A Grave Denied

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It was a little after three when she emerged from Auntie Vi’s bed-and-breakfast, stuffed full of fry bread and information. For the moment, Johnny was tucked safely away at Bobby’s. She stood next to the truck, her hand on the door handle. Mutt watched her face with wise eyes. So many people to talk to, and she had to stay out of Jim Chopin’s way while she did. She looked at the cross-referenced list of names and thought about the geography involved. She could start at the Roadhouse and work north. Or on the Step and work south. Or in Niniltna and work west.

Really, the first thing she ought to do was go back to Dreyer’s cabin and investigate the scene more thoroughly. She went back to her own instead.

It looked, if anything, even more forlorn than it had the day before. Her cabin, the place she had been born into this world, where she had spent most of what little time she’d had with her parents, the place to which she had retreated as a child when Emaa had tried to force her into living in Niniltna, the womb to which she had fled from the stifling, swarming confines of college, the place waiting for her on long weekends and vacations between time on the job in Anchorage, the one place in the world able to heal the wounds inflicted by five and a half years of casework featuring raped and beaten women and abused children, her home, her center, her sanctuary, her refuge.

It was all that and more, and now it was a pile of smoking rubble, too.

“It’s only a cabin,” she said out loud. Mutt, standing with her shoulder pressed to Kate’s knee, looked up, gray plume of a tail waving ever so slightly. “Cabins can be rebuilt. All I need is some logs and some Sheetrock and some insulation. I could put in a flush toilet. I could even wire the place for electricity, finally hook it up to the generator like I’ve been threatening.”

She could do all those things, but deep down she knew that this cabin could never be rebuilt. Her father was dead, the hands that had raised the cabin’s walls long since crumbled to dust. Her mother, a good, kind, loving woman until the booze got hold of her, was no more. Emaa was gone, nevermore to darken the doorstep and blight Kate’s life with the reminder of her bounden duty to her tribe. And Jack, with whom she’d spent so many nights making thunder roll out of the bed in the loft. Seventy years of laughter and tears and memories had been reduced to ashes by a malicious, anonymous hand, and there was no way ever to get them back.

Which was why when she heard the footstep behind her, she turned and without any greeting pretty much hurled herself into Jim’s arms.

The angry words that had been ready to tumble out of his mouth since Bobby had run him to earth that morning and clued him into Kate’s continued involvement in the investigation of Len Dreyer’s murder were stilled when he looked down and saw that she was weeping.

She didn’t just weep. She cried. She sobbed. She pounded his chest like it was a punching bag. She cursed and she cried some more and then she cursed some more. It took a long time, and somewhere along the way his anger faded. He held her gently until the flood began to ebb, wishing he could think of something of comfort to say, knowing there was nothing. He settled for rubbing her back, and felt like a lame-ass good-for-nothing as he did so.

Finally she looked up. Her eyes were swollen and her nose was red and running. She was not a pretty sight. “Sorry,” she said in a husk of a voice. He winced inwardly when she wiped her nose on the sleeve of the blue shirt that looked familiar, just not on Kate. It didn’t fit very well, or it fit very well, depending on your point of view, and then he damned himself for an insensitive bastard and put resolutely from his mind any thought of unfitting shirts. It helped to look over her shoulder at the ruin, so he did. “I just missed you at Auntie Vi’s,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, on a shuddering sigh.

Any minute now she would start to be embarrassed at losing her self-control in front of him. And then she would be angry with herself, but of course she’d take it out on him because, hey, he was there. He braced himself.

She ran a hand through her hair, matted from being mashed up against his uniform shirt, which was itself looking rather the worse for wear. “Were you looking for me?”

He tried to get past the fact that she was still leaning against him, firm and resilient and vital, every inch of her alive, if a little more subdued than he was used to. Had he been looking for her? It was hard to remember. He waited for her to pull free and say something nasty, something designed to push him away, anything, and the sooner the better.

