Let Loose (9 page)

She hung up, and I collapsed onto the sofa.
Fluff walked over and set her head on my knee. I stroked her
between the ears and tried not to think about the new noises I
heard coming from the laundry room.

“It’s Winny, isn’t it?” I asked Fluff. Winny
had a few addiction issues, mainly involving my favorite underwear
and anything resembling a sock.

Fluff stared back, obviously not wanting to
burden me with the truth.

Kiska, sensing someone other than him was
getting attention, walked over and set his head on my other knee.
Fluff, after a lifted brow, tolerated his intrusion.

And there I sat, pinned by two dogs and
wondering what the hell I was going to do to keep the rest of them
from bringing my house down around me.

“I’m going to have to find you homes,” I
said. Except, I couldn’t, not until the police decided they weren’t
evidence and the only sure way I knew that was going to happen was
them closing Red’s case. Which meant someone needed to find his
killer.

And who better than me?

I started my quest with my closest connection
to Red, Martin Phillips.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Sleep
Inn, Jeep fully loaded with dogs. I’d even brought Kiska. I’d
thought about leaving him at home. I’d thought about leaving every
configuration of dogs I could at home, but every one added up to
some kind of disaster, not that there was a lot more they could
destroy. But if I brought them with me, maybe, just maybe, someone
would see them and think of some plan that would take them off my
hands.

Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. And
I did not want Reds’ dogs out of anyone’s mind except mine.

I also wanted them out of my house and my
car.

The Sleep Inn was an old roadside type of
motel that reminded me a bit too much of Norman Bates. There was
even an old house behind it. Not a Victorian, but a two-story of
the same general upkeep as the place in
Psycho
.

The motel itself was a one story with a
wooden wishing well in front that might have been cheerful if the
paint hadn’t peeled off two winters ago and the garden gnome camped
at its base hadn’t lost his nose during some epic gnome-type
battle.

A truck that looked a lot like the one I’d
seen parked at the campground was in the parking lot. As I walked
closer, I could see dogs inside the multiple boxes, nestled in
their cozy straw beds and staring out at me with visible
interest.

“Lucy!” Martin stepped out of the motel room
door closest to the truck. He had a leash in his hand with two dogs
attached to the ends. “I was just getting ready to do some
skijoring.” He glanced past me at my husky-loaded car. “Are you
here for our lesson? I’d thought with what happened you wouldn’t be
up for it.”

Uh. Not knowing how to reply, I held up both
hands.

“Great. I know Red would understand.” He
motioned to his room. “I’ve got some extra gear. Which dogs do you
want to use?”

Which dogs... I looked back at my crew,
wondering which ones were feeling the laziest. Every husky, as if
listening in on our conversation, stared back at me with bright
eager eyes.

Kiska yawned.

“Well, I should probably use my dog.”

“Good thinking. Because one time will not be
enough.” Martin’s smile was so wide and bright I had to fight to
keep from lifting my hand to block the glare. “You might want to
use Fluff too. She’ll keep him in line, unless you don’t think
he’ll need motivation.”

Since my whole plan had been to use Kiska
specifically because of his lack of motivation, I didn’t reply.

“I’m taking three of mine, and since my truck
is built for twelve dogs, you can leave the rest of Red’s
there.”

It worked out so nicely. How could I say no?
I couldn’t think of a way. So I stood by patiently as Martin
transferred the dogs from my Jeep to his truck.

Twenty minutes later, Kiska, Fluff and I were
suited up and ready to go. When Fluff saw Martin’s dogs hooked up
and waiting, she wiggled her body and flipped her head toward
Kiska. He stared back at her, interested, but obviously oblivious
to what the source of her excitement might be.

I, unfortunately, wasn’t oblivious at
all.

First there were the skis. The boots were a
bit big for me, but Martin shoved a couple of pairs of socks in the
toes and declared them good.

I clicked them onto the skis and held out my
arms to get my balance.

