A Grave Denied Part 23

"Yeah, dead last," he said, laughing a little. "Way behind the land, that's for d.a.m.n sure."

"You going to do it?"

He shrugged. "It's a prime piece of land, great view, all cleared and ready. It'd amount to taking out a lifetime lease, with no buildup of equity. But h.e.l.l, I'll have all I need on retirement. Yeah, I'll probably take her up on it." His eyes glinted. "Build me a comfy little house where I can entertain."

"Or not," she said.

"Not an option," he said, and smiled.

"What?" she said.

The smile widened. She'd never trusted that grin; it always made her think of the first pa.s.s of gray fins in deep blue water.

"What?" she said again.

"This dance we do," he said. "See Kate. See Kate run. See Jim chase Kate. We going to get tired of this anytime soon?"

It was kind of silly, now she came to think of it. "Habit, I guess," she said.

"My problem is I'm competing with a ghost," Jim said.

She stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's true," he said, almost in despair, or as close to it as proper macho feeling would permit. "Tell me something. Isn't there one thing Jack did that drove you insane? Did he flush spit between his teeth instead of floss? Did he fart in public? Did he sing outside the shower? Anything?"

She thought about it, really hard, for a few moments. Finally, she said, "He couldn't drive a stick s.h.i.+ft."

"What?"

"He couldn't drive a stick s.h.i.+ft to save his life," she said. "First gear, we'd jerk down the street like the car had Parkinson's."

Jim started to smile.

"Second gear, the jolt would throw me against the seat belt so hard I'd bruise my breastbone. Getting into third was a little easier, although he always went there before he had enough revs and we'd slow way down and everybody in back of us would honk. And he never, not once did he ever find reverse on the first try."

Jim was grinning now.

It was odd, but she had the feeling that Jack was grinning right along with him. Kate was not usually a creature of impulse, but then she'd hate to be called predictable, either. She stepped forward and was pleased to see that the shark's grin had faded. "What?" he said, not without apprehension.

She stood on tiptoe and slid a hand around his neck, enjoying the surprise in his eyes. With her other hand she pulled off his cap and tossed it behind her. "Shut up and kiss me," she said.

He did, to such purpose that neither of them heard the vehicle pull to a stop behind them.

"Excuse me," Billy Mike said apologetically, "but really, guys. You might want to take it indoors."

They looked over his shoulder and found the entire staff of the Niniltna Native a.s.sociation crowded into Billy's Ford Explorer, faces peering inquisitively out the windows. Auntie Joy even waved.

Monday, May 12 The RV's okay, I guess. It's got a shower, but since the pump burned down with the cabin we have to haul water up from the creek. I never want a shower that bad, but Kate's awful picky that way. Man.

The RV isn't level, either. I'm sleeping in the bunk over the steering wheel and this morning I woke up mashed against the far wall. All you have to do is inhale and the whole thing shakes.

But it's got a roof. Plus it's free.

I don't know if Kate has enough money to build a new cabin. I know Dad had an insurance policy and I was the beneficiary, but Kate would never let a dime of that go for anything here. I bet we could sell the town house in Anchorage and use that money for anything we wanted here, but she won't touch that, either. And I'm not even going to college. Man. Women.

As long as I live I will never forget Kate facing down Mom across that table. Kate is-she's-I don't know how to describe her. I remember Dad said once, "Trust me, kid, it's always better to have Kate Shugak on your side than on somebody else's." Boy, was he right. She always knows the right thing to do, and then she does it. How many people are like that? She even scares me sometimes, she's so fearless. And smart. And beautiful.

Jim Chopin thinks so, too. I can't tell if she likes him, too, or not. I hope not. He's not good enough for her. n.o.body is.

