Death Takes a Honeymoon (26 page)

So Julie was right,
I thought.
There was interference with the
body. But she, and Danny Kane, too, had been mistaken about its nature. I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining the scene of my cousin’s death.

“I got him calmed down enough to call in his report,” the Tyke continued. “Then I helped him unclip the bag and clean it off, but we didn’t have time to clip it back before Danny showed up. We didn’t tell Danny what happened. Todd made me promise not to tell anyone. He was afraid he’d never live it down, being the Ned who cried.” She smiled a little. “He’s got funny ideas about being a smoke jumper, you know? Heroes and all that shit.”

“But what about you and Brian?” I blurted. “Steve the bartender saw you two, um, getting close.”

The Tyke went scarlet.

“Once!” she said. “I let him grope me once when I was dead drunk, and the next day I told him if he ever touched me again I’d... I told him to lay off, and he did.”

“So Brian Thiel was dead when you arrived,” said Larabee, overlooking this detour. “And there’s no question in your mind that he died as the result of an accident?”

The Tyke looked shocked. “What else would it be?”

“Well, Miss Kincaid here seems to think—”

“Yo, Tyke!”

The three of us looked up at the sound of Jack’s voice. He’d come out to where the veranda wrapped around the side of the inn, and was waving an arm to summon us. I checked my watch, wondering if it was time for the toasts already.

“That can wait,” I said, but the Tyke knew her comrade well, and she saw something in his bearing that I didn’t see.

“No.” She was already in motion. “No, it can’t. Come on.”

Out on the veranda we found an eerie tableau. All the trappings of a lively party were in place, from the bow-tied bartender to the rose-strewn and gauze-tented cake table. But instead of partying, everyone from the bride to the busboy was standing motionless and staring into the west.

Most of them had lifted one hand to shield their eyes, as if in salute to the lowering sun. Its golden rays gilded their faces as they searched among the countless forested ridges that rippled out to the horizon, and focused on a single point.

I followed their gaze, and stopped motionless myself. Thunderheads were building off to the west, as they did so often here on summer afternoons. But today there was a difference.

In the middle distance—no, nearer than that—rose the same kind of smudgy yellow-brown veil of smoke that I’d seen from the plane. The veil seemed to lean in our direction, and a breath of warm air brought the distinctive smell I had noticed before.

The smell of fire.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

NOBODY PANICKED, THOUGH FOR DIFFERENT REASONS. THE Idaho people, including the high-school musicians, were interested but hardly surprised, wildfires being a normal part of summer in the arid West. This particular fire was screened from us by an intervening ridge, but they gauged the distance of the smoke plume, and the relative calm of the wind, and went on eating their lobster gazpacho.

Some of the L.A. crowd were less relaxed, perhaps recalling the conflagrations that had ravaged southern California in recent years. They looked at the dry woods surrounding White Pine, and the grass-choked meadows on the slope below the inn, and began to talk about going home a little early.

But others seemed to view the smoke as part of the day’s entertainment. Olivia, for example, handed Boris her camera and posed at the veranda rail with the gray plume in the background. She wore a painted-on plum-colored dress that was cut up to
here
and unzipped down to
there,
and everything in between had the Mad Russian’s undivided attention. Floral directors aren’t usually invited to the wedding itself, but somehow Boris always showed up, and how do you banish a good-natured grizzly bear?

For myself, I tried to read the smoke jumpers’ faces. Tracy must be upstairs somewhere, perhaps with Cissy, but the groom was deep in conversation by the bar with his new father-in-law. Julie Nothstine stood beside them, leaning against the veranda railing to spare her legs, in loose cotton trousers and a blue blouse that echoed her eyes. All three of them held highball glasses.

Other jumpers began to join them, including Todd Gibson and Al Soriano, but so far nobody looked too worried, and at one point Al’s narrow features even split into a snaggle-toothed grin.

So it’s all right,
I thought, taking my cue from them.
I don’t
have to close down the party.

I’m so accustomed to taking charge at weddings, I had to remind myself that changing the program at this one would be Beau Paliere’s call, not mine. I didn’t see him at the moment, though, so I tagged along toward the bar with the Tyke and Chief Larabee.

