Down River (11 page)

Lisa said, “Being tailed and having my condo and car bugged with a listening device was a pretty good hint someone meant business. But it was a key case, Graham, with important repercussions to expose people in high places. We would have both stuck with it—”

“Except then,” he interrupted, “when you didn’t stick together personally, everything changed. Then, with Mitch leaving, I just couldn’t have you alone on that case, Lisa.”

“I’m glad you took her off it,” Mitch admitted, “but Jonas could have come on board. I was surprised you got permission from the court to withdraw from the case, yet didn’t report the harassment we were getting. Frankly, I was afraid someone had gotten to you—threatened you—to make you back off.”

For a moment Graham looked furious. His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed, but he quickly got control of himself. “No, nothing like that,” he insisted, shaking his head and finally letting go of their arms.

“Yeah, but I could smell a distant rat behind our client’s maneuverings,” Mitch argued. “I just wonder how far the stench would have gone up the trail if we’d pursued it.”

“
Up
the trail?” Graham challenged. “I’d say more like
down
to the dregs of society. Some sort of mobster or even foreign scum. So, did you two ever find—”

“Okay, mushers, let’s go!” Spike’s voice resounded. “And remember the key term for when you want your dogs to start running. I’m not gonna say it yet, or you’ll be chasing your sleds. You’ll shout the word. And don’t use it unless you’re set for a big jerk into action.”

Lisa, Mitch and Graham went over to the starting line. “Just remember, hang on,” Spike repeated. “Lisa, your sled is over there on that far side, Jonas in the middle, Vanessa here.”

As she’d seen Spike do, Lisa climbed up on the back runners. They were plenty wide for her feet but were off the ground the height of the eight-inch wheels. She gripped the bar as he’d showed them and pressed the brake hard, to see how much it gave. “All right, boys and girls,” she said to her team of four jumpy dogs, in the calmest but sternest voice she could manage, “we’re going to win this race.”

“Lisa,” Jonas said beside her. “Graham’s going to take pictures of me for Emerson, so could you and I switch sleds? That way I’d be on the outside where he can get better shots.”

“I guess so,” she said. “The sleds all look the same.”

She jumped down and switched with him, talking now to these four eager dogs. Had Spike put Jonas between her and Vanessa’s sleds because the middle team needed stronger handling, or had it been random? Whatever. She could handle the middle position.

Spike had his back to them as he talked to Vanessa. Did she need extra instructions or courage? Lisa heard her say, “These pets of yours are way bigger than my chihuahua, that’s all!”

“These are working dogs!” Spike said, evidently not getting the humor. Then he bellowed, “Okay, everybody. Three, two, one—let’s go!”

Lisa managed to shout “Mush!” to her team before the others did. The dogs jerked and strained in their harnesses; the towline pulled taut. She shot out in front, but the other two teams were soon nearly even with hers. The lunging huskies got the sleds going fast, faster.

It was exhilarating. As fast as on the river, but, thank heavens over solid ground and green grass. She felt she was flying, like riding the outer edge of a huge cresting wave. A sense of power, her own and the dogs’, filled her. She held on for dear life, as Spike had said. Hang on—keep control. She had to
control her investigation into who pushed her, but keep Mitch on her side, too. The wind whipped her hair. Was that just from her speed, or was a storm coming up? Beyond the forest, the cumulous clouds looked like snow-topped trees, and the lofty Talkeetnas speared the endless azure sky.

The dip in the ground came closer, closer. The dogs took it at full speed, down—up. She bounced hard at the bottom, almost off the runners, but held on. Vanessa was way behind, and Jonas…

He gave a shout, almost a shriek. Lisa turned her head only to see him fly backward off the sled while his team rushed on, dragging their towline while his empty sled slowed and stopped. She stepped hard on the brake, shouting, “Halt! Halt!”

Vanessa’s dogs, then her sled, whizzed past as Lisa’s team slowed. She stood on tiptoe on her sled and windmilled her arm for help from the others, then jumped off and ran to Jonas. He lay flat on his back in the grassy swale, staring straight up at the sky, not moving. Was he in shock? Paralyzed?

