Borrowing Death

by Cathy Pegau

  “How’s that handsome deputy of yours?” Kit asked.

  “He’s not my deputy. And what makes you think he’s handsome?” Though James certainly was a good-looking man, Charlotte had never described him to Kit. “He could be grimy, toothless, and bug-eyed for all you know.”

  Kit laughed. “Is he?”

  Charlotte felt a blush heat her neck and cheeks. “No, but he could be.”

  Her friend laughed louder, and Charlotte hoped no one else was in the office. “Readers sure see him that way. For a periodical dedicated to the idea of women exerting their independence and strengths apart from men, I get letters every week asking for more information about that ‘strapping, stalwart lawman who lives in Alaska.’ ”

  “He is that.”

  “Charlotte Mae Brody! Are you mooning over a man?”

  Damnation. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She hadn’t sighed melodramatically, had she?

  “No, of course not.” Though she missed Kit terribly, Charlotte was glad to be conversing from three thousand miles away via telephone. At least Kit wouldn’t see her burning cheeks. Kit and Charlotte shared almost everything, and Kit knew her deepest secret, but she hadn’t even told Kit about James kissing her. “He’s very good at his job, is what I meant.”

  “Good to know,” Kit said. “But you didn’t call all this way to discuss men. Oh! I have to tell you about this meeting I went to.”

  Every time they chatted, there was another exciting lecture Kit had attended, or some rally or march. It sent a pang of homesickness through Charlotte, but at the same time she was happy to have the opportunity to get her life together in the quiet remoteness of Alaska. Well, relatively quiet, if you didn’t count the dead bodies.

  When it was Charlotte’s turn to share news and happenings, Kit was positively horrified by the circumstances of Lyle Fiske’s death. She couldn’t believe two murders could occur in the same small town in such a short period of time. It had surprised Charlotte too, that was certain.

  After an hour of gleaning articles and catching up with Kit, Charlotte said her good-byes.

  “You should come up here,” she told Kit. “I think you’d enjoy it, and Michael would certainly be happy to see you.”

  Michael had been smitten with Kit off and on during their childhood, and she with him. Their relationship had eventually settled into friendship, and Michael considered Kit another younger sister to fuss over and be frustrated by.

  “Maybe,” Kit said. “It would be quite the lark, wouldn’t it?” There was a long pause on the line, and Charlotte thought they’d been cut off. Then Kit said, in a more serious tone, “How are you really, Charlotte?”

  Kit wasn’t asking about her physical health. It was her recovery from the past year, her dismal relationship with Richard, and the aftermath that worried her best friend.

  Charlotte moistened her chapped lips. “I’m good. Truly. It helps to keep busy.”

  A soft sigh came over the other end. “It does.”

  There was something in those two words that sounded off. “Kit, are you all right?”

  She’d been gone only three months, but anything could have happened. Surely Kit would have told her if there was devastating news.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just tired. Good gravy, look at the time. Gotta meet with Malone. Take care, darling!”

  “You too. Talk to you in a couple of weeks.” Charlotte set the earpiece in the bracket and stared at the telephone. It was always bittersweet to talk to Kit or her parents, but it was better that she’d come to Cordova. Better by a long stretch.

  Charlotte had traveled north not just to have a journalistic adventure, as she’d told her family and friends, but to get away from memories of her failed relationship with Richard. She needed to put physical distance between herself and constant reminders that she’d been a fool. Months after, she’d start to get back on an even keel, then an announcement that yet another of her schoolmates was getting married or expecting would make her cringe. The inevitable “What about you, Charlotte?” became too much.

  Telling them she wasn’t ready to settle down was met with stares of incomprehension. Of course she was ready, they’d insist. How could it be otherwise? She’d had her fun playing journalist, marching in parades. It was time to become a productive member of society, and that meant a husband and children in their eyes.

  She could explain her reasons ten different ways and still not get them to understand: She wasn’t wife and mother material. She’d become tired of trying to tell them not all women wanted that life. Coming to Alaska was intended to help Charlotte put her failings and feelings behind her, but moving thousands of miles away also kept her from beating her head against their walls of outdated expectations.

  Taking a deep breath and a moment to clear her head, Charlotte pushed the voices and emotions of the past aside. There was work to be done. Focusing on that would be much more productive than dwelling on things she couldn’t change now.

  Three hours later, Charlotte got up to make herself some tea. She stood in front of the coal stove, hands spread to absorb heat as her tea steeped, her brain whirling with questions for James. Where had the Fiske store employees been that night? Did Lyle have the reputation for having a temper? Had anyone made complaints against him?

  While she considered approaching James, an unexpected, completely unrelated question popped into her head: Who was the woman who had kissed James on the cheek? She didn’t look familiar, but then Charlotte had seen her only from the back.

  A flutter ran through her stomach. She couldn’t possibly ask him that. It was none of her business. But as friends, shouldn’t they be able to ask each other such things?

  Just a friend? Is that what he is?

  Of course he was. She wanted to visit with James over a lovely dinner at The Wild Rose. Yet the way he acted toward her, the way he made her feel sometimes . . .

