Death Chant

by Vella Munn

  After setting down the food she no longer wanted, she stared at her cell phone. She needed to talk to Jay, to hear his voice, to ask his help in sorting things out. But Jay Raven was dealing with his brother’s violent death. Facing the reality that she had the mask—and had kept that from him.

  As if that wasn’t enough, she’d asked Jay to consider whether Yakanon might be mourning his spiritual death.

  Considering the stakes, she didn’t regret asking Jay what she had, but her timing and how she’d done it had been terrible. She wanted him to connect with his spirit so he could experience the peace and unity she did when Wolf reached out to her. Last night, Wolf had allowed Jay to hear him. Did that mean Wolf believed Jay was getting closer to his spirit?

  Jay wanted her to go to a motel, but the thought of closing herself in an impersonal room with nothing except the TV to distract her made her want to scream. Just going to Forks had made her feel as if she were leaving home.

  Home. A place to belong.

  To thank for accepting her.

  Her forefinger shook a little as she punched the first number Michael had given her. As she waited for whoever was on the other end to answer, she pondered what the reporter at the Seattle TV station might be like. What she didn’t expect was to hear a feminine “hello.” Off balance, she introduced herself as an anthropologist who’d been working with Dr. Gilsdorf. When Lisa Salterson didn’t immediately respond, Winter explained that Dr. Gilsdorf had been at Olympic before Dr. Wilheim arrived and that Dr. Gilsdorf’s murder hadn’t been solved.

  “Thanks for the reminder,” Lisa said. “I was off yesterday when we ran the piece about Dr. Gilsdorf. Most of it was based on interviews with law enforcement.”

  “I’m staying in Olympic,” she said. At least I am right now. “I haven’t seen the news lately, but I believe Dr. Wilheim told you he has already taken over Dr. Gilsdorf’s project. That isn’t true. In fact, I’m going to do everything I can to honor Dr. Gilsdorf’s memory by stepping into that role.”

  “Oh. Okay. I’m not sure why you’re calling me.”

  It dawned on her that her disputing Dr. Wilheim wasn’t particularly newsworthy. She’d stepped outside. Last night’s downpour had given way to mist in the morning. The afternoon was partly sunny, the ground damp, and drops still slipped off pine needles and leaves. Everything felt right.

  Part of her.

  “Dr. Wilheim hasn’t been cleared as a possible suspect in his fellow professor’s murder.” For all she knew, Christian and the other law enforcement rangers hadn’t tagged Dr. Wilheim as a suspect, but she did, and today that was all that mattered.

  “Is that so?” Judging by Lisa’s tone, she had the reporter’s attention. “Of course, I’ll have to verify—”

  “While you’re doing that, you might look into a possible connection between Dr. Gilsdorf’s death and a killing that took place in Forks.”

  “Wait a minute. I want to check a few things.”

  Lisa put her on hold, leaving Winter to listen to elevator music. Moving the phone away from her ear, she stepped into the woods toward where she thought she’d heard Wolf last night.

  She might not have a job, which meant she’d have to give up her place in San Diego. If the grant was awarded to her, she’d hopefully rent something in Forks, although she’d prefer to stay here.

  Just her and Wolf, unless Jay—

  How was Jay doing? Should she have found a way to keep things going between them so he’d have her to lean on? Should she have refrained from telling him she had the wolf mask? Much as she wanted to be his rock, there was too much between them, too many cutting words on both sides.

  Maybe he just wanted her out of his life. The kindest thing she could do for him was to leave him alone.

  But she didn’t want to be anywhere else. She needed this place.

  “Are you still there?” Lisa said, coming back on the line. “You were talking about Floyd Raven, weren’t you? I talked to our crime reporter. He says preliminary impressions are Raven had been dead at least a day when he was found.”

  A day during which Jay had believed his brother to be alive.

  “I also learned a little more about what happened to Dr. Gilsdorf. The same kind of weapon was used on both men.”

