A Grave Denied

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It could be two totally different things,“ Jim said, handing Kate a mug of coffee. She wasn’t cold. She didn’t understand why she was shivering so violently that the coffee threatened to spill over the rim. Reaction, she thought, clinging to the thought, and clamped her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter.

“We could have a firebug loose in the Park,” Jim said.

She managed to control the shivering enough to sip at the coffee. Made by Annie and poured from Billy’s thermos, it was strong and creamy and very sweet. Annie had laid on the sugar with a lavish hand. The shivering began to subside.

“We could be looking at someone going around starting fires for kicks,” Jim said.

Kate, wrapped in a blanket and ensconced in her red pickup with the engine running and the heater going full blast, finally found enough composure to where she was sure she wouldn’t stutter when she spoke. “One”-she held up one finger-“Len Dreyer was murdered, near as I can figure sometime last fall. Two. Len Dreyer’s cabin was torched, sometime after fall and before spring. Three, I’ve been asking questions about Len Dreyer all over the Park. Four, somebody torches my cabin.” She looked through the windshield.

It was seven o’clock according to the digital readout on the dash, and the light of the newly risen sun was merciless. The cabin wasn’t much more than a crumpled, smoking ruin. With difficulty, Kate said, “My father built that cabin when he homesteaded this land.”

“You could have been inside it when they torched it,” Jim said.

“He brought my mother to that cabin when they were married,” she said. Her voice was husky from the scar to begin with, and the smoke hadn’t helped.

“Johnny could have been inside it, too,” Jim said.

“They lived their whole married life in it. I was born in it. I’ve lived most of my life in it.”

“Don’t you get it!” he bellowed, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her, hard. The coffee went everywhere, unregarded. “If you’d been sleeping inside when they torched it, you’d be dead!” He stared at her, furious, and then he kissed her, hard, his hand at the back of her head so she couldn’t move. Faced with two hundred-plus pounds of thoroughly pissed off male, she was smart enough not to try. Besides, she wasn’t sure she was capable of forming a fist.

Billy Mike raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look,” his wife chided.

“Like hell,” Bobby said, and then gave in to the insistent tug of Dinah’s hand.

The four of them formed a semicircle, drinking coffee to ward off the morning chill and eating chunks of heavily buttered bread fresh out of the oven, also made and brought by Annie, who had kept baker’s hours all her life and with the advent of an adopted child into her home had neither the time nor the inclination to start changing things now. “Where are they going to stay?” she said.

“They can stay with us,” Bobby said, looking at Dinah.

“Sure, if they will,” she said. “They won’t. Kate for sure won’t.

Johnny might.“ She looked around. ”Where is Johnny, anyway?“

“Kate said he was camping out with a friend overnight. He’s okay.” Bobby looked at the pile of rubble, embers glowing red. “Or he will be until he sees this. Probably melted all his Aero-smith CDs. Darn.”

Dinah carefully avoided Annie’s eyes. Bobby’s abhorrence of any rock and roll recorded post-Credence Clearwater Revival was well-known.

“We could get her a trailer, or a camper,” Billy said. “Maybe an RV.” He thought. “Kenny Hazen’s got some big-ass Winnebago he goes fishing with down on the Kenai in August. He likes Kate. I bet he’d loan it to her, maybe until she gets a new cabin built.”

“Sounds like it might be a plan,” Bobby said, thinking it over. “How’s the road?” He was referring to the gravel road leading into the Park. It was graded twice a year, once in the spring and once in the fall, and the rest of the year left to fend for itself. In spring, it was death on the transaxel.

Billy winced. “They haven’t graded it yet. They want to wait until they’re sure it won’t snow again.”

Bobby snorted. “So basically we’re waiting until Memorial Day, like usual. Well, hell. I guess we could do the convoy thing, have a truck with a come-along on it before and another behind.”

Billy nodded. “That’d probably work.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Dinah said. “But ask Kate first.” She sneaked a glance over her shoulder. Ah. Things had regressed from kissing back to yelling.

“How’d you do this?” Jim said, grabbing a wrist and forcing her hand from her sleeve, to reveal what seemed to his horrified eyes like third-degree burns on the back. Blisters had already formed.

Kate mumbled something.

“What?” Jim said, managing to infuse the single word with enough menace to back down George Foreman.

Her wide mouth set in a mutinous line. “The cabin wasn’t all burned down when I got here. I went inside to get some things.”

