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  DEGREES OF SEPARATION

  DEGREES OF SEPARATION

  A JESSIE ARNOLD MYSTERY

  SUE HENRY

  AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi-110 017, India Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Copyright © Sue Henry, 2008

  Map copyright © Eric Henry, Art Forge Unlimited, 2008

  All rights reserved

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:

  Henry, Sue, 1940–

  Degrees of separation: a Jessie Arnold mystery/Sue Henry.

  p. cm.

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-1179-3

  1. Arnold, Jessie (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women mushers—Alaska—Fiction. 3. Alaska—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3558 .E534D47 2008

  813’.54—dc22 2007048010

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This one’s for

  Tom Colgan—

  accessible, patient, and encouraging

  editor and friend,

  through more years and manuscripts

  than I care to count.

  And for his terrific assistant,

  Sandy Harding.

  Thanks, guys!

  Whatever would I do without you?

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  SINCERE THANKS ARE DUE TO:

  Dr. Justin Ferris, Oceanographer and Senior Watchstander of NOAA’s West Coast and Alaska Tsunami Warning Center (WCATWC) in Palmer, Alaska, for his kind assistance, both in person and in print, providing information concerning earthquakes.

  The center, a fascinating place at 910 South Felton Street in Palmer, is open to visitors for tours on Friday afternoon at 1, 2, and 3 p.m. (groups of more than six people should call ahead to 907-745-4212) and is an excellent source of information, especially for all of us who live in earthquake country and need to know how to be prepared for the shakers we take too much for granted.

  The WCATWC can be accessed online at wcatwc.arh.noaa. gov/watcher/tsunamiwatcher.php.

  ALSO TO:

  Bruce Merrell, Alaska Bibliographer at the Loussac Public Library in Anchorage, for his knowledgeable assistance in researching the history of earthquakes in Alaska, most especially the major quake of Good Friday 1964.

  Captain Dennis Casanovas, for information concerning the Alaska State Troopers’ detachment in Palmer with posts at Big Lake, Talkeetna, and Glennallen.

  And, as always, to my son, Eric, for creating the map for this book.

  INTRODUCTION

  An earthquake is the vibration, sometimes violent, of the Earth’s surface that follows a release of energy in the Earth’s crust. This energy can be generated by a sudden dislocation of segments of the crust, by a volcanic eruption, or even by manmade explosions. Most destructive quakes, however, are caused by dislocations of the crust. The crust may first bend and then, when the stress exceeds the strength of the rocks, break and “snap” to a new position. In the process of breaking, vibrations called “seismic waves” are generated. These waves travel outward from the source of the earthquake along the surface and through the Earth at varying speeds depending on the material through which they move. Some of the vibrations are of high enough frequency to be audible, while others are of very low frequency. These vibrations cause the entire planet to quiver or ring like a bell or a tuning fork.

  EARTHQUAKES, U.S. DEPARTMENT OF THE INTERIOR/U.S. GEOLOGICAL SURVEY, U.S. GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE: 1996—421–205

  “If You Build Your House on a Crack in the Earth,

  It’s Your Own Fault.”

  ANONYMOUS; USED AS THE TITLE OF A SCIENTIFIC PAPER ON EARTHQUAKES IN LAURENCE J. PETER, PETER’S PEOPLE, 1979

  ONE OF THE MOST FRIGHTENING AND DESTRUCTIVE PHENOMENA of nature is a severe earthquake and its terrible aftereffects. An earthquake is a sudden movement of the earth, caused by the abrupt release of pressure that has accumulated over a long time. For hundreds of millions of years, the forces of plate tectonics have shaped the earth as the huge plates that form its surface slowly move over, under, and past one another. Sometimes the movement is gradual. At other times, the plates are locked together, unable to release the accumulating energy. When that energy grows strong enough, the plates abruptly break free. If the earthquake occurs in a populated area, it may cause many deaths and injuries and extensive property damage.