  It scared the devil out of her.

  He’s not Richard, she reminded herself.

  No, but even Richard hadn’t become the real Richard until after they’d been together. A man’s true self emerged when put under pressure, and what happened between them certainly qualified as pressure.

  Would James have reacted the same way?

  She wasn’t sure, and, in a way, preferred the arm’s-length distance she kept him at so she’d never find out. It was safer, not knowing who he really was. Safer that he didn’t know who she really was.

  The rattle of the outer door turned her around, teacup in hand. Michael came in, quickly shut the door behind himself, and gave an exaggerated shiver.

  “Getting blustery out there,” he said as he removed his hat and stamped his slush-covered boots on the rug near the door. “Was coming to ask if you wanted to get some coffee or something, but I see you’ve got your tea. Mary’s organizing my office, and I thought I should get out of the way for a bit.”

  “I think I could use something stronger than tea, and maybe a slice of pie.” It took Charlotte a moment to remember who Mary was. “How’s Mary working out? Did she help you get the autopsy report written?”

  She felt a small pang of guilt, having not come back to him to finish her secretarial duties.

  “I did it myself, actually,” he said. “Mary has already spoken to a number of her friends in the village about coming to see me if their own methods aren’t sufficient. They have a lot of natural remedies that are quite effective, but sometimes even they don’t work. Mostly the women seem more inclined to see me than the men are.”

  “That’s because men don’t like to admit they need a doctor unless they’re practically at death’s door.”

  Michael nodded. “True enough.”

  “Was Lyle Fiske one of your patients?”

  “No, he and Caroline saw Dr. Hastings.”

  That figured. Dr. Hastings was the senior physician in town and generally tended the more well-to-do in Cordova. A third doctor, Bergoff, was just getting settled in. “How about Mrs. Dere
nov, the Fiskes’ housekeeper who passed away?”

  Michael’s expression fell at the mention of the woman’s name. Charlotte didn’t think he’d had a close, personal relationship with Mrs. Derenov, but as her doctor he would have felt her loss.

  “Yes, she was one of mine. Sweet woman. Worked hard all her life and—” He stopped short, frowning.

  “And?” Charlotte prompted.

  “Other than the Fiskes, she had no one but her son and daughter. The son had been down in the States for quite some time. Mrs. Derenov did well enough, I guess, but she sent money to him for whatever his troubles were.”

  “And the daughter?”

  “Still in school here. A bit younger than her brother. Though with Mrs. Derenov gone, who knows if she’ll stay in school past this year.”

  “Doesn’t Ben want his sister to get an education?”

  Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “How do you know Ben Derenov?”

  Charlotte hesitated. Michael had become a bit overprotective since she’d arrived in Cordova and didn’t particularly care for her poking about for stories. “I went over to the Fiskes’ earlier to pay my respects. He was there cutting wood.”

  Inside, she cringed slightly at the half truth.

  Michael stared at her for a second, trying to see if there was more to it. Which there was, but he didn’t need to know that. “I see. I don’t know what Ben Derenov has in mind for the two of them. He’s the only immediate family Rebecca has. If he decides to stay and can make money, she might be able to finish her schooling.”

  “I hope that’s the case.” It would be a shame for the girl to quit school because of money woes. Taking her education as far as she could go would be the best thing for Rebecca Derenov, for all young girls and women. Charlotte set her cup on the desk and joined him near the door. “Is his working for the Fiskes their way to help out after Mrs. Derenov died?”

  He helped her on with her coat. “Possibly. Or they needed a handyman and Ben happened to be around for the job.”

  “That could explain it too,” she said, changing into her boots.

  “Why do you always look beyond the simple explanation?”

  “Because the simple explanation is rarely interesting. Or the truth. Don’t you dig a little further with your patients to make sure the simple explanation is the real reason for their illness?”

  “Of course,” he said, holding the door open for her. “It’s the responsible thing to do.”

  Charlotte locked the door behind them. “And it’s my responsibility to get the real story when I write, not just what it appears to be at first glance.”

  “I’m sure Eddington appreciates your dedication.”

  The sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. She lightly punched his shoulder and he laughed.

  Michael took her arm to help keep her footing as they traversed the slick walkway, wind in their faces.

  “The visitation for Lyle Fiske is tomorrow,” Charlotte said. “Are you going?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?”

  “I’d like to. Will you come with me?”

  He gave her a curious look. “Since when do you need me, or anyone, to escort you to such a thing?”

  Since she decided it might be necessary to have someone who knew more of the people in town than she did to help her identify attendees. But she wouldn’t tell Michael that either. “I don’t know Caroline all that well and figured your standing and recognition would help.”

  “Help get you into the house of a murder victim, you mean.” He shook his head, eyes rolling to the heavens. “Fine. I’ll go with you. If you’ll make dinner for me tonight.”

  “Thanks, and I will, but I’ll have to cook for you another time. I’m going to meet James for dinner tonight. Care to join us?” It was bad manners to ask him without James’s consideration, but Michael’s presence might make her feel more at ease. Keeping the deputy at arm’s length when they were alone together was a challenge.

