by TM Simmons
"About three blocks. And people have been out shoveling for the last hour. Just wear your snow boots. Got cabin fever already, huh?"
"If that's what you call it," Channing agreed. "Which direction do I travel those three blocks?"
A while later, Channing waded down the B&B sidewalk to the street. When she passed her rented Mercedes, she realized that, with Yancy dead, she would have to shovel it out herself. In fact, she should have already found Annalise and offered to help her clear the B&B's sidewalks and driveway. Since she'd be here another afternoon and night, though, she could make that offer when she returned, unless Annalise had someone in mind to hire.
First, she had to find the woman. She had made a cursory search before she dressed for the outdoors and seen no sign of the owner.
It was stunning outside now. Who would think that a storm leaving behind such absolute beauty could be so deadly? As she strolled along, sun glittered on the whiteness, and diamond sparkles danced across the drifts, as well as the layers of snow on the pine branches. Older homes, two-story, wooden with wonderful porches on the front, occupied this end of town. Every one of them had been recently painted, most white with different colors of trim. However, she noticed one a creamy pale yellow and another dark gold with emerald-green shutters. As with the B&B, they sat on large lots, long driveways back to the houses.
A few people were still out shoveling, and they stopped their labors as she passed to nod and say hello. No one asked who she was, even though she was fairly certain they had that question in their minds. Politeness was a staple of society where she had grown up, and she appreciated it here, in this town she was considering for her new home.
Am I still? Channing thought. Earlier, she had decided that no, this place wouldn't do. Now, as she leisurely walked past the lovely homes and friendly, courteous people, she found herself again thinking this might be somewhere for a new start.
She passed another long driveway, where a heavy-duty orange extension cord was strung out from a plug-in to a four-wheel drive pickup in the driveway. An elderly man was shoveling the sidewalk, taking smaller chunks of snow than some of his neighbors. Channing halted when he looked up, stuck his shovel in a pile of snow, and said, "Good morning."
"Morning," Channing said. "Could you use some help?"
"Yup, I could," he said in that northern twang that Channing still wasn't used to. "But I expect that purty soon, there will be a gaggle of young teens coming around to assist us ole fogies. So I need to get me a bit of exercise a'fore they take it away from me."
"How nice," Channing said. "Not that you'll lose your chance for exercise, but that the teenagers do such a service."
"Yup, it is," he agreed.
"Can I ask you why you have your car plugged in?" she said, just as it dawned on her what the reason was. And the man confirmed it.
"We use engine heaters up here. You must be from far south, like your accent sounds, if you've never seen a car plugged in."
"And I didn't plug my rental in last night," she said with a sigh. "I hope I haven't ruined the car."
"Probably not," he assured her. "Last night was only close to zero, despite that powerful storm. And I'm sure your engine antifreeze is good for that low. But if you're worried, you might want to have a mechanic look at it before you start it up."
"I'll do that, and thank you." Channing waved at him and walked on down the street. At the next corner, she turned right and saw the sheriff's office halfway down the block, just as Hjak had indicated. Before she got to the door, she passed two bars, and when she glanced in the windows, it surprised her to see mothers with young children inside. Then she noticed in the second bar that the families had baskets of burgers and fries in front of them and realized school had probably shut down for the day. The mothers were evidently taking a day off, also, and having lunch out with their children.
Her stomach growled as she pushed open the door on the sheriff's office, reminding her that she'd gotten lost in her book and hadn't eaten yet today.
"I heard that," Hjak said from where he stood just inside the door, on her right.
Channing laughed softly. "It was pretty loud."
"Yeah. I was wondering whether Annalise had been able to pull herself together to fix you something to eat. What say we order in some burgers while we finish up your statement?"
"Sounds like a plan to me. Since I'm not seeing patients, I'll take mine with catsup, pickles and onions."
"A gal after my own heart. I can have onions on mine, too."