“Jonas?” she cried, kneeling next to him. “Jonas, are you hurt?”

Nothing at first. No response. It brought back to her the way she felt when Mitch pulled her out of the river. Dazed. Scared.

Mitch and Spike, both out of breath, got to them first, just as Jonas blinked, then shut his eyes tight before opening them again. Groaning, he looked up into Lisa’s face, then, blessedly, moved his arms and legs.

“Not quite like the car wreck,” he said, “but damn near.”

“Thank God, you’re all right,” Mitch said, kneeling on his other side. “That’s never happened before. Let’s check for broken bones.”

Graham, Ellie and Christine arrived, pressing in, and Vanessa came running back from the finish line where her team had stopped at the straw bales.

“Is he all right?” Graham demanded as Mitch and Spike helped him sit up slowly. “Jonas, that’s going to be one hell of a picture for your boy to see.”

“Yeah. I think I’m fine—just surprised,” Jonas told them, moving his arms and legs again.

“Stand back and let him have a moment,” Mitch said.

Lisa walked to Jonas’s sled, where Spike was examining the towline. It was broken, but had it been chewed through, or even sawed apart? The end Spike held looked ragged. And no one had said so yet, but this sled was the one Spike had assigned to her.

When they all gathered in Spike’s living room over more coffee and a tray of Ginger’s cookies, Mitch was surprised that his old lawyer self rose to the surface. He knew Jonas could sue Spike or even him. Some attorneys were even more litigious than their clients.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Mitch asked Jonas again. “We can call for a doctor to check you out.”

“No, I’m fine,” Jonas told him. “If Lisa was fine
after her much worse ordeal, I’m more than fine.” They’d insisted he tilt back in Spike’s leather recliner; the other chairs were all straight-backed Sitka spruce. “My pride’s the only thing that’s hurt, but my boy’s going to get a good laugh out of it, and that’s worth something. Those dogs must have almost chewed through that old, traditional leather towline you like, and you didn’t spot it,” he said, turning to Spike. “But we learn a lot from our mistakes. No, just like Lisa who walked miles with her bruises and pain, I’m raring to go. And I think we’ve had enough so-called accidents for one trip.”

Spike looked like he wanted to defend his dogs, but he just nodded and mumbled that he was sorry. Actually, he was seething, because he thought he’d been set up, but Mitch had told him not to say anything about it, other than that he had no idea how the accident happened. Mitch’s eyes met Lisa’s across the pine-walled living room lined with aerial photos of Alaska. He wondered if she was thinking what he was—that Jonas might be using this accident to get attention, to draw it away from her harrowing river run. She’d been brave; now Jonas was making a comparison.

But could his former protégé have set himself up for this? Mitch agonized. Jonas had traded sleds with Lisa at the last minute, changing what Spike had arranged, so rigging the potential accident—for Lisa—could also fall on Spike’s shoulders. Or could Jonas have sawed through his own towline after the
dogs started out? Spike had whispered he was positive that sabotaged piece of leather was intact before the race. And it was really worrying him that Jonas had just called what happened to him as well as to Lisa a “so-called” accident.

Mitch told Jonas, “I can walk back and get the truck so you can ride to the lodge.”

“Hey, my man, I’m cool—really.”

“Then we’ll head back in about ten minutes,” Mitch announced, forcing a smile. “Now, don’t eat too many of Ginger’s great sugar cookies, because we’ll have a light lunch and then get some downtime this afternoon.”

Mitch went into the kitchen and slipped out the back door to get a minute to himself. He loved his new life and trusted his staff, but something bad was going on here. Two potentially injurious, possibly fatal events with his old friends and associates—both maybe aimed at Lisa. He needed to clear his head.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he looked up at the vast sky. As usual, it seemed to offer several scenarios—clear blue to the east, gray clouds coming in, and to the north he could almost imagine the early wisps of the aurora borealis they’d enjoy this winter. But would he really enjoy it anymore during those long nights after Lisa had come here, walked here, slept here—then gone. Though the day was still warm, he hunched his shoulders as the wind ruffled at his shirt and hair. It would really ruin his and Graham’s outdoor plans for these final days if the wind brought rain.