“What have we got?” said the chief, addressing himself to Jack. He, too, recognized the authority here.

“Well, we’re not sure,” said Jack. “Sam’s having a little problem with his radio.”

Larabee glowered. “Damnation, Kane, you assured me you had proper emergency communications up here. It could be months before you get that cell tower approved.”

“I know, I know,” said Sam, looking chagrined. “If the county commissioners would quit fussing around about scenic values and just approve my permit—”

“Later,” said Jack, and his tone made both the older men stop and listen. “Chief, could you help us out with the mobile in your squad car? Just check in with the jumper base, get a status report.”

“ ’Course I can. Be right back.”

As Larabee walked off grumbling to himself, Jack gave the rest of us a brief smile. “I think we’re fine. The humidity should come up a couple points as the day goes on, which’ll park that fire right where it is. It’s just that if we start getting lightning strikes up here, it might be a different story.”

Sam shook his head mournfully. “My womenfolk aren’t gonna like it if you cut short their shindig. Let’s give it some time if we can.”

“I can talk to them if necessary,” I offered. “Just keep me posted on the plans. Me and Beau, I mean.”

The minutes seemed to drag before Larabee came back, but when he did the news was reassuring—although at first I didn’t understand that.

“It’s about a forty-acre fire, five miles from here,” he told Jack. “They’ve got a hundred and twenty personnel on it, looking at containment by nightfall.”

“No call for a Type One?”

“Nope.”

The jumpers all nodded sagely, and the group began to break up. But I was still in suspense, so I appealed to Julie Nothstine.

“I don’t get it. What’s a Type One?”

“It’s the level of Incident Management Team that NIFC assigns to major fires,” she said.

“So we’re OK?”

“I believe so, unless the weather pattern suddenly destabilizes.” She tucked a wayward strand of gray hair back into place. “I notice that that obtuse police officer is here today. Have you been able to make him see reason?”

“Believe me, I’m working on it.”

I caught up with the chief at the appetizer table, and resumed making my case. Aaron didn’t seem to be around to chime in, and that was fine with me. I wanted to pull this off on my own.

“It wasn’t Todd Gibson I was worried about,” I explained, as Larabee gazed suspiciously at the gazpacho. “Well, maybe a little, but what I really wanted to tell you was about a man named Domaso Duarte. He does odd jobs—”

“I know who he is. Get to the point.”

“The point is that Domaso was camping near the Boot Creek fire. He could have been there when Brian landed.”

Larabee’s left eye stopped twitching, just for a moment, and I could sense him going on the alert. “I never heard that.”

“He’s been keeping it secret! And he’s also been asking about the old rumor that Roy Kane buried his war loot in that same area. What if Domaso dug it up...” As I related Aaron’s theory about the Crown of Silla, I was dismayed to see Larabee’s skepticism mounting to outright disbelief. “Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but remember what Dr. Nothstine said, that the fall itself shouldn’t have killed Brian.”

“That crazy woman?” Larabee scoffed.

I stepped closer, wary of being overheard. “That crazy woman was right about Brian’s PG bag being tampered with, so what if she’s right about this, too? Shouldn’t you at least question Domaso? He’s here today, you know.”

The chief pursed his lips, then nodded decisively. “All right, I’ll talk to him. But if I’m satisfied that there’s nothing more to go on, I’m dropping the matter. And I don’t want to hear another word about it from you or Nothstine, is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

As the chief strode away, scanning the crowd for his quarry, I went so limp with relief that I swayed on my feet. There might be more thunderclouds heading our way, but it felt like clear skies to me. I snagged a glass of champagne from a passing tray and knocked back a celebratory slug.
I
did it. I did right by Brian.

I wanted to share my victory with Julie or B.J., or even Aaron. But none of them was tall enough to stand out above the press of bodies on the veranda, though I could see Boris hoisting a vodka glass aloft, and Sam’s Stetson bobbing.

The party was reaching critical mass, that joyful condition where everyone’s talking at once, strangers are becoming fast friends, and more than half the guests are convinced that they’re sexy or brilliant or both. Beau and I had a hit on our hands.