“I see,” Jim said. “You went inside a burning building. To ‘get some things.” Are you out of your friggin’ mind?“ He had her by the shoulders again, and he was shaking her, again.

She wrenched free this time. “Will you knock it off! I’m okay!” She stared at him haughtily, very much in princess of the Park mode, and hoped that he couldn’t see she was about to burst into tears.

His face was brick red and he was literally speechless with rage. He took a few gulping breaths, glared at her for a moment, and then slammed out of the truck and stamped over to Bobby, who surveyed him with interest. “Count to ten,” he told the trooper.

Jim expressed his opinion of Kate’s intelligence in a few well-chosen phrases that commanded the admiration of everyone present.

Bobby, careful to keep his back to the truck in which Kate still sat, grinned. “Scared you, did she?”

“Up yours, Clark,” Jim said, and with a mighty effort, forced the door closed on his rage and locked it, tucking the key away for a time when he could get Kate alone and bring her to a realization of the error of her ways. He didn’t hold out much hope of succeeding but he was eager to try. He reached up to pull off his cap and noticed his hand was trembling. He swore again and slapped the cap against his knee. “What time did she show up?” he said to Bobby.

Bobby checked Dinah’s watch. “About four hours ago, give or take. I called you and we came right back out.”

Jim nodded and pulled the cap back on, screwing it down over his ears. “An hour to get to your house. So she left the fire about five hours ago, give or take. She wouldn’t have left until she was sure it was gone. So it was probably torched around midnight. Maybe. Unless it was something more sophisticated than a match.”

“You know anything about arson?”

Jim shook his head. “Fuck all.”

“They’ve got specialists for that back in the world, don’t they?” Bobby said.

“Yeah, sure, but I doubt that I can get the state to fork out the airfare for one when said arson doesn’t involve either extensive property damage or multiple deaths.”

They turned as one to look at the wreckage, and the smoke had cleared enough now to see the handle of the old-fashioned water pump that had once presided over the sink sticking up out of the rubble like a forlorn sentinel. The loft was pretty much intact, having fallen almost as one piece as the walls below had burned. Jim suspected that the falling loft had had something to do with smothering some or all of the fire, and wondered when it had come down. Probably right about the time Kate decided to rescue her “things.”

The rage started hammering at the locked door. Never had self-control seemed more elusive. One of the first things taught in trooper school was how to establish authority at a crime scene. If he’d had to take that test this morning he would have failed miserably. For the first time in his career, he wished he had someone else he could hand off a case to.

Thinking out loud, he said, “Log cabin, sixty-odd years old. Probably would go up like tinder once it was torched. Small, too, so it wouldn’t take long.” He looked around the clearing. The outbuildings were intact, although the roofs of shop and outhouse had some scorch marks. The wooden stand beneath the half dozen fifty-five-gallon drums of fuel oil stacked in a neat pyramid had burned and collapsed, and the drums had broken free of their strapping and rolled into a haphazard scatter into the brush.

Billy cast a wary eye over his shoulder. “This have something to do with Dreyer’s death?”

Jim hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the red pickup. “She thinks so,” he said.

Bobby grinned again. “Feeling guilty?” he said, entirely without sympathy. Dinah nudged him, and Jim saw it, which was the only thing that saved Bobby from instant annihilation.

He walked over to the cabin. The heat from the still-smoldering embers was warm on his face. He walked around the perimeter, looking for the line of copper tubing leading from the fuel oil into the cabin. It was still there, and as near as he could figure by eyeballing it, it hadn’t been tampered with.

He heard a footstep and turned to see Kate. “Did you lock your door last night?” He saw the answer on her face. “Of course you didn’t. Who does, in the Park? So it was probably just a matter of someone opening it and pitching a lit firestarter inside. Probably knew you sleep in the loft. Probably knew hot air rises. Probably figured you’d be dead of smoke inhalation before you woke up enough to get to the ladder. Do you get it, Shugak? Somebody tried to kill you last night.”

“I got it, Chopin,” she said tightly. “I’ve had longer to think about it than you have.”

For the first time he was able to look beyond his own fear and rage and see hers, and the sight only exacerbated his own. “You’re fired,” he said tightly.

She looked confused. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re fired!” he bellowed. “Canned, sacked, riffed, laid off! I don’t want you anywhere near this case from now on! You will talk to no more people about Len Dreyer, do you hear me! Not one! You will collect no more evidence! If the murderer kneels at your feet and offers you a signed confession sealed by a notary public, I want you to walk away! Walk away, do you hear me?”

