The Stranger Page 17

  Early in the morning, Jer found me in one of the conference rooms, contemplating the huge topographical map of Alaska that occupied the center of the room. Something had been bothering me all night, and now the idea began to coalesce in my mind.

  “News?” I said, as soon as he stepped into the room.

  “None yet.” He knuckled his eyes and yawned. “It’s too early.”

  “Jer,” I said. “Where’s Star Lake?”

  “Right here.” Jer traced the star-shaped edges of a large blue puddle on the map.

  “Where’s Seth’s house?” I asked.

  “Here.” Jer pointed.

  I noticed that, as the crow’s flies, Star Lake wasn’t that far from Seth’s house. I frowned. Could it be?

  “Is Anya Golov’s homestead on Star Lake?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  His phone rang before I could answer. Memories of my visit with Anya flashed before my eyes. He’s got the boys at the mill riled up, she’d warned Seth about Alex. He’s promised them all sorts of goodies if they stick with him.

  I wondered if Seth remembered. Was this an inside job? Was the mysterious whistle-blower one of the mill employees, working for Alex? And one other thought. Whatever had happened at the lake, it had happened a week ago, maybe longer. Anya. All that fish. More fish than she could ever use, Seth had noted.

  Maybe there was a way to prove Seth’s innocence after all.

  Jer hung up. His somber expression spoke for itself. “We’re going to court today.”

  “You are going to court,” I said. “I need to be somewhere else.”

  * * *

  Ally’s Cessna Skyhawk glided onto Star Lake with the elegance of a ballerina easing onto the stage. She flew her small plane in the same forceful way in which she drove, which made it a terrifying experience for the backseat driver in me. I might have sweated a few quarts of fear along the way, but at least we had arrived.

  There was an unusual amount of air traffic over Star Lake, mostly news planes and helicopters getting ready to contribute to Seth Erickson’s spectacular slander. We dodged quite a few of them on our way to shore. We were in a hurry. The forecast called for snow, the radar showed the storm approaching and Seth’s hearing was on the schedule for early afternoon. We needed to get back before then. As soon as we taxied to shore, Anya met us at the dock, with her rifle on hand, of course. This time, she didn’t shoot. Best news? She was wearing her hearing aid.

  “It’s a busy day around here,” she said as Ally and I tied down the plane. “The lake’s had more visitors in one day than the rest of the year put together.”

  Anya didn’t leave her homestead very often. She didn’t have TV or cell reception. She hadn’t heard about Seth. I told her the whole story as we walked back to the cabin. She listened, nodding every once in a while. By the time I got to the end of the story, we were in her living room.

  “I warned Seth,” she said. “I told him to watch out.”

  “I don’t think he believed Alex would stoop this low,” Ally said.

  “Anya,” I said, holding my breath. “Did you keep any of the fish from the kill?”

  She clucked and gave me one of her looks. “Good thing I watch out for my boys.” She kicked an old rug aside and lifted the trapdoor below it. “Follow me.”

  “Where are we going?” I said. “Can you help?”

  “Not an ounce of patience,” Anya muttered, climbing down the steep ladder. “Not even a gram. But at least you’ve got a half a brain, which is more I can say about most people. I’m not so decrepit yet as to be careless. I knew something was—well—fishy at Star Lake.” The light of a match ignited an oil lamp and illuminated the chilly cellar. “What do you girls see?”

  “Winter provisions?” Ally said. “Canned goods?”

  My gaze fell on the neatly organized, labeled, and dated jars on the shelves. “I see a whole lot of pickled fish.” And hope, for Seth. Unless... “Anya, when you pickle things, do you erase all traces of other chemicals present?”

  “Mostly? Yes. But...” Anya’s face split into a mischievous grin.

  “But what?”

  “The problem with preconceptions is that it leads to some awful misjudgments,” Anya said. “You think of me as an old, decrepit wild woman.”