Channing was finishing her burger as she waited for Hjak's secretary to type her statement when the man she had seen at the clinic yesterday burst into the building. Through the open door, Channing watched him stride past the secretary, straight into Hjak's office. He drew to a surprised halt when he saw Channing was the only one in there.
"Where's the sheriff?" he asked without greeting her.
"In the bathroom," she said.
He didn't even blush. Instead, he walked to the door in the rear of the office. A second later, Hjak came out, and the man — Keoman, she recalled Edward Silver calling him — glanced over his shoulder at where Channing sat, then took Hjak's arm and pulled him out of the office, to the far corner of the main room. From this distance, she had no chance to overhear what they said, even if they hadn't kept their voices at a low murmur.
But she could read expressions, and the one on Hjak's face sent a chill through her.
Hjak's boots thumped the wooden floor as he hurried back into his office, Keoman following.
"I'm sorry, Channing," Hjak said as he grabbed his heavy jacket from the coat rack in the room. "I have to go. But your statement should be ready in a minute, and you can leave after you sign it."
She stood. "Of course. But can I ask you where I can find a mechanic before you take off?"
"Gabe's Garage is the best in town," Keoman said. "Only one, but he does good work."
Channing faced him and held out her hand. "Channing Drury."
He nodded as he returned the handshake, then dropped her hand rather quickly instead of introducing himself. His deep brown eyes searched her face. She ran her hand across her sweatered stomach as though wiping away the feel of him, then quickly admitted the true reason for the action. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she confessed silently to herself that his touch had left a tingle of awareness that he was a male to her female. With an effort, she jerked her gaze away and bumped into Hjak, who stood right beside her.
"Sorry about my manners," Hjak said as he jammed on a heavy cap. "Dr. Channing Drury, Keoman Thunderwood. Keoman is one of our local healers. You folks from down south probably call them shamans, but in the Ojibway tribe, they're Midés."
"The Midewiwins, the Grand Medicine Society," Channing replied to Hjak, trying to ignore the fact Keoman hadn't moved from her other side. "I read about them when I researched this area."
"That's not something you find information about without a lot of in-depth searching," Keoman said, a hint of admiration in his voice.
Channing turned to him again, then stepped back, away from his unsettling presence. "It's something that has always interested me," she said. "Different societies and their healing ways. Aren't you two in a hurry to go somewhere?"
"We are," Keoman said without moving. "Why did you need a mechanic?"
Flustered at his change of subject, Channing said, "Uh … why do you want to know?"
"No reason, I guess. It's just—"
"She's leaving town, Keoman," Hjak said in a tone Channing thought sounded like a warning. "And we need to get going ourselves."
"Are you?" he asked, his gaze on Channing. "Leaving town? For good?"
"I'm not sure," she replied. "I haven't spoken to Edward one way or another." Behind her, Hjak huffed in irritation and walked on out of his office. Keoman didn't follow. "Is there some reason you want to know?"
"Depends on what your decision is," he said enigmatically, then nodded at her. "Maybe we'll
see each other again."
He strode out, and Channing's gaze followed him as he and Hjak walked out the door. She had to admit, he was an interesting man, at least from the hints she had picked up since she'd been here. A mysterious man, the type that intrigued women. A caring man, one who had tried to hide the deep emotion on his face, the hint of tears in his eyes, when he brought the little girl into the clinic. Still, Edward Silver had made his intense loathing of Keoman clear.
The sheriff appeared to like him, though. Keoman was evidently a man who fostered strong emotions in others, and a man like that usually maintained deep-seated beliefs himself. But then, from what she'd had time to read about the Midewiwin Society, their teachings and values traced their roots back centuries.
She frowned slightly. Hjak had acted as though Keoman was a friend, or at least, someone he respected, until Keoman lingered to talk to her when Hjak was ready to leave. Channing couldn't imagine Hjak's irritation had stemmed from a suggestion of jealousy. The sheriff had steered the conversation to personal things while they ate their burgers after her statement was recorded, but she'd assumed that was just the same innate courtesy she'd encountered here in town, not a prelude to Hjak asking for a date.
