Murder at five finger light Read online

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KAREN’S ACCEPTANCE OF THE SUGGESTION THAT THEY share the hotel room did nothing either to lessen or to justify Jessie’s edgy feeling. But her effusive appreciation and evident relief seemed sincere.

  “That’s a generous thing for you to offer when you only just met me,” she said slowly. “If you’re really sure it’s okay, I won’t say no. Where else can I go? I don’t dare have my name on a hotel register. Thank you.”

  When she insisted on picking up the check for both dinners, Jessie relaxed her wariness a little and turned instead to considering a less conspicuous way to return to the Tides Inn than the route down the main street that she had taken on her way to the Northern Lights. Leaving the restaurant, they once again crossed the bridge over the slough and went quickly along Sing Lee Alley. Then, instead of turning left on Nordic, they crossed it and climbed another block up the hill to First Street, which in three blocks brought them to the upper level of the hotel.

  “Didn’t you have a suitcase?” Jessie asked as they went down to enter the passageway that led directly to her room.

  “I left it with the bartender at the Harbor Bar,” Karen told her. “But I sure don’t want to go back in there tonight to get it. Would you mind terribly doing me one more favor?”

  Jessie agreed, remembering the errand she had planned earlier. “I wanted to stop next door for some booze to take to the island tomorrow anyway.”

  So leaving Karen safely ensconced in the hotel room, she went first to the liquor store, then to the bar next door.

  “Oh, sure,” the bartender said, when asked for Karen’s bag. “It’s right here, safe and sound.” She handed it out from behind the bar with a smile. “Your friend said she’d be along to pick it up after you had dinner.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She seemed surprised to find you had already gone when she came out of the ladies’. Asked if I knew where you were headed and could she leave the case temporarily so she could hurry to catch up. Guess she found you at the Northern Lights. How was dinner? Enjoy it?”

  “Yes,” Jessie told her, forcing a smile to accompany her thanks, “we did.”

  My friend? She questioned the term as she hiked back up the hill, laden with Karen’s black bag, a bottle of Jameson and two six-packs of Killian’s in plastic bags—glad she hadn’t far to go. Karen would bear watching, it seemed, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have continued to maintain, as she had decided on the plane, that this woman was none of her business. Still, if Karen had spent a year avoiding a man who seemed to qualify as a stalker, she must have gained some experience in what it took to stay out of his reach by seeming to fit in with other people, and being with Jessie might be part of it. Remembering her own encounter with physical abuse, Jessie couldn’t actually blame her for doing whatever it took to escape.

  Once again, she let the issue go, put down the bag to retrieve the room key from her pocket, opened the door, and found Karen staring at the door like a deer in the headlights, having jumped up from a seat on the bed farthest from the door at the sound of the key in the lock. For just a second Jessie, startled, didn’t recognize her, for she had removed the dark wig and was once again a redhead.

  Gotta get used to that wig, she told herself, as Karen quickly crossed the room to help with the load she was carrying. But the transition from brunette to redhead was so extreme it was astonishing.

  “Thanks for retrieving this,” Karen said, taking her bag after setting the lager and whiskey on the floor in a corner by Jessie’s duffel. Then she hesitated and asked politely, “Which bed is yours?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me. Take the one you were sitting on if you like.”

  Dropping her daypack on the foot of the other bed, Jessie slipped off her green slicker, kicked off her shoes, and flopped back onto the bed with a tired sigh to stare at the ceiling, which, she noticed, had a long crack across it that looked a little like part of an airplane propeller. It had been a long and confusing day, to say the least. There had been more food on her plate at the Northern Lights than she would normally have eaten, but even after cooling during their conversation it had tasted so good that she had eaten most of it and found she was now more inclined toward a nap than the shower she had planned to wash away the grimy feeling of travel.

  Karen sat down again on the edge of her bed beside the black bag she had opened to find a toothbrush and pajamas that she held clutched in one hand while she paused to look across at Jessie.

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate this,” she said. “I realized while you were gone that I felt safe for the first time in several days and that means a lot.”

  Jessie turned her head to look across at her unplanned guest. “I’m glad if you do,” she told Karen. “I know what that’s like—was in a bad relationship myself once, a long time ago. I should think you are safe here, so just relax and forget about it, okay?”

  With a nod, Karen went to brush her teeth.

  As she listened to the water running, Jessie thought about that old abusive relationship and how different it was with Alex, who was a much stronger and more self-assured person. She could not imagine him ever hitting her. When her cell phone rang in the daypack, she knew who it was, as if he had felt her thoughts. Sitting up, she retrieved the phone and answered the call on the third ring, shoving the bed pillows behind her to lean on.

  “Hey there,” said his voice in her ear. “How’s the Southeast?”

  “Hey yourself. Petersburg’s its usual rainy self. How’s Whitehorse?”

  “About the same as always, but it isn’t raining. We got everything done that we wanted to accomplish today. So the RCMP’s going to give us a quick hop back to Dawson tonight, then Tank and I’ll head for home tomorrow instead of Wednesday.”

  “That’s good, if you aren’t too tired.”

  “Nope. It’s been pretty laid back.”