She laid her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

It was a trap. It had to be a trap. She was resting her full weight against him. He could feel her breasts, her thighs, oh my god, she was putting her arms around his waist. He worried about her knees and what she might decide to do with one of them.

She rubbed her check against his chest and gave a long, deep sigh.

Mutt, who had for some strange reason of her own not monopolized Jim’s attention from the first moment of his appearance, gave the two of them a long, impenetrable look and vanished from the clearing.

The hell with it. Jim picked up Kate in one smooth, easy motion and walked over to sit down beneath a spruce tree with spreading branches overhead and fifty years’ worth of needles piled beneath. He settled her in his lap and her head naturally found a place on his shoulder. He thought carefully about what to do with his hands, until one curved just as naturally around her waist and she relaxed into it with another long, deep sigh. The other he rested on her hip, the curve of which fit into his palm like it had been designed specifically for that purpose.

Time passed. The sun shone. A soft breeze teased the fat buds on the branches of the trees. Birds sang and cawed and called. A porcupine rattled out of the woods, looked them over, and rattled back in again. Jim thought he heard a moose stripping bark from a willow tree. There was a distant crashing of brush like a bear might be passing through, and he gave some thought to pulling his weapon, but it might have woken Kate and the danger wasn’t clear and present enough to justify anything that drastic.

He’d never seen her sleeping before, not close up. Oh, she’d fallen asleep after they had made love last summer in Bering, but she’d been making love to someone else and he hadn’t been able to get out of that bunk fast enough. Then there had been the encounter on the floor of Ruthe Bauman’s cabin last January that had not involved any drowsiness at any moment on anyone’s part. He watched her face and made a discovery. She frowned a little in her sleep, did Kate, as if even then there were jobs to be done, problems to be solved, disputes to be settled.

Her golden skin was smooth and unblemished. Her brows were as black as her hair and as straight. Closed, her eyes looked less Asian than they did when she was awake. A strand of hair lay across a high, flat cheek and the wide, full mouth that was unsmiling but relaxed. That hair, that thick cap of pure black that had once hung to her waist in a fat braid. He’d had fantasies about that braid, which had disappeared a year and a half ago during a guided big game hunt when a bunch of homicidal computer executives-geeks with guns; he still had a hard time with the concept-had opened up on each other instead of the moose and Kate had been caught in the crossfire.

Now he had fantasies about the cap.

What was it about this woman, this one woman, when his life had been filled, one might even say littered, with so many others?

She was smart, and he liked smart in a woman. When she forgot it was him in the room with her, she had a robust sense of humor. He didn’t have a lot of empirical evidence, given the brevity and angst of their only two encounters, but he was fairly certain they were sexually compatible.

Fairly certain, hell. He knew beyond all shadow of doubt that he and Kate together would produce a fire that would make the burning down of Kate’s cabin look tame by comparison.

Still. It wasn’t like there hadn’t been other women just as smart and just as fun and just as hot. Plenty of them.

He tried to remember the name or the face of just one.

She shifted in his arms, burrowing closer without opening her eyes. Any minute now she was going to wake up and remember whose lap she was in, and he could kiss his nuts good-bye.

He leaned his head back against the tree, gathered her in as close as he dared, and let himself drift.

He must have drifted all the way off to sleep because when he opened his eyes, she was kicking at the ruin that had been her cabin. The needles didn’t feel as soft as they had when he had first sat down, and no doubt there was more pine sap leeching onto his uniform shirt with every passing second. He got to his feet and dusted off the seat of his jeans. His hat had fallen off at some point, and he picked it up and whacked it against his leg before pulling it on, tugging the bill as low down over his eyes as he could and still see.

She must have heard him, but she didn’t turn when he came up behind her. “I didn’t say it before, Kate, but I’m sorry as hell about this. I know the place has been in your family since before you were born. I can’t imagine how much seeing it like this must hurt.”

It was the decent thing to say and he stopped himself before he could offer her house room. For one thing, he didn’t have a house yet, and for another, just because she no longer had a home herself didn’t mean she’d be moving in with him of all people.