  I shook my head. “No, no, I—”

  “Apologies accepted.” She stepped on a little stool, picked out a jar from the top shelf, and cradled it against her bosom. “You think your sister is running around with the equivalent of an Alaskan hillbilly. But you’re wrong. Nikolai is a good boy and I was a chemist once. I did ‘pickle’ these fish from the kill, but I pickled them in my special formula...my chemist formula.”

  I gasped. “You are a chemist?”

  “You preserved the dead fish?” Ally said.

  “Things don’t move very quickly out here, so when I saw the fish kill and those crews burning the carcasses in a hurry, I said, ‘Anya, something’s wrong yonder.’ So I preserved some of the fish, just in case the fish kill ever needed to be scientifically explained.”

  I clapped, jumping up and down, and so did Ally.

  “Thank you God,” I said. “And thank you, Anya!”

  She handed me the jar and pulled out a cell from her shirt’s front pocket. “The boys gave me one of these for my birthday. We’ve got no reception out here, but I do love to take pictures.”

  It was mind-boggling, but standing in a cellar that was probably a hundred years older than I was, illuminated by the antique miner’s lamp, Anya pulled up her pictures and displayed them for us. Two men stood by the lake, face covered by their hoods, rolling oil drums down the shore.

  “I don’t know for sure,” she said. “But I reckon that the whistle-blower and the perpetrators of the fish kill could be one and the same.”

  I hugged the old woman until she couldn’t breathe.

  “You’ll have to come with us,” Ally said, “to court, to give your testimony.”

  “I don’t like the city,” Anya said, “but for Seth, I’ll go.”

  It didn’t take her long to dress for the trip. She came out of her room wearing a beaver trapper hat, a neon-orange jacket, beaded fur gloves, and curly lamb mukluk boots.

  “What are you staring at?” She grabbed her Kate Spade handbag from the mantel and hooked it over her shoulder. “I always get cold in courthouses.”

  Right.

  We hurried down to the lake and boarded the plane. Ally turned the ignition. Nothing happened. There was zero noise and the propeller didn’t spin.

  “What the hell?” Ally tapped on the instrument panel. “Don’t you dare give me trouble, not now!”

  She tried again several times to no avail.

  I pointed to the red flashing icon. “What does this mean?”

  “We’re out of gas?” Ally cursed. “Impossible! I know we had to circle several times before we landed, but we fueled up before we took off!”

  The leaden clouds were drifting in and the first flurries of snow danced in the wind. We could’ve radioed for help, but by the time someone came to get us, it would be too late. The weather would be too bad to fly and the hearing would be over.

  “I can’t believe it.” Ally groaned. “I’ve never miscalculated my fuel before. Talk about horrible timing.”

  “At least you’re not in the air.”

  Anya’s observation gave me the shivers.

  “Dammit.” Ally turned to me. “All the other airplanes are gone from the lake. Why is it always feast or famine? What are we going to do?”

  “Do you have a truck?” I asked Anya.

  “It’s parked fifteen miles away by the gravel road,” she said. “In summer I get to it on my ATV. In winter, I go by snow machine.”

 
Some days, Alaska was one humongous, cumbersome chore.

  I opened the door and, jar in hand, clambered out of the Cessna. “Come on, people.” I started up the hill. “Which will be faster, the ATV or the snow machine?”

  “It’ll have to be the ATV.” Anya led us to the shed. “The snow machine is out of gas and the snow is not very deep. One problem.” Anya threw open the door of the shed, to show a small single-rider Kawasaki. “We might be able to fit two of us on there, but not three.”

  The world conspired against me.

  “You go with Anya,” I said to Ally.

  Ally shook her head, whipping her ponytail in the air. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

  “She needs to travel to Anchorage in order to testify,” I said. “If you don’t leave right now, the weather will turn bad and we’ll all be stuck here. You need to go with Anya on the ATV, get her truck, and drive to your family’s hangar, wherever that is. Once there, you’ll get another plane or a helicopter to take you to Anchorage. It’s the only way Anya will make it on time.”

