totem. What made the most sense was that she’d decided to go somewhere that called for getting in her car.

  He leaned against the cabin wall and stared at his cell phone, willing it to ring. Equal amounts of irritation and concern overtook him. Still, he talked himself out of attempting to get in touch with her. The better part of a minute later, he punched Floyd’s number. The cell rang four times then went to voicemail.

  “Where were you last night? Did you forget about our uncle? Look, I’m not going to say more, because I’ll regret it. I want you to get in touch with me. Now.”

  Still holding the phone, he stared at his world. Floyd was too easily swayed. Combine that with too many beers, and he might believe what a number of Hoh had said about Dr. Gilsdorf having no right to be in Olympic.

  Had his drunken kid brother picked up a fish-flaying knife and—

  No!

  When the possibility returned to haunt him, he highlighted his uncle’s number and hit send. Uncle Talio answered after the third ring.

  “I might be out of range today,” he said in response to the older man’s hello. “I wanted to get in touch with you before that happens. Have you heard from my brother?”

  “No, I haven’t. Jay, I don’t mean to cut this short, but several tribal elders are on their way.”

  He stared at the ants around his boots. “A meeting?”

  “An informal one. There’s considerable concern about what’s going to happen now that Dr. Gilsdorf is dead. Dr. Wilheim wanted to talk to me last night again, but I put him off. I’m sorry I gave him this number.”

  Damn. “Do you have any idea what he wants?”

  “Cooperation, which he isn’t going to get. I don’t like his ways.”

  Uncle Talio didn’t make judgments about people, so hearing him say that pulled Jay’s attention off the ants.

  “He and Winter want the same thing,” he said.

  “No.” Uncle Talio spoke slowly. “They don’t.”

  * * * *

  Winter was pulling out of the office parking lot when Jay reached it. She slowed but didn’t stop, and he wondered if she was debating punching the gas. Then the wheels stopped turning, and she rolled down the window. Despite his inner battle with what she represented, he wanted to cup his hand around her jaw so he could steady her head while he touched his mouth to hers.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She squeezed her hand around the steering wheel. “Probably to Forks. If I’m going to be here for a while, I need to get some groceries.”

  “Are you coming back after that?”

  She blinked and looked out of the front windshield. “Yes.”

  To hell with giving her the space she obviously wanted, he thought as he rested his hand on her shoulder. “The way you said that, it sounds as if you don’t want to.”

  “I do. Believe me, I do.”

  Intrigued by the passion behind her words, he rubbed her shoulder. She continued to avoid his gaze. “But not under these circumstances.”

  “No, not under these circumstances. Jay?”

  His name coming from her increased his awareness of the fundamental difference between them. She was a woman, he a man. Right now, everything else came after that.

  “What?” he finally thought to ask.

  Sighing, she faced him. “You and I aren’t law enforcement. It isn’t our job to figure out who murdered Doc.”

  “But you can’t help wondering.”

  “Of course. Doc didn’t have enemies. Even Dr. Wilheim—their conflicts were professional, not personal.” Tears filled her eyes, and she all but slapped them away. “Who killed him?”

  Just like that, her pain became his, compelling him to run his knuckles over the side of her neck. She leaned into the touch. “I can’t answer that. I’m not sure when I’ll get off work, but, when I do, I’ll come to your cabin. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “I believe so.”

  Alone. Maybe vulnerable. No, damn it,
he wasn’t going to make things any worse for her by bringing up that hopefully remote possibility. Just the same, he needed to call Christian and ask whether an officer would remain around Potlatch.

  “In any number of ways,” he said, “this is my land. What we saw at Ghost Totem shouldn’t happen to anyone. What if you and I work on a list of suspects, come up with reasons for why each of them could or couldn’t have murdered your friend.”

  She shuddered. “You think it’ll do any good?”

  “It’s better than doing nothing.”

  “I am doing something.” She stopped looking at him. “Making decisions.”

  “What decisions?”