  “Yes.”

  Lisa muttered something under her breath. “You said you’re in the forest. Coming to Seattle will take several hours, but would you be willing to meet me in Port Angeles?”

  “So soon?”

  “The story won’t be ready in time for the evening news, but we can hint about it. Hopefully, I’ll have it put together for eleven o’clock. Have you talked to any newspapers yet?”

  “No. I was going to—”

  “I’d love to talk you into holding off until I’ve had a chance to interview you. And if you can add anything to punch up your contention that Dr. Wilheim’s motives are suspect—viewers love a mystery.”

  She wasn’t interested in the station’s viewership. What mattered to her in ways that went deeper than being able to pay her bills, deeper even than learning who had killed Doc, was forging a future for herself in this incredible place.

  In showing Jay that she had as much right to claim the mask as he did.

  Even though she didn’t want to be late for her meeting with Lisa, she had to do something first. As she dug through her belongings for the card Booth Deavers had given her, she considered taking all her belongings with her, but realized that would call for several trips between the cabin and her car. Jay had made an important point. She might not be safe at Potlatch.

  Hopefully, she could find a motel in Port Angeles after the interview, come back here, load up and check into the motel before she collapsed.

  Before the need to remain in the forest became stronger than concerns for her personal safety.

  When Booth answered, she berated herself for not deciding what she was going to say. However, he didn’t give her time to stumble through a request that he advocate for her over Dr. Wilheim—unless Dr. Wilheim wound up being arrested.

  “Are you calling because you don’t agree with Dr. Wilheim’s techniques?” he asked.

  “I take it you’ve seen his interview.”

  “And I read the article in this morning’s paper. What do you think of—?”

  “I haven’t read it,” she said then explained that Michael had told her.

  “What does Michael want from you? Never mind. I can answer that. Of course, if my employment was dependent on the bottom line like his is—what am I saying? I, too, am under pressure to produce. Everyone is. So, Winter, to rephrase my earlier question, what do you want of me?”

  Maybe she’d been wrong to believe Booth would support her goal of taking over for Doc, but she had to find out. Wishing she could see him so she could study his expressions, she explained about her upcoming TV interview.

  “I’d like to be able to say you and I will work together if I get the grant. That—you might not agree with me—you’d prefer to be in partnership with me over Dr. Wilheim.”

  He chuckled. “You want me to say I’ve chosen a young and intelligent woman over an insufferable windbag?”

  “I wasn’t going to put it like that.”

  “Let me ask you something. How much credit do you intend to give me if we locate the remnants of a Native settlement or settlements? Maybe find one or more valuable artifacts?”

  Like the wolf mask. “Is that possible?”

  “Maybe.”

  Tired as she was, she couldn’t decipher his mood. What if he’d come across something in the old records and was intending to combine that with Doc’s material? Maybe Doc had let something about the mask’s existence slip around Booth.

  She couldn’t quite come up with a smile. Deception didn’t come easy. “The chance to make my mark—of course I can’t do that without your help. You’ve been here longer than I have and have so much at your disposal.”

  “If, and it’s simply if at this point, we
found something, would your budget increase?”

  “Are you talking about an essentially intact site?”

  He chuckled. “Let’s dream big. What would happen then?”

  “I’m not sure. It might become a land grab.”

  “But you and I would get credit for discovering it.”

  “Of course.” She had no idea whether any credit would come their way, but obviously that was what Booth needed to hear.

  “Our relationship needs to be formalized,” he said. “No more relying on a man’s word.”

  Had Doc promised Booth something? “Certainly. Can I tell the reporter we’re in agreement about how we want to proceed?”

  “I don’t have a problem with that. Is Jay Raven going with you?”

  Her heart felt as if it were being squeezed. “Jay? No. Why do you ask?”

  “I thought I picked up on something between the two of you. I’m sorry he won’t be accompanying you.”

