It was getting dark when I heard him pick up the phone. For a long time, I'd sat motionless, staring uncomprehendingly at the splendour of sunset over Bear Lake. His voice finally roused me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Ordering some dinner."
"I'm not hungry."
"Me either. But we have to try to eat something. You're still weak from exposure and your cold. And after standing outside in a wet bathing suit all afternoon, you probably really will end up with pneumonia."
I gave him a rueful look and nodded, at least in acquiescence, if not agreement. After that we fell silent again. An awkward silence. The kind where you know things need to be said, but you don't know how. When room service knocked, we both felt relief, until Matt opened the door.
Instead of a tray-laden server, Brooke Craddock stood outside. I groaned inwardly. The last thing I needed was an ugly confrontation.
"Hi," she began, in a tentative tone that caught me off guard. I was expecting some sort of tirade. "I brought you a few things. Toothbrushes, toothpaste, some clean clothes."
Matt stood aside to let her enter the room. "And another apology," she added, setting her bundle down on the dresser. She shot a wary glance in my direction. "The fire captain just left. He says the fire was deliberately set. No accident. No carelessness."
I flicked a look at Matt and saw his eyebrows arch in sudden interest. "How?"
"Probably something as crude as gasoline sloshed around," she replied morosely. "It's still too hot for him to get a close look. But he could tell from the way it burned that it didn't just start in one place and spread naturally." My friend stopped for a moment, then sighed deeply before plunging on. "I know I was a shit this afternoon," she said, still not quite managing to meet my eye.
But Matt did. His look was a question mark. "Brooke and I had a little misunderstanding," I said, by way of explanation. "Nothing important," I added for her benefit. That helped. The deep brown eyes met mine and held.
"I know you two have had a terrible week. Undoubtedly the worst honeymoon on record." This produced a trio of wry grins along with some eye rolling from my spouse. "But I'm here to ask for your help. I'm here to ask you to stay." Catching the look that passed between Matt and me, she hurried on. "Taylor, you said it yourself. Somebody's trying to put us under. I have absolutely no idea why. But after today, there can't be any doubt. We have to find out who's doing this. We have to stop them before it's too late. Please help me."
The last three words were a naked appeal.
"I don't know what to say, Brooke. Even if we stayed, what good could we do? This is a police matter now. Whoever's doing this is playing for keeps. We lost Dudley and Nell today. But it might have been even worse."
"I know. And maybe you can't do anything. But it would be a real boost to have you here. Will you think about it?" My long-time friend looked so pathetic, I would have agreed on the spot. Matt didn't look too sure.
"Okay, we'll think about it," I conceded, with a little shrug in my husband's direction. He cocked his head to one side and lifted a single brow. Not yet fully versed in Anderson non-verbals, I wasn't sure exactly what that meant. But at least he hadn't exercised an outright veto. Brooke looked vastly relieved.
"We'll talk in the morning," she said, and was turning to go when another knock sounded at the door.
Matt moved to answer. "That must be room service."
"Not exactly," said our surprise visitor. Dan was sporting a twenty-four-carat grin, though I saw nothing to smile about.
"What are you doing with that?" I demanded, staring dumbfounded at the things he carried in his arms. A bag of kitty litter, two cat dishes, and a packet of cat food. If this was some kind of joke, it was in the poorest imaginable taste. I wanted to slam the door in his face.
"Think you're going to need it," he countered, unperturbed by the thundercloud on my face. If anything, his grin grew broader as he stepped into the room. The movement revealed Claire, standing in the hallway behind him, wearing the same improbable grin. And now I understood why. She too was loaded down with a burden. But hers refused to stay still. Dudley wriggled convulsively under one arm while Nell struggled to get free of the other. When he saw me, the Dudster broke loose. He landed in my arms in a single fifteen-pound leap that nearly sent us both over backward. Claire let Nell down and she scampered after her chum, threatening to scale my pant leg if I didn't pick her up.