Still. She had trusted him enough to let him hold her while she slept.

“I found the shotgun,” she said, nodding at a blackened length of metal. The wooden stock was barely recognizable as such.

He winced. “Ouch. What’s a new one run these days?”

“A good one? Starts about eight hundred, I’d guess. Lucky I had the rifle with me.”

“Lucky,” he agreed.

She picked her way to the water pump and tried to work the handle but it wouldn’t budge. She tried again, a third time. “Damn it,” she said, her voice tight. She’d have to plug this well and drill another. Would she even be able to rebuild on the same site?

“Did Bobby tell you about Hazen’s RV? We called him, got a convoy set up for tomorrow. George did a flyover of the road in and he says it looks good. They should be here tomorrow night, the next morning at the latest.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“It sleeps two.” She looked at him and he said hastily, “Room enough for you and Johnny both, I mean. I’ve seen it, it’s a big sucker.”

She made an effort. “I take it you’ve been on one of Hazen’s on-the-road-again parties to the Russian River?”

He shook his head. “Been invited. But something always came up.”

She nodded. “You said you just missed me at Auntie Vi’s.”

When he looked blank she added, “When you first came down the trail. Were you looking for me?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He pulled off his cap and put it on again, screwing it down around his ears. “Bobby came looking for me this morning.”

“Oh?” She had turned back to look at the cabin’s remains.

“He tells me you’re still working the case.”

“Oh?”

Something in that single, disinterested syllable reminded him why he’d been angry. “I fired you, Kate.”

“Ummm.”

“I made your services available to the industry, as they say in the oil patch.”

“Uh-huh.”

He could feel the slow burn coming on, except that with Kate it was never slow, it was more like spontaneous combustion. This from a man who had not only a personal inclination but a professional obligation not to lose his cool.

He’d lost his temper with her yesterday morning. Full out, balls to the wall. It helped knowing that his rage was fueled mostly by fear, but not much.

It had felt good to yell at Kate Shugak. He was thinking he ought to do more of that. Starting now.

She looked at his face for a long time, her expression somber, her eyes unreadable. And then she surprised him again, picking her way out of the rubble to stand in front of him. She raised her hand and flattened it on his chest, right over his heart, just under his badge. “Jim,” she said, her voice very soft, so soft he had to bend over to hear, so close to her that his breath stirred her hair.

He knew she was playing him, he just knew it. “What?” he said, and if it wasn’t quite the growl he wanted it to be, at least it wasn’t a whimper.

She raised her head and met his eyes. Mere inches and their lips would touch. His heart rate increased to a rapid, almost painful beat high up in his ears.

“I’m going to work this case,” she murmured. “I’d rather it be with your permission than without it.”

He closed his eyes and tried desperately to remember why he’d been angry. Something about a fire, and Kate and Johnny almost being killed, and Kate insisting on finding out who, in spite of the would-be murderer still being on the loose and for all they knew ready, willing, and able to kill again.

He started to rationalize. She was going to work the case if he let her or if he didn’t. He had a full plate for the next week. He had to fly to Cordova that afternoon to take statements and file charges before a magistrate on the video/drug store case, and if the weather was as lousy as it often was in Cordova, he wouldn’t be back tonight. The longer it took him to get to the Dreyer case, the less chance it had of being solved. Kate was a trained investigator. Better her poking around than Dandy Mike, who had found him even before Bobby had this morning and demanded to know when he was going to work.

Rationalization led to fantasy. If he let her work the case, maybe she’d-

No. Nope. Not going there. “Okay,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re rehired. Just watch your back, Shugak, okay? If you let somebody hurt you, I’ll hurt you more.”

An involuntary smile spread across her face, warm, almost loving, and just possibly entirely without guile. It wasn’t an expression he’d ever had directed at him before, and truth to tell it made him a little dizzy. “Thank you.” He couldn’t remember her ever thanking him for anything before, either. A day of firsts. Between the smile and the thanks he was ready to run before the roof fell in.