  “He can’t. His brother…”

  “What about his brother?”

  “He’s dead. Murdered.”

  “Really?”

  Yes, really. And it’s tearing Jay apart, but maybe you don’t care. Maybe you already knew.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Uncle Talio’s place was filled with Hoh. Jay wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but his uncle clearly appreciated the support. Several women had brought food, and a half-dozen children were clambering around the front porch. The adults had come inside as late afternoon shadows cooled the air. The talk ranged from funeral planning once Floyd’s body had been released, to Floyd’s generosity in helping with the fishing that was a vital part of the tribe’s economy. No one asked Jay what he’d seen when he opened the trailer door, and he didn’t mention that he hadn’t been alone.

  Would Winter fit in here? Even though he didn’t want to think about her and what she’d said about his lack of a soul, he couldn’t stop wondering how she would react to the loving support his uncle and he were receiving.

  The TV was on, but he didn’t pay attention until suddenly all conversation stopped. Everyone stared at the evening news. A camera zoomed in on Floyd’s trailer.

  “The body of a young Hoh was discovered here earlier today,” a disembodied voice said. “Preliminary indications are he was stabbed multiple times and had been dead for a while. Law enforcement declined to speak about a possible suspect except to state that the victim appears to have been targeted specifically, and there’s no danger to the public.”

  That was all his brother was worth—less than a minute, highlighted by the unspoken message that Floyd’s lifestyle had led to his death?

  “—a twist on a piece we brought you earlier,” a tall, slim female reporter was saying when he broke free of his thoughts. “Intrigue and conflict surround the violent death of an anthropologist whose body was found in Olympic. Today, I interviewed anthropologist Winter Barstow, who disputes the statements made by Dr. Wilheim, the anthropologist who stated here that he’ll be continuing Dr. Gilsdorf’s work. Ms. Barstow contends Dr. Wilheim is a suspect in his colleague’s murder. We hope to bring you the full story on the eleven o’clock news.”

  The teaser ended with a shot of Winter looking into the camera. Seeing her, even with her grim expression, made his heart pound.

  What the hell was she doing?

  Feeling old, he pushed himself to his feet and walked outside. The children were making so much noise he didn’t reach for his phone until he was in the trees. Winter answered after the third ring.

  “I just saw the news,” he said. “You can’t do the police’s work for them.”

  “I can’t simply wait.”

  He shouldn’t have called. Her voice was like fire to his nerve endings. Maybe tomorrow he could deal with her, but not on one of the worst days of his life.

  “You don’t understand?” she asked. “I hoped you would.”

  His surroundings blurred, and he grabbed hold of a branch to keep from swaying. “Have you told anyone about the mask?”

  “I—no.”

  “I’d like to believe you.”

  She gasped. “Is your intention to hurt me?”

  Maybe. “Stay out of what doesn’t concern you.”

  For a moment, he thought she’d hung up. “The only thing I can do for Doc is attempt to protect his memory. I have to prevent Dr. Wilheim from learning—”

  “I get that you don’t like Dr. Wilheim, but don’t convict him.”

  “Is that why you called? To tell me I’m crazy?”

  “No.” He wasn’t sure what he felt about anything. “You need to consider all possible ramifications of your actions before you say anything.”

  “It’s too late. The interview…Jay, Olympic completes me. The mask is part of it.”

  “Damn it, you shouldn’t have waited so long to tell me about it. It belongs to my ancestors, not you.”

  She hung up.

  He tried to call her back, but she didn’t pick up, and he didn’t leave a message. What would he say?

  From where he stood, he couldn’t see the house where his brother and he had grown up. Everyone was waiting for him to return. His uncle would shake off his sorrow to again ask if he was all right, and he needed to ask Uncle Talio the same thing. Instead, as the day ended, a mental image of Winter Barstow standing naked and wanting formed in his mind. At first, her dark eyes held him prisoner. Then, his attention moved to the swell of her left breast and the wolf head likeness there.