"Where did you find them?" Matt demanded as he ruffled the sweet spot behind the Dudster's ears. His voice echoed the disbelief on his face.
"We didn't," Claire exclaimed. "They found us."
"Somehow Nell led Dudley home. The pair of them were sitting at the kitchen door."
I hugged my portly friend tight and snuggled his little guide into my neck. After a time, when I was sure my voice could be trusted, I shared my thoughts with the others. "We've learned something important here tonight," I said. As expected, my pronouncement met with furrowed brows and I hurried to explain. "The person who set fire to Arbutus cabin can't be as bad as we thought...because whoever it was—let the cats out first."
Chapter Twenty
We slept on Brooke's proposal—or tried—given that two determined felines kept vying for the lion's share of the bed. Must be something genetic. Of course, sensible people would have bundled the pair onto the floor and made an end of it. But cat folks aren't sensible. Instead, my husband and I arranged ourselves like a couple of pretzels and made the best of the comfortable feel of warm, purring bodies pressed close.
By morning, the cats were sufficiently revived to provide us with a wake-up floor show. They hurtled from bed to floor to chair to dresser then collided for a little rough and tumble. First Dudley chased Nell, then she chased him. It was better than TV. In fact, they put us in such a good mood, we decided to stay on. But that created some logistical difficulties.
Apart from the clothes we'd worn to lunch yesterday, which thankfully included Matt's wallet and my bag, everything was lost in the fire. And I felt terrible when it first hit me that Matt's loss was far worse than mine. Completely absorbed with relief over the cats, I hadn't thought about the thousands of dollars' worth of camera equipment that hadn't made it. While all his work on the train derailment was safely backed up to the Cloud before his mad dash home to the lodge, the actual gear was all gone. There was no hope of replacing the more exotic pieces until we got back to the city, however, a good camera body and a couple of reasonable lenses were bare essentials for Matt's survival. And some clothes might come in handy, too. Accordingly, the game plan as we headed for breakfast was a good meal followed by a trip to town.
It was another perfect spring morning with brilliant sunlight flashing like reality TV bling from tiny wavelets in the lake, and the window wall brought the sparkling day right into the dining room. Some of the gang waved from a table by the view and we hurried to join them. Tovey's flaming hair stood out in gaudy contrast to the blues and greens at her back, rendering Liam, Griff, and Denise almost invisible by comparison.
"How're you doing?" she asked, the struggle between happy greeting and serious concern working itself out on her face. Happy won when we assured her that apart from material losses, we were fine.
"We didn't hear about the fire until we got back last night," said Liam. "Griff told us it was pretty awful—touch and go to save the other cabins."
The predictable post-mortem followed, including Griff's expression of horror over the loss of Matt's camera equipment and relief all around at the miraculous reappearance of our two orange tabbies. We were finally getting around to ordering when the Fisks appeared and we had to launch into an instant replay. I was beginning to suffer from cabin-fire overload, but the interruption caused by our food being served gave me a chance to steer the conversation in a new direction.
"What were you two working on yesterday?" I asked our team of biologists.
"Oh, it was awesome," Tovey beamed. "We've been trapping bears to fo
llow up on the study, and yesterday we came across Butterball."
"She's an old favourite," her boss explained. "And really smart. The first time Butterball was snared, she acted like you'd expect. Terrified. Tried to hide. But last year, she remembered the tranquilliser dart." Liam's boyish face cracked into a broad grin. "She kept her bum down and her legs out."
That was smart, I thought.
"But nothing compared with yesterday," Liam went on. "Yesterday, when Tovey and I walked up to that cage, Butterball just took one look, stuck her bum in the air and covered her face with her paws."
We all howled at that mental picture and agreed that Butterball was definitely one exceptional bear. It was easy to understand how people like Tovey and Liam became so totally involved in their work. They were obviously dealing with individuals—personalities instead of specimens. It wasn't a relationship as close as Dudley's and mine, but it was a relationship of respect and caring just the same.