There are a bunch of snowshoe hares living on the other side of the creek behind the big stand of cottonwoods. Lepus america.n.u.s, Lepus america.n.u.s, according to the ADF&G Wildlife Notebook. They can grow up to twenty inches long and get as big as four pounds. I was up early this morning (Kate was tossing and turning and the whole RV was shaking so I couldn't sleep) and I went outside to write in my journal and I could see them from where I was sitting on the rock. There's an open s.p.a.ce that is kind of sandy and they were running around and into each other and chasing each other and I think their tails. This afternoon after school I went to Dinah's and looked them up on the Internet and the notebook says they're most active at dusk and dawn. I'll say. If Mutt had been there she wouldn't have to eat again for weeks. The Wildlife Notebook says that the hare is a primary food source of the lynx. Man, I'd love to see a lynx. It also says that the hare competes with the moose for forage. I'd love to see a snowshoe hare go up against a moose for a willow twig, too. according to the ADF&G Wildlife Notebook. They can grow up to twenty inches long and get as big as four pounds. I was up early this morning (Kate was tossing and turning and the whole RV was shaking so I couldn't sleep) and I went outside to write in my journal and I could see them from where I was sitting on the rock. There's an open s.p.a.ce that is kind of sandy and they were running around and into each other and chasing each other and I think their tails. This afternoon after school I went to Dinah's and looked them up on the Internet and the notebook says they're most active at dusk and dawn. I'll say. If Mutt had been there she wouldn't have to eat again for weeks. The Wildlife Notebook says that the hare is a primary food source of the lynx. Man, I'd love to see a lynx. It also says that the hare competes with the moose for forage. I'd love to see a snowshoe hare go up against a moose for a willow twig, too.

I told Kate about how crazy they were acting and I asked her if they maybe had hydrophobia or something. She laughed and said no. I think she's spent a lot of time on that rock herself, watching the bunny rabbits go berserk.

Only two more weeks of school. Yay. I asked Van if she could remember anything more about Len Dreyer but she clammed up on me. I wonder if Kate missed something up at his cabin. We've been finding stuff around here that didn't burn all the way up, even some books that were in the loft and only smell like smoke, you can still read them and everything.

Somebody ought to go look.

15.

It was a big RV, a Winnebago, with a bunk over the cab and a double bed in back. There was a toilet, sink, and shower in the bathroom, a refrigerator beneath the counter, a propane stove, a small sink with running water, and a fixed table between two padded booths that would let down into a third bed if they needed it.

That was the good news. The bad news was that the window next to the table looked out on the charred ruin that had been her cabin.

It was Tuesday morning and Johnny had just headed out to school on Kate's four-wheeler, after a spirited attempt to talk her into letting him take the pickup. "You're fourteen," she'd told him. "I'm just guessing on this, but I think the state would like you to wait a couple of years before you start riding around alone in my truck."

"Roger Corley drives his father's truck to school," Johnny said pugnaciously.

In a perverse way she was enjoying the argument. Now that he had seen her fight dirty for him, now that he knew she was going to stick by him, he was testing her the way any ordinary teenager pushed the envelope with the most convenient adult. "One, you aren't Roger Corley. Two, I'm not Ken Corley. Three, the Corleys live half a mile from the school, not twenty-five miles. Four, you're fourteen. You haven't even got your permit yet."

"But-"

"No," she said, and smiled. She'd watched friends who were parents deal with adolescents, and it appeared to her that in these kinds of situations a cheerful, uncomplicated, and definitive "no" had the most chance of success.

It worked, this time anyway. He sulked all the way out to the four-wheeler and yanked on the helmet she insisted he wear. She noticed he took a spare. Probably for Vanessa c.o.x. She wondered how the girl was getting along with the Hagbergs. Well, she looked clean, even if her clothes were Early American Depression, and well fed, even if Johnny did say that Vanessa ate a lot of PB&J. Telma might be dotty but she was still capable of adequate childcare. Still, Kate made a mental note to invite Vanessa over on a Sat.u.r.day when she would be making her justly famous moose stew.

Except, of course, that she had no pots and pans left, no spices, and no canned goods with which to cook a meal. The RV had camping gear, suitable for freeze-dried food bought in foil envelopes from REI, but not much else. She looked down at the list she was making. Pots and pans. Dishes. She wondered if anyone even made the heavy ceramic fisherman's mugs anymore. Flatware. Utensils.

Music. Her tape player was a lump of melted plastic, and her tapes were literally toast. She'd rescued the rifle, the guitar, and the the photo alb.u.m, but her books, oh, her books. Gone, almost all of them, gone. She'd stopped briefly into Twice Told Tales Sat.u.r.day afternoon and grabbed up a bag full of books, but they wouldn't last her long. A lot of the science fiction, like F.M. Busby's Bran and Rissa series and Zenna Henderson's People stories, was long out of print. Not to mention photo alb.u.m, but her books, oh, her books. Gone, almost all of them, gone. She'd stopped briefly into Twice Told Tales Sat.u.r.day afternoon and grabbed up a bag full of books, but they wouldn't last her long. A lot of the science fiction, like F.M. Busby's Bran and Rissa series and Zenna Henderson's People stories, was long out of print. Not to mention Little Fuzzy, Rite of Pa.s.sage, Little Fuzzy, Rite of Pa.s.sage, and anything written by Georgette Heyer. Rachel thought that the Heinlein juveniles were still available and had promised to start looking in Anchorage and on the Internet for those and other tides, but some of Kate's books had been with her since she'd discovered recreational reading in college, and she didn't know if they could be replaced. and anything written by Georgette Heyer. Rachel thought that the Heinlein juveniles were still available and had promised to start looking in Anchorage and on the Internet for those and other tides, but some of Kate's books had been with her since she'd discovered recreational reading in college, and she didn't know if they could be replaced.