  “Raven,” he whispered. “You came to me that day during my spirit quest. For years, I told myself it was my imagination, but it wasn’t. I’ll never comprehend the way of spirits. Maybe if I hadn’t been so determined to focus on my future that I let go of the past…what happened before now doesn’t matter, does it?”

  He didn’t expect a response, but that didn’t stop him from listening intently.

  When only the forest spoke, he reminded himself that he had an extended family while all Winter had was a howl.

  * * * *

  Port Angeles was maybe three times the size of Forks and had a number of motels. After narrowing her search down to three possibilities, Winter headed back to Potlatch. She should have nailed down a reservation, but, on the heels of her devastating conversation with Jay, she hadn’t been able to force herself to talk to anyone. Besides, it would soon be dark, and she needed to load up her car.

  Instead of pulling her belongings together, she turned off her cell phone so she’d be less likely to call Jay, woke up her laptop and put the flash drive in the USB port. She was attempting to distance herself from what had gone wrong between Jay and her by checking files for clues about where the mask had come from. Much as she wanted to dismiss the possibility that Booth had more knowledge about ancient Native settlements than he’d let on, he had pored over the oral histories. It was possible he’d come across a piece of a puzzle she barely grasped. Another puzzle piece might be in Doc’s notes. Sadly, she couldn’t ask Floyd where the precious wolf likeness had come from.

  And she couldn’t ask Jay, because he’d say she had no right to that information.

  He was wrong! Her being an anthropologist meant nothing next to her Native American heritage.

  An anthropologist who’d told Jay she was determined to shed any and all possible light on what had once existed deep in the forest.

  She rubbed her forehead, but her attempt to massage away her conflicting thoughts failed. For the first time in her life she felt as if she had a purpose. Maybe discovering where the mask had come from wasn’t enough, but with night enveloping the small cabin, Wolf silent and Jay locked in his own turmoil, that was all she had.

  Swiping back tears, she stopped looking at the dark window and concentrated on the words on the screen.

  * * * *

  Most of their visitors had left, and Jay had talked his uncle into taking a painkiller for his aching leg, when his cell phone sounded. His heart thudded, only to resume its normal beat when he r
ealized it wasn’t Winter.

  “Jay,” a male voice said. “It’s Chief Klein.”

  The man in charge of investigating his brother’s murder was the last person Jay wanted to talk to tonight, but he didn’t have a choice.

  “I was hoping you could help me with something,” Chief Klein said, “but, before I get into that, I need to tell you what I learned from the coroner.”

  “Tonight?” Fortunately, Uncle Talio had gone outside to say goodbye to a cousin.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow, but my guess is you’ve been contacted by a number of people who were acquainted with your brother. I’d like you to think about this while those conversations are fresh in your mind.”

  None of the visitors had been Floyd’s drinking buddies, but several of the younger Hoh had told stories about hanging out with the fun-loving Floyd.

  “First,” Chief Miles said after Jay agreed, “we found rope burns and fiber on your brother’s wrists and ankles.”

  “Oh.” His mind wouldn’t, couldn’t compute.

  “More fibers were on a chair.”

  He remembered a tipped-over chair in his brother’s trailer.

  “Jay, your brother had been tied up.”

  Horror slammed into Jay. He staggered toward his recliner but couldn’t sit down.

  “Someone made sure he wasn’t going anywhere,” the chief went on. “The ropes that had held him to the chair were severed. It’s possible your brother struggled, so he and the chair landed on the floor. The killer cut him free so it was easier for him to get to Floyd. I hate telling you this, but a knife was repeatedly used on him before whoever did this buried it in his belly.”

  He was going to be sick! Only, if he threw up, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. “That’s what killed him?”

  “The autopsy isn’t complete, but my guess is yes.”

  The room spun and went out of focus. At the same time, his thoughts crystallized. “My brother was tortured.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Why! Damn it, why?”