“I think they can hear you in Canada,” Bobby said.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jim said furiously, rounding on him.

“Okay,” Bobby said, hands patting the air. Billy, Annie, and Dinah backed up a step in unison.

“And stay the fuck out of police business!”

“Anything you say, buddy,” Bobby said. Billy, Annie, and Dinah backed up another step, and Bobby lowered his hands just long enough to roll the tires on his chair back, just so he wouldn’t be hanging it out in front all alone. None of them could remember seeing Jim angry. Jim Chopin didn’t get angry; in fact, they had thought that he couldn’t, that maybe he didn’t know how or that it had been trained out of him in trooper school and on the job. Their mistake.

Their reaction went a long way toward restoring Jim’s composure. “Okay,” he said more calmly. He turned back to Kate. She had something big and square clamped beneath an elbow. “What’s that?”

“My photograph album,” she said. “The one I put together from the pictures in Emaa’s kitchen.”

Another wave of fury almost swamped him. He battled it back, and managed to ask in a reasonable tone of voice, “That what you went back for?”

“Yes. And the otter.” She pulled out the little ivory carving with two fingers, wincing. She nodded at the pickup. “And the guitar. Johnny wants to learn to play.”

As she spoke they heard the sound of a four-wheeler, and Mutt came arrowing into the clearing. She saw Kate and in the same smooth motion knocked her flat on her back. Front paws on Kate’s shoulders, crooning a constant anxious whine, she licked Kate’s face, hands, every part of her she could get to, and then nosed her over on her face like she was flipping a pancake and examined her backside with the same attention to detail.

“I’m all right, Mutt,” Kate said, exasperated, and got to her feet just in time to see Vanessa and Johnny drive into the clearing on their four-wheelers. Johnny vaulted off his before it stopped moving and headed for Kate. “What happened? Are you all right? Mutt was worried this morning, she woke me up and wouldn’t let me go back to sleep. She made us come home early.” He looked at the cabin and his face went white. “What happened to the cabin?”

“It’s okay,” Kate said.

“No, it’s not, your cabin’s burned down!” He rounded on her, his face dark with suspicion. “Did she do this?”

“What? Who? Oh.” Kate pulled herself together. “No. No, I don’t think so, Johnny, I don’t think it had anything to do with her. We don’t know if it was deliberate, anyway, it could have been an accident.”

“Yeah, right,” Johnny said, “like I’ve ever, ever seen you leave the fire door open on the stove, or not turn the lamps off when you were going to be gone. Give me a break.”

“Her who?” Jim said.

Kate scowled at him. “It’s not important.”

“It is, too,” Johnny said hotly, and looked at Jim. “My mother could have done this.”

“Jane?” Jim said.

Johnny nodded vigorously. “It’s just the kind of thing she would do if she was smart enough to think of it. Kate has to prove she can provide shelter for me, doesn’t she? So I can live with her?”

Jim looked at Kate. “Yes. She does.”

“Well?” Johnny pointed at the rubble. “Now we don’t have a place to live. What’s some judge going to say about that?”

The boy could have a point, Jim thought, and tried to ignore how much he’d like to believe it was Jane who had tried to burn Kate alive and not Len Dreyer’s killer. “I don’t think so, Johnny,” he said gentiy. “She knows you’re living here, too, and I don’t care how bad things are between you, I don’t think she’d try to burn down a house you were sleeping in.”

That rocked Johnny back. Vanessa dismounted, paused at Johnny’s four-wheeler to kill the engine, and came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, staring at the remains of Kate’s cabin with wide eyes.

Her eyes got wider when yet another four-wheeler shouldered its way into the clearing, ridden by Virgil Hagberg. Virgil had a hard, anxious look on his face. He spotted Jim first, towering over the other heads, and started forward. “Oh god. Oh god, Officer Chopin, what…” His voice trailed away when he looked beyond Jim to the smoldering ruin that was once Kate’s cabin. “What… oh my god.” He looked as if he might throw up right there. “What happened?”

“Somebody burned down Kate’s cabin,” Jim said.

“Oh my god,” Virgil said. “Oh my god. Bobby, Dinah, I’m so sorry, I know you were good friends. Oh my god. This is awful. This is just… awful, I-”

“What are you doing here, Virgil?” Jim said.