He turned to go back inside, but Graham stepped out, as if his thinking of the man had summoned him.

“Jonas is right,” Graham said, blocking his way and stepping out to push him back a bit. He talked fast and low. “We all learn from our mistakes. As desperate as he is for money, it may have been his mistake—or even setup—but don’t let on I said that. Anyway, I won’t let Jonas sue, so stop worrying.”

“You read me pretty well.”

“So, Jonas’s accident aside, how do you assess the way our three candidates reacted here today?”

Mitch cleared his throat, stalling to decide how forthright to be, then decided to just go with the truth, even though someone else here must be living a lie. Graham’s support had meant a lot to him over the years, and he had been honored when the Bonners decided to bring the firm’s business to him, especially after he’d deserted them. Besides betraying Lisa, letting Graham down then had also been hell.

“Lisa realized that understanding the dogs—maybe even bonding with them—was what mattered,” he told Graham. “Jonas and Vanessa walked the entire course to check out the lay of the land, which was good, but Spike had suggested that. Lisa went down partway, but she was doing more homework and independent thinking in what was a new situation.”

“True,” Graham agreed. “Points on all sides, but advantage Lisa—and I won’t call you prejudiced for her on that. Plus, she was willing to forfeit winning
the race to stop and help Jonas. Sympathy, empathy, whatever you want to call it, has always been one of her strengths, probably because of her own tragedy.”

Yeah, Mitch thought, unless it meant understanding and forgiving the man she’d promised to marry. But he said only, “Vanessa claimed she didn’t see Jonas was down.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No. I saw her turn back and look, but she must have either decided Lisa could handle it or that she wanted to win the race at any cost. And I think she was scared of the dogs, despite how two other women—Lisa and Christine—were making friends with them. But this outdoor life stuff is hardly Vanessa’s thing. She can come off as bold, almost brazen, but strange situations can scare her. I think she knows things aren’t black and white, but always sees potential problems in between.”

“As a lawyer, she’s got to learn to deal with the grays, then present them to a jury or judge as black and white, if need be. So the question is, if Vanessa lied to protect herself, is that a weakness or strength for being senior partner? Let’s face it, having a savvy Latina as senior partner’s a good move for the firm—a woman, and one who’s the right ethnic mix for South Florida,” Graham said.

“I’d like to think you’ll make your final decision on who will tell you the truth in any sort of a race or struggle—or when the pressure’s on in a case, black, white or gray.”

Graham’s steely eyes met Mitch’s steady stare.

“Mitch, a word to the wise.” Graham tapped his index finger on Mitch’s chest as he spoke. “Whether or not Jonas is milking this accident for all it’s worth to get attention today, if you take other bonding groups to Spike for sledding on grass or snow, make sure he examines his equipment. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and you are, so watch him. And I don’t want Ellie going up alone in that plane with him again,” he concluded and went back inside.

Mitch was glad he’d left, because his first instinct was to defend Spike. And he would defend him—and himself—if anything came of a potential lawsuit later, no matter what Graham had just promised. At least he’d jumped through the proper hoops to be able to practice law in this state. Sure, he needed to keep an eye on Spike, but on everyone else, including—as much as it hurt him to think it—Graham. And, evidently, he was just blowing it off that Jonas might have sabotaged his own towline so that he could milk the situation for his own benefit, despite the risk of injury. Jonas was a good athlete, a former college football player who no doubt knew how to take falls. If Graham knew all that, he wasn’t letting on. So, how truthful was his former mentor and boss in general?

Hell, Mitch groused silently as he headed back inside, once a suspicious lawyer, always a suspicious lawyer. But was someone after Lisa and/or Jonas? Was Vanessa to blame, or was she next in someone’s
vendetta? Or was all of this part of some sort of test he hadn’t been clued in on, a secretive trial by the clever Graham Bonner?

What was that crazy quote from Shakespeare he’d thought of in the middle of the night when he was agonizing over keeping Lisa safe if someone really was out to hurt her?
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.