  She could hear music and voices in the background. “Where are you?”

  “At the bar in the Gold Rush Inn—sampling the good beer these Canadians have been keeping on tap for us.”

  There was a self-satisfied grin in his voice and she could imagine him and Del relaxing in the bar she remembered from a prior visit as pleasant.

  “I assume you made it to Petersburg okay,” he said.

  “Without a hitch,” she assured him, glad to hear his voice and know that he cared that she arrived safely. But somewhere next to the gladness there was also a small, resentful feeling of having her independence intruded upon—as if he thought she needed to be checked up on. She shrugged it off as she told him about Connie the taxi driver and the grocery clerk’s offer to deliver supplies to the dock the next day.

  “Hey, that’s pretty slick service. Do you know when Jim’s going to pick you up?”

  “Laurie said sometime around noon. But he’s going to call me from the boat on the way in, so I’ll know where to meet him. How’s Tank?”

  “Clair says they’re having a fine time in Dawson. He likes her.”

  “He likes being the center of attention and she spoils him,” she pointed out, missing her favorite sled dog.

  “Well, I’ll check him out when we get there. We’d wait and go tomorrow, but Del’s anxious to get home and be sure Clair’s okay. You know—new father syndrome.”

  There was a pause as he said something aside, then returned to the phone laughing. “He’s threatening to leave me here if I make any more comments concerning his imminent fatherhood.”

  As Jessie joined his laughter, Karen came out of the bathroom in her pajamas.

  “Do you think . . .” she started to say. “Oh, sorry. I thought you had the television on.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll be through in a minute,” Jessie told her, watching as Karen dropped the toothbrush back in her bag and laid her clothes on a chair before moving the bag to the floor beside it.

  “Somebody there with you?” Alex asked in her ear.

  “A friend I met here,”
she told him. “We’re sharing a room tonight.”

  “She part of the lighthouse crew?”

  “Ah . . . well”—she hesitated—“ah . . . probably not.”

  Alex had never been slow on the uptake. “She’s right there and you don’t want to talk about it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But it’s okay and you’ll tell me all about it when you get home, yes?”

  “Sure.”

  “Everything really okay?”

  “Yes, fine.” Again, she felt a twinge of I can take care of myself, thank you very much, and was surprised when Alex chuck-led, catching it.

  “Independent as ever. We do better in person than on the phone, don’t we? Why is that?”

  “Oh, I think we both like seeing who we’re talking to. There’s a lot that gets said nonverbally.”

  “You’re probably right. Well, my beer bottle seems to have a hole in it, so I’ll let you go and find another one. Oops, no more beer—Del says our ride is here.”

  “Tell him hello and have a safe flight,” she said. Then, feeling she was relenting in some odd way, “Glad you called, trooper. I’ll call you from Five Finger Light tomorrow night to be sure you get home okay.”

  “Don’t call too early. It’s a long drive so I’ll leave at the crack of doom and drive till I get there. I love you, Jess.”

  “I love you too. Take good care.”

  “You bet.”

  He hung up and she immediately missed him.

  Can’t have it both ways, she told herself, and dropped the phone back in the daypack.

  “Trooper?” asked Karen. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “My friend’s an Alaska State Trooper,” Jessie told her.

  “Oh. What do you do?”

  “I run a kennel and race sled dogs.”

  Recognition dawned on Karen’s face. “I thought your name sounded familiar. You’re that Iditarod racer, aren’t you?”

  The conversation turned in that direction for the next few minutes, until Jessie escaped to take the shower she had planned earlier. When she came back, clean and refreshed, rubbing her short honey-colored curls semidry with a towel, Karen was already in bed watching the news on television with a frown.

  “Death, disease, and disaster,” she said, turning it off. “Can’t they ever report anything positive?”

  Jessie grinned and shook her head. “My feelings exactly. Well, for a week at least I don’t have to know what’s happening anywhere but on a tiny island in the vastness of Frederick Sound. What are you going to do about the situation tomorrow, Karen?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll have to figure out something—just not right now.”

  “True.”

  “But maybe . . .” Karen began, but stopped suddenly at the sound of heavy footsteps that hesitated in the passageway outside their door. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight in the bed, listening intently, one hand clutching wrinkles into the sheet.

  “Come on, Craig,” a male voice called. “Get a move on or I’m gonna leave without you.”

  “Keep your shirt on,” they heard someone answer faintly, then the sound of a second set of footsteps came along the passage and the two continued together, sharing quieter conversation that faded into silence with distance.

  Though she had noticed that the curtains of the room were closed when she came in from the Harbor Bar, Jessie watched with interest as Karen got up, crossed the room, and tugged at them till not a hint of space remained for anyone outside to peer through. Returning to the bed, she gave Jessie a self-conscious smile.

  “I know. I’m more than a little paranoid,” she said. “I’m also really tired. Goodnight, Jessie. And thanks again.”

  With that, she turned over to face the wall, clearly meaning to go to sleep.

  “You’re welcome,” Jessie answered softly, reaching to turn out the light between the two beds.