Still. Thanks to the kindness of their friends, they weren't homeless, they weren't hungry, and they weren't by any means dest.i.tute. They had clothes, courtesy of Dinah's computer and the United States Postal Service. Her tools and vehicles were unharmed. The good weather was holding, fair and dry. She supposed she should get a shovel out of the garage and start digging out the rubble and pegging out a floor plan for a new foundation. She'd never built a house before, and she was a lot better with engines than she was with cabinetry, but there was no way she could afford to hire a contractor out of Ahtna or Anchorage, and since Len Dreyer's death there was no one else in the Park. She supposed she could rent Mac Devlin's D-6 and just push the remains on out to her dump in the woods, but the trail to the dump was just wide enough for a four-wheeler in summer and a snow machine in winter and a blade would take out a lot of the trees on either side. She hated the thought of widening the path and taking out trees for no good reason.

She had to get a move on. Summer days were long but the season was short, and she and Johnny ought to be under a roof of their own before cold weather set in again.

She pushed the list to one side and took up another. It seemed the more she investigated the events leading up to Len Dreyer's death, the more suspects she had. Detection was usually a process of elimination, not accretion, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was spinning her wheels. "Okay, Shugak," she muttered to herself, "think it out."

On the floor Mutt stirred.

"Listen up," Kate told her. "Maybe you'll catch something I missed." She drew a fresh sheet toward her and began a timeline, starting at the bottom with Dreyer's death and working up, on the theory that if she looked at the facts upside down they might reveal something new. "Means we've got. Dreyer was killed by a single blast from a shotgun fired at point-blank range. Ballistics thinks it might have been an older shotgun, which is just peachy, since every shotgun I've ever seen in the Park dates back to the gold rush."

Mutt made a valiant attempt at interest.

"Don't try so hard," Kate told her. "We know from the ME that Dreyer's been dead since fall, best guess late September, although there is leeway in both directions because he wintered under a glacier and that tends to affect the preservation-slash-deterioration of human tissue. He could have been left outside a night or two before he got stashed, or he could have been stuffed under the glacier the day he was shot. With me so far?"

Mutt c.o.c.ked an ear.

"That, of course, is going to be the main problem in narrowing down opportunity. If we don't know exactly when Dreyer was killed, it doesn't matter who was doing what where and when in the Park last fall."

Mutt c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

"I know what you're thinking," Kate told her, "you're thinking all we have to do is find a good, convincing motive strong enough to push someone into murder. Well, let me tell you, missy, there's motive so thick on the the ground I'm needing to get out my shovel." She began to list names. ground I'm needing to get out my shovel." She began to list names.

"In May, Dreyer did some remodeling on Gary Drussell's house so Gary could sell his homestead and move to Anchorage. While he was there, Dreyer molested Gary's youngest daughter. Gary knows it. So does Fran. I don't know about the other two daughters, but sisters tend to talk to each other, and even if these sisters didn't, I'm betting the first thing Gary did when he found out was ask the other two if Dreyer had molested them, too. All five Drussells have motive." She tapped the pencil on the table. "I wonder when Gary found out. Right away, do you think? Or after they moved to Anchorage? Or sometime in between?"

She looked at Mutt. "I ask because I can see Gary catching Dreyer in the act and blasting him with a shotgun. h.e.l.l, I can see myself doing that. But what if he found out after the fact, like maybe not until fall, oh, say, September. Would he take his shotgun and get on a plane and come to the Park, kill Dreyer, hide his body beneath Grant Glacier, and leave? It argues a certain amount of cold-bloodedness that I'm not sure Gary Drussell is capable of."

Mutt bared her teeth ever so slightly.

"Yeah, yeah," Kate told her. "He could have hired you."

Mutt yawned.