  When she didn’t answer, he was forced to acknowledge that her lack of openness hurt. “Maybe it’d help if you had someone to run your options past.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “We’re far from strangers. We’ve already shared a great deal.”

  “Yes, we have.”

  “You might want to pick up something to drink,” he said. I might need the same thing if my brother winds up on that list.

  * * * *

  Jay. Jay of the firm knuckles, dark eyes and deep voice. Jay, who’d only seen her for a few minutes this morning but had touched her and left his imprint on her.

  It was all his fault, she told herself as she exited the long, narrow storage unit she’d placed the package with the wolf mask in. Thanks to him, she felt as if she was abandoning the mask she didn’t dare keep with her.

  She slipped the newly bought lock through the door slider and locked it. There. Now she didn’t have to worry about Jay finding it and her having to explain.

  She’d think about the mask’s impact on their relationship later.

  Weary of her thoughts, she left the small storage facility and headed back toward the town of Forks. Except for the mountains in the distance and the smell of sea air, downtown Forks reminded Winter of countless small towns. There was a chain grocery store, but she opted for a mom-and-pop off the main street. Relieved to be doing something normal, she stocked up on meats and cheeses from the deli and talked to the young woman running the only cash register. The cashier had heard about Doc’s murder, but that wasn’t about to stop her from spending the weekend camping in the park with her boyfriend.

  “We’re taking Ryan’s mutt with us,” she explained. “Pee-Wee weighs over a hundred pounds and sleeps right outside our tent. Besides, those who say they won’t go anywhere near Olympic until the killer’s caught are letting their imaginations get away with them. That anthropologist was targeted specifically. Whoever did it couldn’t care less about the rest of us.”

  Winter envied the clerk’s self-confidence. At least she no longer felt as unsettled as she had before she’d come to Forks. A few hours of sleep had helped, as had getting away from the forest. But she was already missing Olympic. Before she returned, however, she had several calls to make.

  She’d placed her groceries in her trunk and was debating starting the car and heading west so she could enjoy the Pacific Ocean when her cell phone rang. She looked at the display. No, Jay hadn’t called.

  The moment she heard his voice, she recognized Christian. “I want to get in touch with Dr. Wilheim,” the law enforcement officer said. “He’s here and staying in one of the towns. Would you happen to have a number for him?”

  She told Christian she did, in her phone’s address book. “You don’t think he had anything to do with Doc’s murder, do you?” Do I?

  “What made you ask?”

  “He and Doc were rivals.”

  “I’m aware of that. Is that your only reason for bringing up the possibility?”

  “I briefly saw him last night. He’s determined to take over control of the project.”

  “Determined enough to kill his rival?”

  “That’s a stretch.”

  “Someone did.”

  And Dr. Wilheim, maybe, had a motive.

  An older pickup pulled in next to her and a heavy-set Native American got out. They nodded at each other, then the man headed for the grocery. Floyd! She should tell Christian about Floyd.

  Before talking to Jay?

  “Let me ask you something,” Christian said. “How do you and Dr. Wilheim get along?”

  “Until this happened, I was barely on his radar. Now, he wants me out of his way. Back in Southern California.”

  “Are you going to leave?”

  Not if my being here leads me to the mask’s origin. “I’m not sure.”

  “I strongly suggest you think about it.”

  “I have a lot of decisions to make.”

  “Just don’t forget what I said last night about your safety.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Keep me informed of where you are. I’m not sure I can justify requesting manpower to keep an eye on you, since you don’t have to remain in Potlatch. If anything makes you nervous, call me.”

  “I will.”

  They hung up so she could look up Dr. Wilheim’s number. After calling Christian back and giving him that information, she leaned against the steering wheel and stared at the pitted parking lot. She didn’t want to go to the ocean after all, not with the forest calling to her, waiting for her to return. Christian would never understand why leaving Olympic wasn’t an option.