  “Oh, no no no.” Michael held up his free hand, waving her request off. “I wouldn’t dream of intruding on the two of you.”

  “It’s not intruding, it’s just dinner,” she said more defensively than she’d intended.

  “Right.” He tugged his hat down over his ears. “I’m sure Eddington would appreciate me horning in on your date.”

  “It’s not a date.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  * * *

  Charlotte took a quick bath and changed before meeting James at The Wild Rose. The navy blue wool serge dress was something she usually wore for more professional appointments and meetings, not for dinner. But it was too cold and wet for anything else she had with her. Besides, neither James nor Cordova seemed particular about fancy clothing.

  The snow had tapered off, but the slush remained in the streets. Charlotte hurried along as fast as she could while keeping her feet under her. Lights from homes and the few streetlamps helped her avoid the worst puddles, and soon she turned the corner just before The Wild Rose.

  The aromas of roasted meat and coffee, with an underlying bite of the cigar smoke from a table of men, hit her as she opened the door. The low murmur of conversation from the men and an older couple accompanied by the tink and clink of silverware filled the small dining room. With fewer than a dozen white cloth-covered tables under individual pendant lights, The Wild Rose wasn’t a large restaurant, even by Alaska standards, but it was one of the more attractive Charlotte had dined in.

  “Miss Brody.” Will, the owner, came out of the kitchen to her left. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You too. I’m waiting for James Eddington.” It was unlikely he’d made a reservation, but James may have mentioned to Will that they were coming.

  Will’s face brightened. “Excellent. Let me help you with your coat and you can wait here by the fireplace.”

  He took her mackinaw, then gestured to a pair of green wingback chairs. Charlotte sat on the edge of one, warming her hands and feet. She almost asked Will to seat her at a table, but knowing him, he wouldn’t hear of it.

  Charlotte only waited a few minutes, watching the other diners and the staff, before James came in. He removed his hat and searched the dining room. Seeing her as she got to her feet, he smiled. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You aren’t.”

  James had slicked back his hair, but hadn’t shaved.

  “Are you growing a beard, deputy?”

  He ran his palm over his cheek. “Thinking about it. Gets damn cold here sometimes. Why? Don’t you like beards?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “If they’re well kept. Michael’s growing one too, to match his mustache. It makes him look older.”

  “Not always a bad thing, especially in his profession.”

  He unbuttoned his coat, revealing he had changed clothes as well, but wasn’t wearing the more formal attire he’d had on for their first dinner together either. Of course he was wearing his gun, as dictated by his position. Will came to take James’s coat and show them to a table. After going over the special for the evening, which they ordered, he promised to bring them some tea.

  “How’s the investigation going?” Charlotte asked when Will had departed. She kept her voice quiet to prevent the other diners from overhearing.

  “Well enough, I guess. Parker and I went over the scene. Fire may have started near the register, where Fiske was found. The explosions we heard were paint thinner and other solvents on the shelves under the counter. It looks like the killer poured something over Fiske, set the fire—”

  “To cover the knife wound,” she said.

  “Yes. Then spread more solvent and lit it. Inventory on the shelves heated, then blew when the vapors ignited.”

  “Michael had said the body wasn’t as burned as he’d feared.” Charlotte was once again grateful she hadn’t attended the autopsy.

  James nodded. “The explosion of cans may have blown out the flames and covered Fiske with debris from the shelves, preserving the body. Whoever did this hadn�
��t considered that.”

  “I doubt he was considering anything but hiding his tracks. But it makes me think that perhaps this wasn’t the work of the arsonist.” Charlotte grinned when he quirked an eyebrow. “You and Parker don’t think so either.”

  “No,” he said. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

  “An arsonist knows his materials. The fires he’s set so far haven’t been so careless and out of control. If he wanted to set a fire with the intent to destroy evidence of Fiske’s murder, it would have been done properly, even in haste.”

  James crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Well done, Miss Brody.”

  She shrugged, ignoring the little thrill that ran through her. “I try.”

  A waiter came down the aisle between tables and set their teacups and a teapot before them. He turned to leave, nodding to the well-dressed woman who had come up behind him before he eased around her. Charlotte expected her to sit at the next table, where she’d noticed two men and another woman taking their seats. Instead, the woman strode up to James, grinning.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Jimmy.”

  James’s eyes widened. He shot a glance at Charlotte before rising, like the gentleman he was. “What are you doing here?”

  The tall brunette, in a stunning red dress, rolled her eyes at him, still smiling. Was she the woman from earlier that day?

  “Having dinner, silly.” She stuck her right hand out to Charlotte. “I’m Stella Eddington.”

  “How do you do?” Charlotte automatically shook her hand as the name made its way through her brain. “Eddington?”

  James didn’t have any sisters. A cousin, perhaps?

  “Yep. I’m Jimmy’s wife.”

  Chapter 6

  Wife?

  Charlotte’s heart lurched. This was the woman she’d seen earlier, the one kissing James on the cheek in front of the federal building. She stared at Stella Eddington, imagining all manner of matrimonial interactions between her and the deputy.