L
isa was really ready to talk to Mitch as she entered the library just before three that afternoon. She needed to have it out with him about Christine, Jonas—even something she’d noticed about Graham. So she was really disappointed to find Christine in the little room, dusting her dolls.

“Your dolls,” Lisa said, eyeing the door to the wine cellar. “I’ll bet they bring back memories.”

“I try to live in the here and now.”

“Well, I think they’re lovely, and I’m sure each tells a tale, or preserves some precious piece of the past.”

“You should have been a writer, not a lawyer.”

“Lawyers do a lot of writing.”

Lisa approached the four-foot-long shelf of dolls, none over one foot high. Most were of single adults, but there was a group of children with one child on a blanket four others were holding.

“What are the children doing with that blanket?” she asked, then realized she should just sit down and
pretend to read a book and not engage this woman in conversation. Maybe then Christine would leave. The woman reminded Lisa of the sort of elementary school teacher who had eyes in the back of her head. Mitch had said not to get upset if someone here kept her from coming down, but she was feeling so uptight about seeing him, frustrated but so eager.

“Blanket toss game,” Christine replied, blowing on the white fur parka of a female figure.

“I’ve heard of that. It must be fun and a little scary.”

“It is. I made it from a real piece of my own baby blanket.”

“I had one of those. I tried to give it to my baby sister once, but it had been washed so much it was pretty ratty at that point, and my mother said not to. It looks like all these clothes are so authentic—not that I’ve seen Yup’ik clothes.”

Christine nodded but Lisa saw her eyes fill with tears. “These are all made from coiled grass I picked, cured and dried,” she said. “Sewn with caribou sinew, seal skin
mukluks
on all their feet, just like full-sized ones. I carved their wooden faces with my knife. And these decorations,” she added, pointing to a dry, whitish material, “are scraped-out dried seal gut.”

Christine turned to look at her as she said that. Their faces were only a foot apart. “I’m really impressed,” Lisa said, not budging.

“You’re the first white person who didn’t say
ick
or
yuk
when I said that.”

“Cultures are different. I still think these are beautif—”

“Yup’iks believe in modesty. Cooperation, not competition, like what the Bonners have set up for all of you. That would be frowned on among my people, so I must not boast of my own work.”

“I agree that humility and cooperation are admirable, but my culture is losing that with its emphasis on self-esteem, getting ahead and besting the next guy.” As she said that, Lisa realized that she, too, had been caught up in that race, maybe a rat race. Where was the line between civilization and wilderness? And were things really different here?

“Since you understand, I will tell you more. This doll here,” Christine said, picking up one of a pretty girl in a beige parka with a black-and-white design, “is my ‘putting away doll,’ the one each girl stores when she has her first menstruation.” She put that back almost reverently and selected another one of a young girl who held a half-woven basket in one hand. It looked more worn that the others. “And this is a doll my mother was given as a child to replace a lost sister, just to play with, to hold in the night because of the death—

“What?” she asked as Lisa’s eyes brimmed with tears which, when she blinked, speckled her cheeks. “What did I say to—”

“I lost a sister, just a baby. Lost my mother at the same time in an accident—a drowning. I don’t tell many people. I just—That’s a lovely custom,” she
said, pointing at the doll again, then fumbling for a tissue in her jacket pocket.

To Lisa’s surprise, Christine turned to her and rested her big, strong hands on her shoulders. Lisa stiffened. Were they hands that had pushed her down the ridge into the river? Here, Lisa thought, she’d meant to draw this woman out to find out more about her past and she’d blurted out the defining moment—besides Mitch deserting her—of her own. She had to pull herself together and get down to see him.

“I’m sure you have things to get ready in the kitchen,” she told Christine, swiping her tears from under her eyes as the woman pulled her hands back. “I—If you don’t mind, I’ll just stay in here a few minutes.”

“Having some time to yourself can help,” Christine said with a solemn nod. “But being alone too much does not work in the long run. Here in Alaska, with so few folks for so many wide-open spaces, people need each other.”