  Hoping Wolf would be there waiting for her when she arrived, she straightened and reached into her pocket for the numbers Carolyn had given her yesterday. It was time to present her argument for continuing the work Doc had begun.

  To her surprise, the head of the grant committee answered. After introducing herself as Dr. Gilsdorf’s colleague to the older-sounding woman, she asked if the committee members had heard that he’d died. She deliberately didn’t say he’d been murdered.

  “Robert, he’s on the committee, called me about an hour ago. We’re in shock.”

  “It’s a shock to everyone, me in particular because I’d helped him pull his presentation to you together.” She took a deep breath. “I’m in Washington and in possession of his files.”

  “You are? How did that happen?”

  “Like I said, we worked together. He’d taken the precaution of setting up a system to safeguard his work. In honor of his memory, I want to do right by what he entrusted me with.”

  “It’s personal then?”

  She filled her lungs. “Yes.”

  Hoping she was saying the right things, she pointed out that she was in a position to go forward with the study and hoped to do so as soon as possible, starting with getting the grant monies transferred to her. She only mentioned Dr. Wilheim in passing.

  “Dr. Gilsdorf was my mentor,” she finished. “I want nothing more than to finish what he started.”

  “Email me the specifics of your intentions. Be sure to detail everything you have.”

  Even as she agreed to do so, memories of what the wolf mask had looked like sitting in the corner of an otherwise empty storage unit distracted her. Despite what Doc had done, she still loved and owed him, but that debt might jeopardize not just that one mask but everything it represented.

  Turn Jay against her.

  She’d weathered the horror of Doc’s murder in part by focusing on her determination to continue his work, but that was before she’d learned about his methods. Maybe more to the point, she wasn’t sure how she could move forward without implicating Floyd.

  Floyd, who perhaps had justified killing Dock. Floyd, who perhaps had hoped the Hoh never learned he’d given Doc the wolf mask.

  Earlier, she’d pondered how she might find Floyd without letting Jay know. She hated going behind Jay’s back, but if she didn’t, she’d have to tell him about Doc and Floyd’s relationship. Sick at heart over the possibility that her actions would spell the end of their fragile relationship, she drove to the public library, where she was able to get a Wi-Fi connection. A Google search to locate Floyd revealed the name of the only sporting goods store in Forks plus three bars. She first went to the
store where the disgruntled manager told her that Floyd hadn’t shown up for work today. A twenty-dollar bill earned her Floyd’s last-known address, but when she went there, a woman with a baby told her she’d been living in the apartment for a month.

  Fighting discouragement and her instinctive need to return to the forest, she drove to the bars. At the first, a fairly new place next to a motel, Floyd’s name elicited blank looks. Except for a couple of elderly men hunched over beers, the bartender was the only other person in the second place. He knew Floyd but hadn’t seen him for several months and didn’t expect to because Floyd owed too much there. He suggested she might have better luck at Seger’s.

  The rain and humidity hadn’t been kind to the cheaply built Seger’s Bar. It smelled of beer and sweat, and the interior was so dark she couldn’t see into the corners. A big man with a large belly covered by a stained apron sat on one of the stools, watching TV. The look he gave her left her with no doubt that she didn’t belong.

  “Sure,” he said in response to her question. “He’s in here more often than he’s probably home. Does he owe you money?”

  “No. We have a friend in common. The friend told me to look Floyd up when I came to Washington. He said Floyd might be willing to show me where his people fish.”

  The man she assumed was Seger stared at her. “His people. You aren’t from around here?”

  Maybe. Instead of answering, she explained about her unsuccessful attempt to find where he lived.

  “He’s renting some trailer. At least, that’s what he told me. There’s a trailer park near the north end of town. He might be there.” Seger frowned. “Hmm. He wasn’t here last night. Judging by how he’s been acting lately, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Why not?”

  “He said he wants to stop drinking because it gets him into trouble. I told him, if he wants to get sober, he needs to stay away from here. But he said he didn’t have anywhere else to go.”