"That's why those damned hunter's piss me off," Denise Pardue exploded, waving an accusing hand at a boisterous group across the room. Old acid tongue was back. So much for the pleasant interval when she'd acted like a human being. Though, for once, I had to admit her thoughts weren't that far from my own. "They don't give a rat's ass about the animals they kill. It's just party time."
"Not always," the biologist countered placidly. "A few years ago, when I was working on another winter study, I followed a radio collar signal right up to a hunting cabin. As you say, the guys inside were having a great time. Asked me where they could find a bear. Of course, I played dumb." He shrugged innocently. "Poor fellas went all the way back to the city empty handed. They never did find the bear sleeping right there under the floor."
That brought on another big laugh—except from Denise. As usual, she was taking things way too seriously.
"Perfect," she sneered in her waspish tone. "Serves them right." This woman really needs to lighten up, I thought. Liam's story was funny (as well as satisfying). But my speculation on Denise's sense of humour was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a distracted looking Brooke. She hurried to our table with the air of a person on a mission.
"Sorry to interrupt," she blurted, her voice pitched very low. "But there's a problem with the walk-in freezer and being Sunday morning I haven't been able to get a repair man yet. Art, would it be too big an imposition to ask you to have a look?"
"Not at all," replied the retired heating and air conditioning guy. "Just show me the way."
Before Brooke appeared, our breakfast party had been showing signs of breaking up. Now we were glued to our seats. Any hint of further trouble for the Craddocks was worth close attention. We dispatched Vicky to bring on the coffee and settled in to wait. It didn't take long. I was only halfway through my refill when Art returned, looking grim.
"What's the verdict," Matt asked.
"Sabotage," said Art, sinking into his seat and scanning the circle of anxious faces. "Somebody drilled a little hole in the coolant line."
"What does that mean?" I pressed. Although I'm pretty handy with a hammer and wrench, I know squat about refrigeration.
"The coolant is a gas under pressure," Art explained. "Since the hole was small, it would have taken several hours, but eventually it all leaked out. With no gas, even though the compressor kept running, the freezer was getting warmer and warmer. From the amount of thawing in the food, I'd say the unit was out of commission all night, which means the gas was probably leaking most of yesterday."
"Can you fix it?"
"Not without replacement parts, and they may have to come from Vancouver. Probably be at least tomorrow before we can do a thing."
"What about all the food?" Belle wanted to know. Good thing she was being practical. My mind was racing after who-done-it.
"Lucky break there," said Art, looking a little brighter. "Apparently an old buddy of Walt's has a trucking business. He's sending over a small refrigerator unit that can be parked outside and left for a day or two. It should be here any time."
"Then let's go help," said Matt, waving at Vicky for the cheques.
"Maybe I'd better talk to Brooke and see how she'd like to arrange things. It might not be all that useful to have eight of us come trooping into the kitchen." The others agreed and I headed off to find my friend while they signed their chits.
In the kitchen, I found a scene of organised confusion. Servers jockeyed around in the small open space depositing dirties at the wash station and collecting plates from the warming table in a complicated dance that could have been choreographed for a modern ballet. Behind the bank of heat lamps a woman of truly enormous proportions, wearing a white smock, improbable auburn hair, and a forbidding scowl, directed traffic like a general orchestrating the line of battle. I instantly recognised her as Bea Quinn, the sixty-something widow who had commanded operations in this kitchen since before the Craddocks took over Bear Lake Lodge. Two assistants scurried to do her bidding and an array of excellent food continued to materialize, despite the impending disaster that prompted a phalanx of foreign bodies to crowd into her domain.
I expected to find Brooke and Walt on the scene, but the sight of Dan Craddock was a shock. As far as I could tell, there wasn't a single horse in the place. At least I hoped not. My sense of humour has this disconcerting habit of surfacing at inappropriate times.