A fine tremor ran through the older man’s body. “I am looking for Vanessa. She must have gone out after we went to bed, Telma went to get her up for school and she wasn’t there. We are worried sick, and then I remembered Kate telling us that that boy who is staying with her was friends with Vanessa, and I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Kate said, stepping from behind Jim’s bulk. “Vanessa’s right here.” She propelled the girl forward.

Virgil went gray, his knees gave out, and Billy had to catch his arm so he wouldn’t go all the way down. “Oh my god,” he said weakly. “Oh my god.”

Kate nudged Vanessa. The girl walked forward to stand next to Virgil. “I’m all right, Uncle Virgil,” she told him. “I wasn’t even here when it burned down. Johnny and I were camping out at-”

She stopped when Johnny nudged her.

Virgil laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Oh thank god,” he said, “oh thank god. I don’t know what I would have told Telma. Oh thank god.” He used her shoulder to regain his feet, moving like the old man he looked to be.

And not for the first time that morning, since she had seen the glow against the sky, since she had rolled into the clearing to see flames through the cabin windows, since she had with almost inconceivable stupidity walked into that fire to grab the photograph album off the shelf and the one-pound Darigold butter can off the kitchen table and the ivory otter from the windowsill and the guitar off the wall, since she had given up the cabin for lost, since she had backed the pickup and the snow machine and the four-wheeler out of danger, and watched fearfully for a spark to set one of the outbuildings on fire, since she had watched the flames consume the old dry logs and her lifelong home collapse in on itself, since she had driven the longest twenty-seven miles of her life to Bobby and Dinah’s house, since the even longer drive back, Kate thought of how terrible it could have been had Johnny been inside the cabin, asleep on the couch, when it had been torched.

She looked at Johnny, pale and stricken and looking much younger than he had when he was laying down the law to her up at the mine, and she knew exactly what Virgil was feeling, and a fine trembling seemed to move from his knees to hers.

A warm, steady grip took her by the elbow, and she heard Jim say in a far gender voice than she had yet heard that morning, “Sit down a minute, Kate.”

She didn’t remember anything clearly for a while after that.

She woke up on a couch in Bobby and Dinah’s living room much later that day, to be greeted by a blinding smile and another tug on her hair. “Kate,” Katya said with immense satisfaction. “Kate waked up! Kate play now!”

“Ouch?” Kate said.

“Shhhh, Katya,” Johnny said, coming around the corner at a dead run and scooping Katya up in his arms. “Come on, let’s go outside and play.”

“If’s okay,” Kate said, sitting up. “I’m awake.” She stretched and yawned. “What time is it?”

“About three.”

“In the afternoon? Man, I must have been tired.” She rubbed at the sore patch on her scalp where Katya had been pulling her hair. She smiled at the toddler beaming at her from Johnny’s arms. “You little monster. Come here and let me pull your hair.”

“You’re better,” Johnny said, relieved.

“Better?”

“You were practically comatose when Jim carried you in here this morning.”

“Jim carried me in?”

“Yeah. You went out in his front seat on the way here.”

“Oh.”

Dinah peered over the divider. “Ah, Kate Van Winkle awakes. Want a shower?”

Kate became aware of the sooty and smelly condition of her clothes. “I’d love a shower,” she said with feeling.

“Good. I’ve got a change of clothes in the bathroom for you.”

Kate had taken too many snowmelt baths in galvanized wash-tubs to take a hot shower for granted, and she stood with her face in the stream of water until she felt parboiled. Dinah’s shirt, a pale blue button-down affair, was too tight across the chest and her jeans were too loose in the hips, but they were clean and she was grateful. She came out of the bathroom refreshed. “I’ll need to get some new clothes,” she said, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt. “For me and Johnny.”

“Want to order them over the Internet?” Dinah nodded at the computer.

“Don’t you need a credit card to do that?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have a credit card.”

Dinah smiled. “I do.” She shepherded Kate to the computer and Googled up the Eddie Bauer and Jockey websites. From there they went to Niketown, where they searched for Lady Cortez, except that the style was now called Cortez Basic and cost $35 more than the last time Kate had bought them. It took her a few profane moments to cope with the news, but they had them in size seven so she ordered her usual six pair and had them sent priority mail. “That takes care of me,” Kate said. “What about Johnny?”