Que sera and all that. Channing retrieved her coat from the rack where Hjak had deposited it after he helped her out of it earlier, then went to check with the secretary on the progress of her statement. Then she needed to find the mechanic.
Chapter 8
Hjak's cell phone rang before Keoman had driven even a block. The sheriff answered, listened for a few seconds, then muttered a thanks and ended the call. "Nodinens is at the funeral home to see if that little girl is her great-niece. Cal Whiting knows he's not supposed to let anyone near a body involved in a crime without a law official there."
Keoman turned left at the next corner and drove around the block to head in the opposite direction. The funeral home was on the outer edge of town. To break the heavy silence that had descended between him and Hjak for some reason — Keoman wasn't in the mood right now to try to figure out what he had done to piss off the sheriff — he said, "Wonder how Nodinens got into town? I hope she didn't try to drive herself. I had trouble traveling some of those back roads myself."
"The dispatcher didn't mention Nodinens' mode of travel," Hjak said in a grumpy voice. "But you know Nodinens. She'll ride her snowmobile for miles if she wants to go somewhere."
"I doubt she wanted to come in here. She probably assumed it was her duty, since she's the closest relative to her niece's clan around here."
Hjak shrugged, that grim look still on his face as Keoman pulled into the funeral home parking lot. "Wait here," he told Keoman as he slid out the passenger door and then slammed it shut.
Hjak could be troubled at the task ahead of him, Keoman realized as the sheriff trudged through the snow-covered parking lot. Even experienced lawmen tended to get emotional when there was a child involved. Yet Pete Hjak hadn't known about this side trip when they first left the office. He had, however, known what Gagewin wanted to talk to him about, and that would get to anyone.
Keoman hadn't missed the way Hjak looked at Channing Drury. If he was interested in Channing, Keoman didn't blame the sheriff. She was a beautiful woman with her glossy dark auburn hair, emerald eyes and that soft southern drawl. No, not always soft. He'd heard her the day before at the clinic, barking orders.
She didn't exactly fit the preconceived idea of a Southern Belle, even though she wasn't that tall, only about five-five. She wasn't tiny-boned or anorexic. Keoman guessed her weight at around one twenty, but none of it was fat. Well, only enough to give her the feminine curves men liked to feel between the sheets.
He smiled at that thought. At forty, he had never been married, although he came close twice. Neither of the women had made it to the altar with him, and it was definitely his own fault. Both were women he had met elsewhere, one white, one Native American. When it came right down to it, he couldn't bring himself to take that final step, even though he had asked one to marry him.
The engagement to the Native American lawyer, who had been considering returning to the area to set up her legal practice, dissolved when Keoman heard that his old childhood friend, Kymbria James, had been widowed. But it had been clear within days of her return that Kymbria had come back here for his Midé abilities, not to see if they could take their friendship to new heights. Keoman wasn't sure why that didn't hurt any longer. Maybe he had matured even more during the last few months. He'd heard Kymbria was dating the paranormal investigator, Caleb McCoy, who had been involved in the hunt for the windigo that wreaked havoc in the Northwood, and he'd felt satisfaction for Kymbria at the news, not jealousy.
He could easily allow himself to be interested in Channing Drury, M.D., who didn't wear a wedding ring. That could be because she washed her hands so often in her duties, and the strong soap might damage jewelry. However, he also hadn't seen any sign of a bare indentation on the pertinent finger, which would have indicated she wore a ring outside the office.
Even though she probably had a scientific mind that would dismiss his Midé beliefs as garbage, he would like to see if he could alleviate that dark sadness in the doctor's emerald eyes and make them sparkle with life again. He wondered if Hjak had noticed the hint of black circles, the layer of makeup attempting to hide them.