"I'm here as a deputation," I announced as the others acknowledged my arrival. "We thought you could use some help getting things transferred to the freezer truck. Everybody's willing to chip in. Just tell us what to do."
"That's exactly what we were talking about," said Dan.
"And the help would be most welcome," his wife added. "I don't want to disrupt dining room service and we're going to have to move fast when the truck gets here. The freezer's been off all night and things are starting to thaw." Her warm brown eyes were snapping with anger and the set of her jaw spoke volumes. Someone had made the sad mistake of pushing Brooke Craddock too far. "And when I find out who's been responsible for all this, I'm going to personally scratch his face off."
"I'll hold him down for you," Dan offered through gritted teeth, then shocked us all by draping his arm around his wife's shoulders in a gesture both warm and protective.
Brooke looked startled as she peered up into his weathered face, but a little smile, maybe a hopeful smile, tugged tentatively at the corners of her mouth, and her husband responded in kind. I could have whooped for joy. It was a small beginning, though with any luck this was a definite sign that my old friends would finally unite against the common threat. I flicked a sideways glance in Walt's direction and caught him grinning like a kid with a brand-new toy. Thank heaven some good might come from all of this. I hated to intrude on the moment, but that urgent problem still loomed.
"How would you like to organise us?" I asked, by way of a gentle reminder.
Brooke snapped back to crisis-management, though I noticed she didn't move away from her husband's encircling arm. "Dan and I will work in the truck," she began. "We know how to lay things out so Bea and her crew can get at them. What we need is a relay team to ferry the stuff out to us. Walt's already here and Claire will be along in a minute," she paused to think. "If we get too many people involved, you'll just wind up in each other's way. How about asking Tovey and Liam as well as you and Matt. They're kind of family too. Then I won't feel quite so much like we're imposing on guests."
I hurried back to the dining room to deliver news and marshal reinforcements. Before long the truck arrived and Operation Food Swap swung into high gear. The job wasn't tough, but even though Walt had managed to round up enough work gloves to outfit everybody, our hands suffered and I really felt sorry for Dan and Brooke who never got a break from the cold. At least we were only in the freezer truck long enough to pass over our loads. It was only our hands that were in pretty much constant contact with the icy containers. And that was bad enough.
But many hands—cold or not—make light work and the
damaged walk-in was nearly empty when I arrived in time to hear a sudden gasp from Liam.
"What is it?" I asked my co-worker, who was bent over pulling one of the last boxes from the shelves.
"You're not going to believe this."
"Believe what?" Tovey wanted to know as she crowded in behind me. A traffic jam was fast developing because of Liam's failure to move on.
"Take a look," he said, nodding toward an area on the shelf that opened up to view when he removed the box in his hands.
We pushed forward to peer into the space he indicated and saw a clear plastic bag with something dark inside. It meant nothing to me, but for Tovey it was a different story. "Oh no," she breathed.
"What?" I looked from student to biologist. "Bear paws," came her sickening response.
"What about bear paws?" Walt wanted to know, wedging himself into the already overcrowded space.
Liam simply gestured at the gruesome package on the shelf. "I'll have to call it in," he finally said into the shocked silence. "We better get Brooke and Dan."
With some confusion, we extricated ourselves from the tight space only to cluster like milling sheep beyond the door. Liam marched off with an air of glum determination. No one questioned what he had to do, but nobody wanted to be part of it either. Moments later Brooke burst into the kitchen with Dan a half step behind. Our little group parted like the Red Sea as they stormed past.
"How did this get in here?" Brooke raged, voicing the question we all shared.
With no way to immediately ferret out the answer, we had to carry on with practicalities. It seemed pretty clear that we shouldn't touch anything until Liam contacted Roy Friesen. Brooke closed the door and we all trooped in a dejected line toward the family quarters. While our hosts hovered near the biologist as he made the call, the rest of us gathered in a silent ring around the kitchen table.
Bear of a Honeymoon Page 16