  “But I don’t want to leave you behind,” Ally said. “Besides, Seth won’t like it. He’ll kill me.”

  “Then let’s make sure he’s free to kill you, and me, if he wishes.” I herded her to the ATV. “If Anya gets to the hearing, he’s sure to go free.”

  “You go,” Ally said. “I’ll stay.”

  “You’re the Erickson,” I said. “They’ll give you an airplane, not me or Anya. And who’s going to pilot that plane if no pilots are about?”

  Ally let out a disgusted groan.

  “She’s right.” Anya straddled the ATV, dug the key out of her designer bag, and turned the machine on. “If we leave now, we’ve got a chance. Come on, Ally. Get on.”

  “Dammit.” Ally hesitated. “You need to stay put, Summer. Don’t go anywhere. Okay?”

  “Where the heck am I going to go?” Not to the outhouse, that was for sure. I planned to run to the cabin, pee in a bucket, and stay inside for good. No bears for me. Or moose. No, thank you.

  “Don’t move from this location.” Ally put on her knit hat. “If it starts snowing, make a fire. Can you make a fire?”

  I’d never tried. “Sure, yes, get going.”

  “Don’t burn down my house.” Anya waggled a gloved finger in the air. “And don’t make a mess either.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ll come get you as soon as I can,” Ally said, stuffing her hands in her gloves. “If the weather gets really bad, it may be a day or two.”

  “There’s food in the pantry,” Anya said, “and pickled fish in the cellar.”

  Great. “I’ll deal with it.”

  “Here.” Anya pulled something from her purse and offered it to me.

  “A handgun?” I’d never held a gun before and I didn’t think it was a good idea to start today. As clumsy as I was, the chances of me shooting my nose off were way too high. How come everyone in Alaska carried guns everywhere?

  “Do you even know how to shoot?” Ally said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I won’t need it.”

  “All you have to do is take off the safety, like this.” Anya demonstrated. “Cock the weapon, point and shoot. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I tucked the thing in my jacket pocket. “Please, just...go!”

  Anya revved the engine. Ally squeezed in behind Anya. I handed her the jar of pickled fish.

  “Don’t drop it,” I said.

  “I won’t.” She flashed me a crooked smile and waved. “Be back in a cinch.”

  Anya pushed the throttle and off they went, bouncing over the rough terrain. As soon as I lost sight of them, I made for the cabin and closed the door behind me. I also barred it for good measure. There were no door chains on Anya’s house. I’d never dealt with door bars before. I tied them down with some nylon ropes I found under the sink, then crossed my fingers hoping that if I fell asleep, I’d be a klutz at unraveling them in my sleep.

  I hung my jacket on the rack and picked up a book from Anya’s shelf, Athabaskan Tales from Alaska. I said a little prayer that the weather would hold off, that Anya and Ally would make it on time, and that Seth would be all right. Then I settled on the couch for the wait, however long it was going to be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up on the couch to the sound of the wind rattling the shutters. The weak, whitish light announced that it was late afternoon and the snow had begun falling. In contrast, a dark figure leaned over me. A quiet click echoed in the cabin and the cold barrel of a gun pressed against my forehead. The blood chilled in my veins.

  “Who are you?” My voice sounded calm and collected, even though I was anything but. “What do you want?”

  “Get up,” the man said.

  I got up from the couch slowly. My senses kicked in. Was this man a burglar, looking for money, food or gear? Was he a rapist or psychopath?

  I forced myself to function. “Why are you here?”

  “Be quiet,” he said. “Just do what I say. Are you armed?”

  I leveled a defiant gaze at him. “Why would I tell you if I were?”

  “Don’t play games with me.” He tapped his gun’s muzzle against my belly. “Spread ’em.”

  I inched my feet aside and raised my arms. He patted me down, running his hands up my legs and squeezing my breasts with unnecessary harshness.