“Okay,” he said, taking a step back. “Good.” What was he saying? “I mean, better if you kept your nose out of it like I wanted you to, but fine that you’re going to investigate. What are you doing first?” He paused. “What have you done already?”

“Talked to Bernie and Bobby and Auntie Vi and Bonnie Jeppsen. Between them, Bernie and Bonnie have recommended Len Dreyer’s services to just about everyone in the Park. I’ve got a list of who he worked for. It’ll take me a couple of days to talk to them all, given the distance between sites.”

“Good,” he said, retreating another step. Kate was entirely too calm for his peace of mind. He wasn’t comfortable when she wasn’t yelling at him. He’d grown accustomed to her yelling; a day without Kate yelling was a day he obviously didn’t know what the Sam Hill hell was going on.

“I want to go up to his cabin, too, look around some more.”

“There’s even less of it left than there is of yours,” Jim said.

“I know. But I have to look.”

“Yeah.” He took another step back. “I’ve got to go. I’m heading out for Cordova.”

“Will you be back this evening?”

“Sure. Well, maybe not. No. I don’t think so. It’s awfully late. Okay. Gotta go.”

“Jim.”

He stopped, his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. She looked at the tree beneath which they had sat, and away. If he was not demented she was blushing. Probably his imagination. “Thank you,” she said again, very softly.

He took a deep breath. His heart was thumping in his chest like the tuba in the high school orchestra, loud and off the beat and out of tune and unstoppable. “Sure. Whatever. Glad to help. Anybody would have -I gotta go.” He sketched a shaky wave and headed out of the clearing at not quite a run, terrified that she was going to ruin what was probably the first civil conversation they’d ever had with a blast of invective as soon as the ground steadied beneath everyone’s feet and Kate realized who was being civil to whom.

He was halfway up the trail when he felt a nip at his heel. “What the hell?” He turned and saw Mutt, her tail wagging furiously. As soon as she had his full and undivided attention, she jumped up, both paws on his chest, gave him a generous swipe of tongue, bounced back down, and trotted a few feet toward the homestead. She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Forget it,” he told her, and kept walking.

Be damned if she didn’t nip at his heels again. “Cut it out, Mutt!”

The third time she caught his pants leg in her teeth and gave a good strong yank. His feet flew out from beneath him, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his face.

“Son of a bitch!” He spit out a mouthful of new grass and got to his feet. “Jesus,” he roared, “what is it with you Shugak women!”

She bounced a couple of steps down the trail and looked over her shoulder, giving an encouraging yip, tail wagging furiously. He could have sworn she was laughing at him.

He steamed into the clearing and back up to Kate, who was standing stock still and watching his battleship-like approach with her mouth open.

“What-” she started to say.

That was as far as she got. He was back in range in two steps and he had his hand knotted in that raven cap of hair in three. He had a glimpse of startled eyes before he kissed her. He took his time over it, poured everything he had into it, all the longing, the frustration, the need, everything he’d felt since that day in September when he’d found her crouched over her dead lover, keening a wordless lament.

Be honest with yourself at least, Chopin, he thought, Jack dying didn’t make you want her. You’ve wanted her since the first time you saw her. And then all thought stopped.

She didn’t exactly respond but she didn’t resist, either. For a long moment he thought that was all he was going to get. Then something changed; she sort of woke up and suddenly he had himself an armful of woman, whole, alive, responsive, and oh my god, demanding of a return on that response in a take-no-prisoners onslaught that was likely to knock him off his feet. He heard bolts being thrown back and locks clicking open and doors swinging wide. There might even have been trumpets, although his ears were ringing so loudly he couldn’t be sure.

He raised his head. Slowly her eyes opened. They looked at each other. She was flushed again, and he had to get his breathing under control before he could speak. “Don’t kid yourself, Shugak,” he said, proud that his voice was steady. “Altruism had nothing to do with it.”

And before she could say anything he turned and left. And this time, Mutt let him go.