  But from the expression on Karen’s face throughout the incident, Jessie doubted paranoia had much to do with it. What she had seen and recognized was the kind of fear that she didn’t believe could be faked. Whatever the veracity of Karen’s story, there was no doubt in her mind that the woman was sincerely terrified.

  In Whitehorse, Alex Jensen put his cell phone away thoughtfully with a frown that lowered his eyebrows half an inch closer to his handlebar mustache as he drained the last swallow of his beer.

  “Something wrong?” Inspector Delafosse asked from where he sat next to Alex at the bar, raising a finger to let the pilot who was waiting for them at the door know he’d been seen.

  “No, not wrong. We’re just getting used to each other again, I guess. Mostly my fault for leaving Alaska in the first place.”

  “Mind my asking why you did leave?”

  “Well . . .” Alex hesitated, casting memory back to the preceding February. “When my father died suddenly and I went back to Idaho to help my mother, Jessie was running the Yukon Quest.”

  “I remember that situation,” Delafosse reminded him. “And I knew that they had offered you a job as sheriff and that you went back and took it.”

  As they both stood up and put on jackets, Alex agreed.

  “That’s almost right. I had already taken it—without talking it over with her—before I heard she was in trouble and came back. The timing was all wrong, but I’d already accepted it anyway.”

  Delafosse gave him an understanding nod. “Big mistake?”

  “Oh yeah. Part of it was misplaced concern for my mother—I told myself I was doing it for her. Didn’t take long for her to let me know that, as always, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and I should go back to Alaska, where I really wanted to be. But I think that I was really testing Jessie. I’d asked her to marry me and I guess I thought taking the job might influence her to say yes.”

  “Bad assumption.”

  “Got that right!”

  The bartender collected the bill Alex dropped on the bar and extended thanks for the tip it included. The two men turned to meander their way through the tables to join the waiting officer.

  “The real mistake was my determination to go ahead with the Idaho job when Jessie wouldn’t say yes. I should have refused it and come back. There was a certain amount of trust lost between us because of my stubbornness and her resistance.”

  “I noticed there was something a bit tentative between you these days.”

  “That obvious, huh?”

  “Only to someone who knew you then and now, I think. Clair mentioned it.”

  “Well, women talk to each other, don’t they?”

  Del shook his head. “Clair said Jessie wasn’t talking, so she wasn’t asking. She just noticed.

  “Hey, Ted. Thanks for the airlift,” he said, reaching a hand to the officer as they reached him.

  “Not a problem. You ready?”

  Following the two Canadian officers out into the night, Alex gave his relationship with Jessie final, silent consideration. It’ll either work out—or not. Probably just needs time. When she gets back, maybe we’ll talk—if she’s ready.

  He couldn’t know that a lot would happen before they had such an opportunity for face-to-face conversation, meaningful or not.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN THE DARK OF THE EVENING, THE HARBOR BAR WAS A bright oasis on the main street of Petersburg, leading Joe Cooper into it after a long walk from the ferry terminal at the edge of town.

  Luck and misfortune had brought him there: his luck at catching a mere glimpse of auburn hair when the headlights of a car pulling into the parking lot illuminated shadows at the side of the terminal building; her misfortune in being in the wrong place at the wrong time, which allowed that sighting to happen. There was no doubt in his mind what he had seen from his vantage point at the rail of the ferry, where he had once again stood waiting to watch passengers disembark. Another might have questioned identification based on so little, but long surveillance and more than one such sighting had give
n Cooper an instinctive ability to recognize the woman he was following.

  How she could be in Petersburg and not on the ferry was a question for which he had no concrete answer. She could not yet have left the ferry at this stop, so the only plausible explanation was that she had managed to elude his surveillance in Ketchikan, left the ship there, and had reached Petersburg some other way, probably by plane to be there so quickly.

  It didn’t matter. A satisfaction lay in knowing he had picked up her trail again—that she had not managed to escape him. So he had gone quickly to collect the duffel he had left tucked in a corner of the observation lounge and joined the few people waiting to leave the ferry. Waiting in line to go ashore had been frustrating, but finally the gate opened and the Petersburg passengers had moved forward, allowing him to all but sprint to the place where he had seen her standing. It had been empty, of course. She had disappeared into the night. If he had been able to see her from the rail in the glare of the ferry and terminal lights, the reverse was true and she had fled. But in a town this size some local resident would have seen her and it remained only for Cooper to find that person.

  He did not expect to see her in the well-lit, cheerful atmosphere of the Harbor Bar, but in such a gathering spot, where he could wait and watch without notice, he might learn something that would lead him to her. The place was clearly a casual after-work hangout, for many of the seats were taken by fishermen and processing plant workers, by themselves, or with their wives and girlfriends. The hum of conversation and crack of pool balls hitting each other on the table filled his ears as he hesitated just inside the door to give the room a sweeping glance. Confident his quarry was, as expected, not among the current patrons, he dropped the duffel and his jacket under the window, where he could keep an eye on them, and crossed to an empty stool halfway along the bar.

  “A shot of Jack Daniel’s and a Bud,” he told the female bartender and, as she turned away, cast a look at the way she filled out the front of her red plaid shirt. Nice hooters, he told himself, allowing his appreciation to slide south when she bent over to pull the beer from a low cooler.