"But he didn't." She thought. "I'm not a father, but if Dreyer had gone for boys, and if he'd even looked at Johnny... Okay. Let's move on." She examined her notes. "Now we come to Bernie my-idiot-friend Koslowski, full-time and well-respected Park businessman, bartender, hotelier, and basketball coach, and part-time fool-arounder. He had what I think was a fairly serious affair-serious for Bernie, anyway-with Laurel Meganack. Laurel broke up with him because his marriage kept him from spending time with her. Shortly thereafter, she slept with Len Dreyer."

Mutt sneezed.

"Let's not quibble," Kate told her. "She seduced him on the floor of the cafe kitchen, all right? My question is, is that enough to drive Bernie to murder? Of course not. But then along about-surprise! -September, Bernie hires Dreyer to regravel the paths between the cabins and the Roadhouse, at which time Enid, Bernie's wife, seduces Dreyer, not once but twice."

Mutt wore an expression of worldly wisdom.

"You're right, of course," Kate said. "Enid probably only slept with him the second time because Bernie didn't catch them at it the first time. Not to be crude, but I wonder that Dreyer, with a record in very young things, could even get it up for Enid. Enid is tubby, gray-haired, and wrinkled. She looks sixty-five if she looks a day." More tapping of the pencil. "Okay, Bernie catches him in the act, and the only surprise there is that Enid is more upset that Bernie isn't upset than she is that Bernie caught her cheating."

She bent a stern look upon her four-footed friend. "My question to you is this: Was Bernie's lack of emotion when he caught Enid a put-on? Was he hiding how he really felt just to hurt back, and was he even then plotting a revenge involving the business end of a shotgun? Or" -Kate raised an admonitory finger-"was he still angry that his ex-girlfriend, one Ms. Laurel Meganack, slept with Len Dreyer? Did he perhaps feel a tad more proprietary toward the new cafe wench than he did his own wife? Did that feeling surpa.s.s any feeling he had about catching Enid in the act with Len, thus explaining his non-reaction reaction? Perhaps finding Enid with Len put the finis.h.i.+ng touch on what he knew about Len and Laurel; perhaps finding Enid and Len together brought it all back and moved him finally to act. He knew all about the glacier from the bar talk every night, it would have been an obvious place to hide a body. Especially in the late fall, when you can't count on the bears to clean up after you."

Bernie was the source of many good, shrink-wrapped things to eat and Mutt wasn't about to rat him out. She pretended to fall asleep.

"My feelings exactly," Kate said. "Still. Have to keep him on the list." She considered. "How about Enid? No. There's no motive there. Dreyer had served his purpose when Bernie caught them, she was done with him, and it wasn't like killing Dreyer would hide their, what, affair is too strong a word. Two-night stand."

Mutt's ear twitched.

Kate considered her notes. "And lest we forget," she said, "there are the two strangers in our midst, Mr. Keith Gette and Mr. Oscar Jimenez, who urgently needed their greenhouse repaired first thing last spring. We have been to the old Gette homestead, Mutt. I think we both know what they're growing in that greenhouse."

Mutt looked up and wrinkled her nose.

"Exactly." Kate brooded. "Here this slob inherits a perfectly good homestead from his deceased cousins and the first thing he and his buddy do is start a commercial dope farm. I mean, really. He might have done a little market research first, there's no way he's going to move that much weed in the Park, and if he decides to wholesale it in Alaska, it's not like he can sell it out of the back of a pickup truck. I mean you can do that with Avon's Skin-So-Soft, but there's a market for Skin-So-Soft in mosquito season."

Mutt looked patient.

Kate held up a hand, palm out. "I know, I know, I'm getting off the subject. My point is that if Dreyer saw what they were planting in that greenhouse, he could have blackmailed them to keep quiet about it. He probably wouldn't have called it blackmail, of course, maybe just a small loan from time to time to keep him in beer. But they could have gotten tired of it."

Mutt emitted a noise somewhere between a snort and a yip.

"You think it would have taken more than a summer's worth of floating him loans for them to get tired enough of it to shoot him? May I remind you who held a shotgun on whom when we went up to the Gette place?"

Mutt lifted her lip in a sneer.

"True," Kate admitted. "I don't think that shotgun of Jimenez's has been fired since the Eisenhower administration, either. Still. They had motive, d.a.m.n it. I'm putting them on the list."

Mutt laid her head back down, apparently defeated, but Kate knew better. She sat back and gazed out of the window, for the first time not seeing the burnt ruin that had been her home, which was at least one good thing to put to Dreyer's credit. From high overhead an eagle called, a haunting, high-pitched sound, just before she plummeted down to s.n.a.t.c.h up a leveret from one of the snowshoe hares' broods across the creek. The baby hare hadn't lived long enough to learn caution in the open. He would never learn it now.