Johnny had more fashion consciousness than Kate and he knew a lot more about surfing the ‘Net, so it took them until dinnertime to fill out his wardrobe. Dinah assured them both that they weren’t anywhere near her credit limit. Kate suspected she was lying, but by then Bobby had returned with Jim in tow, and they all sat down to eat chicken-fried caribou steaks and baked potatoes and a cherry pie baked by Bobby the day before.

Halfway through the meal Jim said, “You look fine.”

It was almost an accusation. “Why wouldn’t I?” Kate said, forking up another bite of steak. There was nothing like a near-death experience to make food taste better than it ever had. There were other human experiences it enhanced, too, but she wasn’t going anywhere near there.

He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “No reason,” he said at last, a statement everyone at the table with the possible exception of Katya recognized as a bald-faced lie.

Dinner was finished in relative tranquility. Coffee was served in the living room. Everyone kept fussing around Kate. She accepted their attentions graciously, which made everyone nervous. Jim, pushed to the limit, was finally goaded into saying, “Don’t you want to ask me anything?”

She smiled at him, which expression made Bobby sit up with a jerk that rolled his chair back a few feet. “What about?”

“I mean what I said, Kate. Stay out of this investigation.” She smiled again, and his voice rose. “I fired you. I have terminated your contract with the state. You are no longer employed. Go back to the homestead and rebuild your cabin.”

She drank coffee. “You’re the boss.”

“Oh, Jesus God,” Bobby breathed, closing his eyes in a momentary lapse into belief.

Katya beamed from his lap. “Yeezuz god!”

Later, when Bobby, Dinah, and Katya had retired to bed, when Johnny was fast asleep beneath an afghan on one couch, Kate sat up next to a lamp on an end table next to hers, ostensibly reading Louise Erdrich’s latest novel, about a priest who was really a woman and who wasn’t really a priest, either. She liked the book except that one of her all-time favorite Erdrich characters got married to some rich white guy and left the Objibwe to live in the city. The upside was that the irritation this caused was enough to keep her awake until she could hear everyone breathing deeply and rhythmically in sync. She exchanged the book for a notepad and pen and started a list.

In early June Len Dreyer had repaired Keith Gette and Oscar Jimenez’s greenhouse, as confirmed by Keith and Oscar.

Sometime during that same month he and Dandy Mike had helped Virgil Hagberg build a greenhouse, as confirmed by both Dandy and Virgil.

In August he had repaired George’s hangar, according to George.

Around Labor Day he had regraveled the paths around the Roadhouse’s cabins, according to Bernie.

She regarded that last entry. Bernie had been uncomfortable talking about Dreyer. Could be Dreyer had done a lousy job, although that contradicted what everyone else said about his work, and Bernie wouldn’t have been shy to say so anyway. There was something, though, and she put a question mark next to Bernie’s name.

In mid-September Dreyer had done some repairs and maintenance on the Freya’s engine, according to Old Sam.

In October he had worked on Bobby’s roof, according to Bobby finishing the job the day before the first snowfall, which would make it October 22nd.

She flipped the page and drew a freehand map of the Park. The twenty-five miles between her homestead and Niniltna. The turnoff in Niniltna, left up to the Step, right to the Roadhouse, village between the two forks of the Y and the river. Dreyer’s cabin on the Step road, the Gettes’ next door. The Freya had been in dry dock in Cordova when Dreyer worked on it, so Kate put a notation at the bottom of the page. She put stars where Dreyer had worked, with dates next to them.

She flipped a page and started another list.

She had to ask Bernie if and what Dreyer had done to piss him off. She’d known Bernie a long time and she didn’t think he had killed Dreyer, still less that he’d torched her cabin, but there was something there to find out, and the more she learned about Dreyer, the closer she would be to finding out who killed him.

She had to reinterview everyone she’d already talked to and find out how much they had paid Dreyer. He’d had seven hundred plus dollars in his pockets when he’d been found. What if there had been more in his cabin? What if his cabin had been burned down before Dreyer was killed, in an attempt to hide the crime? What if Dreyer had found out and gone after the robber? There was motive for murder right there, although she didn’t see why the money found on Dreyer’s body hadn’t been stolen as well. Still, murder often led to haste and haste led to mistakes, especially unpremeditated murder. If Dreyer’s death came down to what would have been basically a mugging if he’d lived, there would be someone with a powerful motive to discourage someone else from looking into the matter. However it worked out, there were some gaps in his work history that needed filling in.