“Yes, I see that, and not just because I would never have survived without Mitch in the river and the wilds. People here seem to have time for each other, back to the basics of living and friendship somehow. They seem open, honest and trustworthy.”

She studied the striking woman to see if there would be a flicker of uneasiness, guilt, even shame over what she’d just heard. But Lisa saw none of that in her face, body language or demeanor. And in trying to trap Christine, Lisa realized she’d been deceptive
herself and that she truly believed what she’d said about the Alaskans she’d met so far.

Christine’s gaze remained steady; she even nodded in understanding that made Lisa not mistrust this woman so much as her own past. Had she been superficial with others, too busy or afraid of loss to build deep relationships, maybe even with Mitch? And then, had she shut herself off even more when, like her mother and sister, he’d left her? Now she was suspicious of almost everyone here, when she wanted to be able to trust people more.

“I’ve gotta admit,” Christine said in a soft, steady voice, “despite some problems I’ve had, this lodge and this wilderness is right where I want to be and stay.”

Was that an inadvertent admission Christine had decided not to be alone and to protect her place here with Mitch at any cost? Was it a carefully, softly delivered threat, or was it more Alaskan straight talk, real life?

Here Lisa had been planning to accuse this woman to Mitch and she was coming to trust and like her. But then, she’d once felt the same way about the other suspects, too.

After Christine left her alone with only the dolls watching her, Lisa dried her eyes and blew her nose. She hoped Mitch was still waiting below for her, if he was down there at all. He had responsibilities and needed to keep all his guests happy—even the one he was trying to expose.

She opened the narrow wooden door a crack. A breath of chill air and wan light emanated from below. “Mitch?”

“Be careful on the steps.” His voice floated to her.

She saw the steps were actually large notches cut from a big, debarked tree trunk that slanted downward in a narrow passageway of hewn stone. The more she saw and learned about Duck Lake Lodge, the more she wished she’d known Mitch’s uncle John, the man who had left him this precious heritage.

She closed the door behind her and descended, keeping her hand on the cool, rough stone wall since there was no banister. Mitch appeared at the bottom of the steps and gave her a hand.

“I used to love this hideaway when I was a kid,” he told her. “I don’t share it with many people.”

She wondered if Christine had been down here, but of course, the chef and housekeeper could well have been. She saw the three walls of shelves were lit from behind. They were not tight to the stone walls but had space for a person to squeeze in behind, either to access wine bottles from both sides or to keep them dry if the walls were damp or cold. He gestured for her to follow him around a shelf, and she was in awe. It was like being in a dim cave with huge, backlit sparkling gems studding the stone. Or as if they were being watched by glowing ogre eyes of green and amber.

A vision flashed at her quick as lightning—her
mother’s eyes, green as the sea, staring at her through glassy water. She forced it away.

“Quite a collection,” she said, looking around. The room itself was only about five feet square, with one chair and an overturned crate for a table. They stood facing each other on the rough-hewn floor.

“A hobby of my uncle’s, but I’ve added to it,” he explained. “So, what did you think of the Jonas-fall-from-grace fiasco today? Spike says he’s positive all those leather towlines were in excellent working order and that the dogs had no chance to gnaw through one.”

“But he can’t prove it.”

“Did you see anything to make you think Jonas took the risk of cutting his towline?”

“I can’t be positive, but if I had to testify, I’d say it was intact when I was briefly on that sled before him. I was looking out at the dogs, talking to them, so I didn’t think to check on that. He’s the one who suggested we switch sleds, so Graham could get better pictures of him—which means we could ask to see those photos, try to tell if Jonas was bending forward to cut the line. Still, if they’re in his possession, he could have edited all that out by now. Like all three of us, he brought his laptop.” She heaved a heavy sigh.

“If he risked tampering with the sled, he’s desperate.”

“Someone’s desperate. But is that someone only after me? That was to be my sled, but only Spike
could have known that at first. But the point is, Jonas needs watching, not to mention Vanessa.”