  “Nice.” He leered. “Too bad I can’t use you, but this one’s strictly about the job.”

  The job?

  The picture of my punctured brake lines walloped my mind. I’d never given much credit to Seth’s concerns about an assassination attempt, mostly because I could think of no possible reason why someone would want to kill me. Until now. I forced myself to pay attention.

  The man facing me was average in every way, early fifties, fit, brown eyes, clean-shaven, hawkish nose, and a neutral accent. He wore a beanie, a black jacket, and dark snow pants, similar to the attire of the thug from the grainy clip that Seth had showed me. The shiver that prickled my spine resonated in my body like a fire alarm. My gut turned to ice.

  “Who put you up to this?” I said.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He sneered. “Get your coat.”

  “My coat?” I glanced out the window. “Are you crazy? It’s snowing.”

  “Shut up and do what I say.”

  “But—”

  He barked. “Just do it!”

  His breath gusted over my face. I imagined a rotten caribou carcass stunk less. I gulped, but I had trouble swallowing. I moved slowly toward the coat stand, keeping my eyes on him. I made a slow show of putting on my coat.

  “How did you know where to find me?” I said. “Did you follow me here?”

  “I watch the news,” he said. “Following you was the easy part.”

  So he’d known about Seth’s troubles. Seth had been right. I’d been safe and out of reach while at his house. But with Seth out of the way and me out and about, I’d become easy prey. The thug had followed me to Star Lake, perhaps in one of the airplanes we saw on the lake. I decided to take a chance.

  “Look, if somebody is paying you to do this, I can do better.”

  “Doubt it,” he said. “You’ve got next to nothing to your name. I did my homework.”

  The tone. The look. The research. This man was indeed a professional.

  Had he disabled Ally’s Cessna in order to force our party to split up and strand me in this isolated place? Of course. He’d tampered with my rental car. It made perfect sense that he’d messed with the plane as well. Not only was he a hired killer, he was a competent hired killer, who did his research and planned carefully. And he’d been paid to kill me. Why?

  I had no clue, b
ut one thing was for sure: from where I stood, things weren’t looking good.

  I bolted down the hallway, fumbling with my front pocket. I pulled on the zipper, but it jammed. The damn thing wouldn’t budge. The man caught up with me and slammed me against the wall. The pictures of Anya’s seven sons fell and the frames shattered on the floor.

  “Don’t.” He held me against the wall. “I don’t want any unnecessary bruising.”

  “For me or for you?” I slammed my knee between his legs.

  The man crumpled on the ground. I ran, but I had to slow down to untie the rope on the door bar. Hurry! I glanced behind me. He came after me, face set with fury, eyes watering with fresh pain. I undid the last knot, hurled the two-by-four at him and sprinted out of the cabin, running into the beginnings of a blizzard, still fumbling with my jacket’s stubborn zipper.

  He tackled me. I fought back, but he was too strong. With a punch to the midriff, he knocked the breath out of me. Hard to fight back without air in the lungs. I squirmed on the deck like a fish out of the water.

  “Be still.” He held me down while he tied my hands behind my back with the zip ties he pulled out of his pocket. “You were supposed to be a soft target.”

  He didn’t know me if he thought I’d be a soft target. I might’ve told him that if I could, but it was hard to speak when you couldn’t breathe.

  He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me down the path toward the lake. By then, the sun had set and fast-moving clouds obscured the light of a shy moon. The chilling air didn’t make it any easier to inhale. The wind hauled a mournful warning to my ears.

  I wrestled with the ties around my hands, trying to make some sense out of his actions. If he was going to kill me anyway, why take the trouble of putting on my coat and dragging me out of the house? Why didn’t he just shoot me instead?

  He didn’t want my death to look like a murder. That’s why he didn’t want any bruising. It also explained why he hadn’t raped, strangled, or shot me in the cabin. Whoever had paid him to kill me wanted my death to look like an accident.