  People who have lived in Alaska for any real length of time have learned to take earthquakes pretty much for granted, as they do periodic volcanic eruptions, spring breakup flooding, avalanches along the Seward Highway, and that the price of their groceries is going to be higher there than in the Lower
Forty-eight. They may not be particularly fond of any of these things, but accept them as facts of life, the price of living in the far north, which is usually balanced by their appreciation of the northern lights, the beauty of the wilderness that surrounds them, a general hardy sense of humor and individuality, and that by the summer solstice in June daylight will last from eighteen to twenty-four hours, depending on which part of the largest state in the union, Barrow to Ketchikan, they call home—though it will reverse itself and be dark that long by the winter solstice on December 21.

  Alaska, at the northern edge of the “ring of fire” (which includes the volcanoes along the Pacific coasts of North and South America, the Aleutians, Japan, Southeast Asia, and Australasia), is in a region of frequent earthquakes that are usually minor and short-lived, but not always. Far beneath the west coast of the United States and Canada, miles underground, the Pacific Plate slides under and lifts the North American Plate, building up enormous tension that eventually overcomes resistance and is released as it slips and creates a shock with often far-reaching and ruinous results from both the ensuing quake and, at times, depending on location, tsunamis—powerful ocean waves that can travel at up to 600 miles per hour and crest at more than a hundred feet as they reach land.

  On Good Friday, March 27, 1964, at 5:36 p.m., an earthquake struck southern Alaska registering a magnitude of 8.2 to 8.7 on the Richter scale (though some seismographs recorded readings up to 9.2). It was the most intense quake ever recorded in North America to that date and time.

  The epicenter (the point on the earth’s surface twenty to fifty kilometers directly above the underground disturbance) of the Alaska quake lay in the northern part of Prince William Sound and the event violently shook a number of communities for three to five minutes.

  The tsunamis that resulted in the Pacific wiped out several Alaskan communities, including one complete native village. The quake and tsunamis left devastation in their wake and killed more than 130 people, several as far away as Crescent City, California.

  There are Alaskans who tend to ignore the facts of living in earthquake country, pretending a big quake couldn’t possibly happen to them. But many of us take the possibility more seriously.

  At a minimum, in an area that can be accessed safely if the structure we live in is dangerously damaged:

  We keep wrenches for turning off gas and water mains.

  We have fire extinguishers handy.

  We keep a supply of batteries and flashlights within reach, along with a battery-operated radio.

  Our first-aid kits are comprehensive and kept up-to-date, along with any necessary medication for individual family members.

  Enough nonperishable food and water for each family member for a week is available and replenished a couple of times a year as necessary.

  Warm clothing, blankets, and sleeping bags are also available.

  We know and teach our children what to do during and after a quake.

  Most of all, we know that it is not a matter of if the next big quake will come—for it will come—but when.

  DEGREES OF SEPARATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  LATE ON A FRIDAY AFTERNOON TOWARD THE END OF OCTOBER, Jessie Arnold stood at a front window of her log home, frowning out at the sky full of heavy gray clouds that for three days had almost unceasingly poured rain onto her house and dog yard. Significant ponds of water had collected in every low spot in the long gravel drive that led to the cabin, and the amount of water falling from the sky almost obscured the vehicles frequently passing along Knik Road, their drivers on their way home from work. Because of the weather, it was growing dark earlier than usual for the season and all that was now visible were headlights and the blurred red glow of taillights that quickly disappeared.

  From the window she could see that the majority of her sled dogs were curled up inside their individual square wooden boxes, staying dry and snoozing away the hours on their comfortable straw beds. Only three of them had braved the rain to go outside, though the noses of a few could be discerned through the square openings that provided access to the boxes. Most lay, muzzles on paws, snoozing or staring out at the rain like their mistress, preferring to stay as dry as possible. As Jessie watched, one of the three outside shook itself vigorously and vanished once again into its shelter.

  Turning, she glanced across the room at her lead dog, Tank, who was dozing comfortable and dry on the braided rag rug that lay before the large sofa a short distance from the potbellied stove that radiated heat. Somehow it didn’t seem quite fair that he should be allowed indoors while the rest remained relegated to the yard. All the same, his company was welcome and the rest were used to all kinds of weather.