He had to focus on his people's needs right now, though. What the hell was going on here, with another monster appearing on the heels of the windigo? Had some demon portal opened due to the growing use of drugs among his people? The money from the casino should have made lives easier for the Native Americans, but instead it had given them cash to spend on pleasures they'd been without for a long time — alcohol and drugs. Pleasures that were a type of demon in disguise.
The passenger door opened, and Keoman jumped, startled. He had been so lost in thought he hadn't noticed Hjak return. The sheriff slid into the seat, and Keoman steeled himself for the news. The look on Hjak's face already hinted at what Nodinens had discovered.
"It's her great-niece," Hjak confirmed. "She brought a picture she got in her Christmas card."
Rather than replying, Keoman dropped his head and whispered a nagumowin that he hoped would soothe the child's odjib and help her cross into the land of their ancestors. Then he started the pickup's engine and said to Hjak, "Where now?"
"Back to the station," he replied grimly. "I have to notify the Ely police that we've identified the girl. I'll have to bring my own vehicle when I come out to talk to Gagewin. Where will the two of you be?"
"Probably in my madodoigin, if you get there within the next couple hours. We like to keep deep protection around us when we talk about this stuff."
"I'll be there well within two hours, unless something else hits the fan. So keep those stones in your sweat log heated up."
~~~~
Grateful to be outside in the cooler air, Channing exited the grocery store carrying her plastic bag of fruit and snacks. It seemed every person in town was shopping to replace what they'd used while shut in with the storm. Even when she had taken off her heavy jacket and laid it in the shopping cart, the heat had been stifling. These people up here did believe in combating the cold.
"You are the new doctor."
Channing halted and looked around to see who had spoken. The elderly, wizened Native American woman climbed down from the driver's side of a huge red pickup. How on earth that little woman could jockey such a gigantic truck down the road was beyond Channing's comprehension, but evidently she did. The woman shut the door and approached, her hand held out in greeting. Channing shifted her bag to her left hand and accepted the handshake.
"Yes, I'm Channing Drury," she said, feeling as if she'd introduced herself dozens of times since she arrived in town.
"Nodinens," the woman replied. "I am the great-aunt of the little girl."
She didn't have to say which little girl. Channing knew immediately she was talking about the child at the clin
ic. Nodinens' pain-shadowed eyes corroborated that.
"I'm so sorry for your and your family's loss," Channing said, truly meaning the inane, consoling comment.
"Can we talk?" Nodinens asked. "There is one of those new coffee machines at the bakery right here. They have that latte stuff, and I admit, I have grown fond of it."
"A latte sounds delicious right now," Channing agreed. As did some companionship, although she was sure this woman wanted to discuss the child's death.
Nodinens surprised Channing, though. After they picked up their lattes and sat at a small table isolated in the corner, Nodinens said, "You will be good for our town."
Channing removed the cover on her cup and dipped a plastic spoon into the melting whipped cream with dribbles of caramel. "I haven't made my final decision yet."
Nodinens chuckled, albeit a little sadly. "You will get used to those of us who live by the Old Ways and use our instincts."
"Old Ways?" Channing asked with a quirked eyebrow. "I'm sorry, and I know it's not politically correct. But when you say something like that, I conjure up Native Americans riding horses or using dog sleds to move their belongings from campsite to campsite. Then I see you climb out of that beautiful but huge truck you were driving…."
A true laugh erupted from Nodinens. "You are good for me, Doctor. And anytime you wish to drive my huge truck, you can. However, when I allude to the Old Ways, I mean the beliefs that we live by, not the material things we acquire. Those material things are conveniences we can afford due to the casino money." A different type of cloud shadowed her eyes this time, and Channing realized how expressive the elderly woman's face was as Nodinens continued, "Money that can do as much bad as good. But…."
Nodinens sipped her own coffee, then said, "You believed that I wanted to talk about Shaylanda, my great-niece."
"Shaylanda," Channing murmured.