“Graham warned me Spike does, too, but I know the guy. He wouldn’t screw up like that. I’ve worked with him ever since I’ve lived here, and knew him from before when he worked for my uncle.”

“Besides, Spike emphasized we mushers were to hold on to the handlebow at all costs, and Jonas didn’t do that. Even if the towline broke, he wouldn’t have toppled off if he’d held on, so he had to have let go.”

“You’re right. Whether he let go intentionally or not, one way or the other, he caused his own accident.”

“Speaking of Spike, you told me not to suspect your staff, but I looked up Christine and am glad I did. Mitch, I found out about the Kagak trial. And the fact you more or less lied to me about her past so—”

“I did not.”

“Oh, yeah, fine. Good, brief answer without offering anything else.”

She could see Mitch grit his teeth, then unclench his jaw muscles. He crossed his arms over his chest, jamming his fists under his armpits. “She asked me never to tell any of our guests, so I kept that promise. I was going to ask her permiss—”

“Well, I won’t tell anyone else, but I should have been told. Of course, I can see why you didn’t want me to know. Not only—yes, I know it was in self-defense—did she kill someone, but she pushed him down the stairs first. And she’s the only one who
knew when and where we were meeting on the ridge. Mitch, listen to the facts. She
pushed
him.”

But even as she said that, Lisa knew she was the one who felt guilty and torn. Hadn’t she and Christine just started to build some sort of woman-to-woman understanding upstairs, and now she was trying to accuse her of murder—another murder?

“I get your point,” Mitch said, “but too circumstantial, not enough connect-the-dots. Someone else could have seen you—anyone. Vanessa or Jonas, even the Bonners, looking out a window from the second floor when you walked away from the lodge alone.”

“But how much does Christine—or Spike—think I need to be punished for hurting you? Or want to scare me off or even eliminate me to be certain I don’t try to take you away from all this? Christine’s a quiet person, but smart and determined.” Again, she felt a stab of guilt, betraying her better judgment about Christine, but she had to pursue all possibilities.

“Forget the idea she thinks you could take me away from here. As for Spike, he’s not devious, not clever that way. Graham’s lectured me about Spike, and I don’t need you siding with the firm’s managing partner, who is too damn good already at managing people’s lives.”

Their voices kept rising, but the deep walls seemed to swallow up the sound. Lisa realized they were getting angry with each other again, going into their
argument mode, the one that could accelerate to accusations and rampaging emotion.

“So let’s look at Graham,” she insisted, desperate for answers at any cost. “If he has a vendetta against anyone, it would be you, not me or Jonas.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m just grasping at straws with Graham. But with Christine, Spike—even his sister, Ginger—who are obviously loyal to you for keeping the lodge going…they know I hurt you and rejected this life they love so much. Christine especially cares for y—”

“And I care for her, but not the way you’re implying.”

Hands on hips, she stepped closer to him, however forbidding he looked. “What am I implying?”

“Oh, hell, listen to us when we’re supposed to be on the same side. Two bickering lawyers. And certainly, Christine, as perceptive and protective of me as she is, knows there’s nothing between you and me anymore that way. Right?
Right?
There isn’t, is there?” he goaded, stepping closer also.

Their gazes held in the reflected light of the wine bottles. It was like a distorted rainbow down there…the reverse of somewhere over the rainbow. Lisa stood mesmerized, frozen with her hands on her hips. His arms were still crossed over his chest. The air between them in the little space seemed to vibrate. She wanted to hit him. She hated him.

They came together before she knew either of them would move, her arms tight around his neck, his hands
hard on her waist and bottom, caressing her, molding her flesh to his touch while their lips held, moved, demanded. Pressed to him breasts to chest, her hip bones to his hard thighs, the madness went on and on.

He backed her up as if he’d pin her against the wall, until the bottles behind them shifted and rattled. It was like being in the wilderness again without the rules of civilization, like riding a wild river wave. She ran her fingers through his hair as he clutched her to him so she could hardly breathe.

Yet they did breathe in unison, slanting their lips, missing noses, to get closer, closer. Tasting each other, devouring the painful past. She tingled all over, and a shiver wacked her.