  As she looked across at him, his ears suddenly pricked up and, as he raised his head to look attentively at the front door, Jessie heard a splash of water in the drive and the growl of an automotive engine approaching. Turning back to look out, she watched Alex Jensen’s pickup truck rock and roll its way through the puddles toward the house and come to a stop. The tall, long-legged Alaska state trooper climbed out and came loping up the steps to the shelter of the roof over the wide front porch, holding a newspaper over his head to little effect.

  Tank scrambled to his feet and trotted across the room to be at the door when it opened and Alex came in, shaking water off his Western-style hat and stomping his feet on the outside mat to rid them of as much of the downpour as possible.

  “Hey, lady,” he said, removing and hanging his wet raincoat on a hook between the door and window, where it dripped water onto the rubber mat placed there for that reason. “What a day out, yes? Is this stuff ever going to quit? Did you call the weather people and complain?” he asked, bending to remove his boots and set them on the mat as well.

  “Sorry.” Jessie smiled in answer to his teasing. “All the lines were busy and they wouldn’t have paid attention anyway.”

  Alex turned, his stocking feet leaving damp tracks on the polished wood floor, and reached to enfold and greet her properly. But, as quickly as she moved forward into his embrace, she stepped back again.

  “Ugh! You’re cold and wet, Trooper—even your hair and mustache! What have you been doing to get soaked through?”

  “Last run of the day for Becker and me was our third fender bender since this morning—this one out on the Parks Highway. People just don’t seem to realize that, even with wipers going full tilt, you can’t see well with rain pouring on the windshield in front of you, obscuring visibility. Nobody hurt in that one, but we had to stand outside and direct traffic until a tow truck showed up to haul one of them out of the ditch.”

  “Poor babe. You’ll be as glad as I will when this rain stops, won’t you? Why don’t you take a hot shower before you change into dry clothes?”

  “I’ve been planning just that—all the way home. This can’t last much longer, can it?”

  “I certainly hope not. I’ve already got a bad case of cabin fever and the dogs need to be run. They’re getting fat and lazy out there with no exercise, but at least I don’t have to water them. It’s frustrating that just when the doc finally agrees that my knee is well enough to get back to training runs with the mutts on the four-wheeler, someone evidently wants Noah to build another ark. Snow I could have used, not this constant, miserable drizzle.”

  Before heading for the shower, Alex hunkered down to greet Tank with a few pats and rub his ears.

  “Hey, buddy. You’re lucky to be in here where it’s warm and dry.”

  Halfway across the room to the stairs that led to the bedroom and shower on the second floor, he hesitated, then turned back to nod in the direction of the kitchen.

  “What’s for dinner? I’m not just soaked—I’m starved, woman. And I don’t smell anything that leads me to believe you’ve been slaving over a hot stove all afternoon.”

  “Well,” she told him, with a grin. “You’re right. I haven’t been. But don’t ever say I don’t make plans with you in mind. I had a call from Osc
ar earlier. He said that he’s got a huge pot of his infamous chili and suggested that we hustle over to the Other Place soon, before it’s gone. And it’ll go quick, considering that it’s Friday night and there’ll be a lot of rain-frustrated local mushers with empty stomachs and time on their hands heading for their favorite watering hole.”

  “Good idea,” Alex agreed. “Give me half an hour and we’ll go join them.”

  In just under that amount of time, clad in rain slickers, they had dashed to the truck under a large umbrella and were heading back down the long drive to make a right turn onto Knik Road, aiming for Oscar’s Other Place, Jessie in the middle between a clean and dry Alex, who drove, and Tank, who was watching the scenery go by through the rain that ran down the passenger-side window.

  In just a few miles they were pulling into the large parking lot in front of Oscar’s popular pub, which was already occupied by a number of other vehicles, and again had to splash through puddles to reach the front door. Once through the double doors of the arctic entrance, however, they found the place warm and already well over half full of the crowd that even a rumor of chili at Oscar’s was bound to attract, especially on a rainy Friday night.

  “Hey, thanks for the phone call.” Jessie leaned across the bar to greet Oscar, who was pulling the tap handle to fill three glasses with amber brew.

  “Glad you made it while there’s some chili left,” he told her. “It’s half gone already and vanishing like the last of the snow in spring. Hey there, Alex. Haven’t seen you in a while. How’re you keeping?”

  “Just fine, when I can stay dry,” the trooper told him.