"You know," Kate said, "it occurs to me that Len Dreyer had the perfect job for a predator. He ran tame in and out of every home in the Park. He saw us all in our jammies and bunny slippers and bed hair. He saw husbands fighting with their wives and kids beating up on their siblings. He knew who was having trouble paying the bills and who was drinking too much. A perfect opportunity for a predator. He could watch and wait and strike when it best suited him, because he would know when he was least likely to be caught."

She looked at Mutt, who had sat up and fixed her with a steady yellow gaze. "He targeted young girls, prep.u.b.escent, slight of build. The women he slept with were of a similar physical type. I think we can rule out Enid and Laurel as contributory to his standard, as they seduced him." The news about Dreyer's real ident.i.ty and past conviction would, given the reality of the Bush telegraph, soon be known across the Park. She didn't want to be anywhere near Enid or Laurel when they heard it. "We should concentrate on the places we know he worked, where girls and women of that general description lived. There could be other parents besides Gary Drussell with a motive for murder."

She shuffled through her notes and read down the list she had compiled that morning, combining what she had discovered from Bernie and Bonnie and the information that Dandy had culled from his ex-girlfriends.

In May, Dreyer/Duffy worked for the Drussells, during which time Kate was certain he had a.s.saulted the youngest daughter. Early June saw him rototilling the Hagbergs' garden, a yearly ch.o.r.e, and he was back a month later putting in a foundation for an outbuilding, in company with Dandy Mike. In July he also repaired the Gette greenhouse.

In August he did some work on George's hangar, and installed Bonnie Jeppsen's new toilet.

The week before Labor Day he had worked a day for Laurel Meganack, down at the cafe. Kate wondered if he'd billed for a full eight hours or if he'd knocked off an hour for when Laurel had jumped him.

He seen some action that week, because that was the same week he worked on the paths around the Roadhouse, at which time he slept with Enid Koslowski twice, or at least Enid slept with him. Bernie had been forthcoming with the former information if not the latter, but however indifferent he was to the event, it was not a story he had cared to repeat to Kate. Possibly because he knew that he had triggered it by getting a little too serious about his affair with Laurel Meganack.

Later that month Old Sam had flown Dreyer/Duffy and Dandy Mike to Cordova to do some maintenance on the Freya. Freya. Kate knew a moment's annoyance that Old Sam hadn't hired her on instead, and then she remembered that she had only just returned from a summer in Bering, and had arrived to find Johnny Morgan on her doorstep to boot. In a rare moment of compa.s.sion Old Sam must have decided that she had enough on her plate. Kate knew a moment's annoyance that Old Sam hadn't hired her on instead, and then she remembered that she had only just returned from a summer in Bering, and had arrived to find Johnny Morgan on her doorstep to boot. In a rare moment of compa.s.sion Old Sam must have decided that she had enough on her plate.

In October Dreyer/Duffy had res.h.i.+ngled Bobby's roof, finis.h.i.+ng up on October 22nd.

Neither she nor Jim nor Dandy had been able to find anyone who had seen Dreyer/Duffy alive after that date.

She thought for a while about the girlfriends. In the Park there was Susie Brainerd, Cheryl Wright, Betsy Kvasnikof, and Laurel Meganack. Vicky Gordaoff in Cordova.

She thought about Vicky Gordaoff. She was one of those eighteen-year-olds who looked like they'd just started the seventh grade, or at least that was Kate's recollection of her. Kate remembered Dreyer/Duffy as being well-spoken, not unintelligent, with a certain dry humor. And a lot of women had a thing for guys with tools; there was just something so capable about them, it led women to wonder what else they were good at. Vicky was young and impressionable, and there was the added coup of an older man noticing her, especially if her friends were watching.

It might behoove Kate to check into Vicky's life a little, see if there had been a jealous boyfriend or a disapproving father. But then she could say that about all the women he'd slept with.

There was a gingerly sort of knock on the door that caused the whole RV to shake slightly. A look through the window found George Perry standing on the chunk of twelve-by-twelve doorstep someone had thoughtfully placed there. "Hey, George," she said, opening the door.

"Woof!" Mutt said, on her feet and tail wagging vigorously.

"You didn't even see me coming," he said. "Shouldn't you be on the lookout? Didn't somebody just try to barbecue you recently?"

"Woof!" Mutt said again, emphatically.