I saw my mother talking with Julie Nothstine, and Owen Winter bringing them both drinks, maneuvering his way skillfully through the crowd. I hadn’t yet made up my mind about Owen, but he did have good manners.
And Mom’s got
good judgment, after all. I should give him the benefit of—

“Carnegie?”

Someone touched my arm, and I turned to find the Tyke looking at me with an oddly shy expression. She had shed her jacket, her sleeveless white blouse crumpling in the heat, and I noticed a nasty scrape on her elbow. So she hadn’t escaped the fight unscathed after all.

“I, um, need to apologize,” she said. “I guess if you thought Toddy and I were messing with your cousin’s body, you had a right to... Look, we weren’t disrespecting him.”

“I know that.”

“I mean, he was my bro, and—”

“I appreciate your saying so.” I felt shabby, letting her apologize for disrespect when the real question was murder. But I could hardly tell her that, so I tried to change the subject. Her scraped elbow suggested a way. “Tell me, are you OK after last night? That was quite a fight Domaso started.”

“Are you kidding?” The Tyke was drinking beer from the bottle, and she took a swig now. “We’re used to getting banged up. But he didn’t start it, you know. Your friend from Seattle did.”

“Aaron?”

“Oh yeah. Duarte said something to another guy about you and Jack, just being a jerk, you know? Then he called you a—” A camera flashed nearby, making us both blink, and during the interruption she reconsidered. “He called you something he shouldn’t have, and Aaron heard him. I’ve never seen a man move so fast.”

“Really?” I sipped thoughtfully at my champagne. “Huh. Have you seen Aaron out here, by any chance?”

She didn’t reply, because a distant crack of thunder rumbled across the veranda and we both fell silent. The flash had been lightning, not a camera, from a mass of clouds approaching from the south. This was no Seattle sky, no uniform soft grayness. The air between the sharp-edged shapes was still a dazzling blue, but the clouds themselves were dark and menacing.

Another flash and another thunder crack, still distant but noticeably closer together. The gay babble of voices around us faltered, and then a questioning buzz arose. I cut to the outside edge of the crowd and made my way around the railing to find Chief Larabee.

Jack and Tracy were with him, along with Sam, all of them looking gravely at the clouds and then at the smoke plume in the distance. It was progressing northward, left to right from our viewpoint. But it was perceptibly bigger now, not a plume but a column, and it didn’t feel so distant anymore.

“What’s the verdict?” I said quietly.

“We’re still fine,” said the chief, equally quiet. “But that fire’s getting away from them down there.”

Sam gave a deep sigh and said, “How ’bout if we wrap things up in the next hour or so? Folks can leave earlier if they care to, just not all at once ’cause that road won’t handle it. All right with you, son?”

“That would be best,” said Jack. “And let’s not let the people who stay wander off too far. We don’t want people out in the woods somewhere if we have to clear out in a hurry.”

“So, no dancing?” said Tracy.

“No.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, honey.”

“It’s all right,” she said, and I could see from her face that it was. Tracy had grown up today, at least a little. “We’re having a perfect, perfect wedding, aren’t we, John? Carnegie, I’m not sure where Beau is, so could you—?”

“No problem.” There was an empty chair by the railing, and I stepped up onto it. “Ladies and gentlemen! Listen, please... Can you all hear me?”

The faces turned toward me, some anxious, some still in party mode. But none panicky, and I was determined to keep it that way.

“Ladies and gentlemen, there may be some bad weather coming.” Doubtful that anyone thought I meant rain, but “fire” is such a spooky word. “So we’re going to change our schedule a bit, and do our dancing down in Ketchum tonight.”

Heads nodded at that, and I continued. “Meantime, dinner is served! Please help yourselves at the grill stations out front. You can eat out here on the veranda or inside, we’ve got tables everywhere. But please—this is important—please stay in the immediate area of the inn, all right?”

Then I had a sudden idea, so I improvised. “If anyone needs to leave early, feel free, but there’s no law against going straight from the appetizers to the dessert, is there? Please gather round, and let’s toast the bride and groom as they cut their wedding cake.”