Friday, May 9th

Kate’s cabin got burned down. We’re staying at Bobby and Dinah’s until some guy in Ahtna brings his trailer down to Kate’s homestead. It was supposed to be here Tuesday night but it got stuck on the road somewhere, and both escort trucks got stuck, too, and some construction crew that’s coming to dig out the foundation of the new trooper post in Niniltna is bringing up a backhoe this weekend and on the way in will dig them all out. I like Bobby and Dinah and I love Katya but Bobby’s brother is an asshole. I’ll be glad to get back home.

Home. We’ve only been gone two days and I can’t wait to get back. I’m turning into as much of a hermit as Kate. Only she says we’re hobbits and gave me the book to read. Hobbits are cool, quick, nimble, when they throw at something they hit it. Mr. Koslowski could use Bilbo on the JV team. He’d be too short for varsity.

But I don’t think that’s what Kate meant.

She thinks that since Dinah ordered us replacement clothes on her computer and that she’s still got her grandmother’s album and her dad’s guitar and that ivory otter and the cash can that she’s fine, but she’s not. When she doesn’t know anyone’s looking at her, she gets this look on her face, kind of angry but cold, too. Jim fired her and then they met up at the homestead and something happened and he rehired her, so now she’s going all over the Park and talking to everyone that ever spoke to Dreyer in their whole lives. Bobby says she is obsessing and Dinah says she’ll come out of it. They’re both worried, I can tell. And Bobby’s brother sure isn’t helping. He called Katya a mongrel. She better not know what that means. She better not remember him saying it. If someday she asks me, I’ll tell her it’s the best kind of dog there is, like Mutt, the best of all different kinds mixed into one smarter and stronger than all the rest.

I didn’t know black people could be prejudiced against white people.

I asked if I could ride along while she did her interviews and Kate said I had to go to school but that wasn’t why. I’m not a baby. I could find out stuff, and nobody pays any attention to teenage boys unless they think we’re drinking or doping or screwing around or stealing a car. I bet people would talk to me who wouldn’t talk to Kate. Like Jim said, I picked up some stuff from Dad, I can handle myself.

I snuck a peek at her notebook and she’s got a timeline drawn up of all the places Dreyer worked. One of the places was Van’s uncle and aunt’s. I asked her about him but she says she doesn’t hardly remember him.

The Canathan geese have been flying in. I looked them up in the ADF &G wildlife notebook on Dinah’s computer and there are six different species, including one called the cackling Canada geese which I really love the name of and I wished it nested here but the notebook says not. I think ours are dusky, six to eight pounds each.

I like the sound they make, they sound like spring. When I was living with Dad on Westchester Lagoon in Anchorage they used to come sliding in on the lagoon before the ice melted. Most of them took off as soon as they refueled (like jets) but some of them stayed and built nests. When the babies were born they’d hook up with other goose families that you could see sometimes in parks and on ball fields. Most of them were all head down in the grass, but there was always one adult with its head straight up, watching out for the others, and if you get too close it makes a noise and they all start moving away.

I was thinking about geese that day last fall that Mom showed up at Bobby’s. Everybody in the Park was at his house that day, and almost every one of them got in her way when she was trying to catch up to me. Most of them didn’t even know me.

But they knew Kate.

Geese mate for life, Ruthe says. Only if one of a pair dies, they change partners. There are so many in Anchorage that they let Alaska Natives harvest eggs from the nest and give them to elders to eat, but they’ve got to be sneaky about it because if they take the eggs too early the geese will lay more.

When Kate was with my dad, my dad never brought anyone else home and I’m pretty sure he never stayed over anywhere else. There were long times when they didn’t see each other, too. Most people get married, like Bobby and Dinah. I figure since Dad married Mom that he would have liked to have married Kate, too, so she must not have wanted to.

I look at Kate and I see why my dad wanted her and why Jim wants her. A couple of times I looked up from the couch in the cabin and saw her getting dressed. I tried not to look but she is so beautiful, so strong and so smart and so tough. She can do anything. There’s no one like her.

I bet she’d be surprised if I found out something about Dreyer that would help find out who killed him.