Which led her mind to Bonnie Jeppsen, the postmistress. Kate decided to talk to her first thing in the morning. Any Park rat who’d been in the country for more than five minutes could have recommended Len Dreyer’s services to someone who needed a jack-of-all-trades, but Bonnie would see more people any given day than any other single person in the Park, with the exception of Bernie.

Johnny had asked some smart questions about the movements of Grant Glacier. Kate needed to talk to someone who knew about glaciers. She didn’t know if Chief Ranger Dan O’Brien knew squat about glaciers but if he didn’t, he’d know who did. She might luck out and find some nerdy scientist type who had measured the thrust and retreat of Grant Glacier to the last inch, which would give her a better idea of when the body had been dumped in it, which would give her a better idea of time of death.

Maybe she should go see Dan first the next morning, because she was going to have to discover the time of death on her own, without access to the case file even now being filled in in Anchorage. Jim hadn’t been joking. She had been thoroughly, comprehensively, and most definitely fired.

There were various options available to get hold of a copy of the autopsy report. Brendan McCord would help, but she didn’t want to go to any one well too often, and she had another task in mind for ex-marine Brendan anyway. Didn’t one of her cousins once or twice removed work as a clerk in the state crime lab in Anchorage? And didn’t the state crime lab share space with the state medical examiner? She made another note. She might have to fly into Anchorage which, as the killer was most likely still in the Park, might not be a bad idea. She’d take Johnny with her. She could hit Twice Told Tales and Metro Music while she was there, start replacing her music and books.

Her lips compressed into a thin line. She raised her head and stared out the window. The brute bulk of the Quilak Mountains squatted like chained beasts against a steadily lightening eastern horizon, ready to attack on command.

Kate liked lists. She liked tackling a list in the morning, and enjoyed the warm sense of accomplishment she got at the end of the day when most or even all of the items on it had been crossed off. Undone tasks at the end of the day got added to another list, and the previous list sat on the table for a few days longer, silent testimony to its compiler’s industry and efficiency.

This list was different. This list was a ruthless, relentless compilation of facts and series of tasks that could lead to only one outcome. Anger was a great motivator, and Kate wasn’t just angry, she was enraged. Her eyes dropped from the mountains to the awkward, adolescent lump on the opposite couch that was Johnny Morgan, his face barely visible, eyes screwed shut, mouth open, one arm twisted beneath him and one leg hanging over the side of the couch to the floor.

Someone had burned down her cabin, her home, all her belongings, her clothes, her music. Her books.

But all that was only by-product. Someone had snuck up to her house in the middle of the night with intent to commit murder, and it wasn’t their fault that they hadn’t been successful twice over.

Johnny snorted and shifted into another impossible position. People had made attempts on her life before. It came with the territory. Stick your nose into someone else’s business, especially in Alaska, where maintaining one’s privacy came somewhere between a vocation and a religion, you ran the danger of getting that nose lopped off. It was an acceptable risk, but it was a risk of which she was always aware and one she had been willing to take for the sake of the greater good.

But this time, Johnny had been put at risk. Her eyes narrowed. Putting a child’s life in danger was not allowed. Someone must be brought to a realization of the error of his ways. Someone must be swiftly and surely punished for it, punished so severely that they knew just how badly they had transgressed, punished so memorably that no one else ever got the idea they could behave the same way.

But first she had to find them. She bent her head back over her task, and not even the creak of bedsprings and the whisper of wheelchair tires distracted her.

The long black arm reaching around and snatching the notepad out of her hands did. Bobby, face like a thundercloud, rifled through the pages and tossed the notepad back in her lap. “Somebody already tried to kill you once,” he said in a furious whisper that had Johnny stirring. “You gonna keep at this until they get the job done?”

Kate picked up the notepad and shook the pages into place without replying.

“Jim fired you off this case, Kate. I heard him. Dinah heard him, Johnny heard him, I think the whole fucking Park might have heard him. He’s not going to be happy when he hears you didn’t stay fired.”

Kate looked him straight in the eye and said calmly, “I find who killed Dreyer, I find who burned down my cabin. You really think I’m going to bother telling Jim when I do?”

She turned back to the list, and Bobby, recognizing a hopeless cause, returned to bed. He lay awake a long time, listening to the scratching of pencil on paper, and didn’t sleep until the light in the living room clicked off.

Dawn came far too early for everyone.