“You’ve been skiing before, haven’t you?” he
asked.

I waved away his question as if it were a
joke. “Of course. I even own gear.” And I had, and I did. Just last
winter, Rhonda had taken me to McDonald Pass. I’d made it a good
200 feet before I’d taken off my skis and sunk into four feet of
snow.

Not, by the way, my smartest decision.

Martin held out a black belt like the one I’d
seen him in on the day we met. I snapped it around my waist and
awaited my death as Martin hooked the line already attached to
Fluff and Kiska to my belt.

He tugged on the line and looked me in the
eye. “Ready?”

I gave him a brief nod.

“Hike!” he called.

At first I thought nothing was going to
happen. Fluff stood, but Kiska stayed plopped down in his usual
sloppy sit.

“Hike,” Martin called again.

Fluff turned to Kiska and snarled. Kiska
pulled back in offense, but he got off his butt too. And suddenly
we were moving - fast.

Too fast, if the look on Martin’s face was a
guide.

“Whoa!” he yelled.

I yelled it too.

Fluff hesitated; maybe she even stopped. It
was hard to say, because all 120 pounds of Kiska kept moving.

A malamute in motion stays in motion unless
someone tosses a bag of hot dogs into his path.

Unfortunately, I’d already used my stash. We
entered the trees, the world around me a blur.

“Lucy!”

I could tell Martin and his three dogs were
moving now too, and they were fast, gaining on us I was sure. What
I didn’t know was what he was going to do when he caught up with
me.

The path flew past. I’m not sure how far we
traveled or how quickly, but we were deep in the forest now and
still moving.

Martin and his dogs pulled up beside us.
“You’re doing good. Bend your knees a little to keep your balance.
And tell Fluff to go easy.”

Easy? What the hell was easy?

Cold air bit at my cheeks, and now that
Martin had told me I was doing good, I realized exactly how bad I
was at this. My legs shook, and my skis began to point in at the
tips. I thought surely Kiska would stop. The furthest he’d run
before this was from the front door to his food bowl, but Fluff
seemed to have decided my malamute had had the right idea all
along. She yipped out some encouraging husky command and they
surged forward again.

And so did I. My skis, however didn’t. They
caught on a ridge of snow, and with my feet still firmly clipped to
the skis, I fell forward onto my face.

The dogs kept running.

I slid side to side over the trail, barely
missing trees, my mouth filling with snow.

“Pull the release!” Martin yelled.

He’d shown me the quick release, created for
just such a situation, before we left, but pulling it would mean
Kiska would be free, running. He could be lost, alone in the
National Forest.

I couldn’t live with that. Instead I
stretched out as far as I could and reached for the next lodgepole
pine. It hit my arms and for a minute... and then it was gone and I
was sliding across the snow again.

And then, twenty feet or so further, I
wasn’t. I didn’t know what had happened, but my trek across the
snow had stopped. I lay dazed and confused, staring up at the blue
sky above me until it was blocked out by Martin’s face. He bent
over me and ran his hands down my arms.

“Are you okay? Are you in any pain?”

I blinked. It was barely above zero and I was
covered in snow. Every bone in my body could have been splintered,
and I doubted that I would have felt it.

I blinked again.

“Lucy?” He tapped his fingers against my
cheek.

I didn’t feel that either, but my eyes began
to focus. His were brown and filled with worry. That was nice. I
liked it when people worried about me. My mother worried a lot.
That wasn’t always so nice though...

“Lucy?” He leaned closer until I could feel
his breath warm against my lips. Maybe it was the cold or maybe it
was the spill addling my brain, but I couldn’t help myself, I
sighed.

The branches next to me moved. “Lucy?” A new
voice spoke, soft and masculine and...

Peter.

I tried to sit up, but my body didn’t
cooperate.

Martin, still looking worried, brushed snow
from my face. “She hasn’t said anything.”

I couldn’t see Peter, but I could feel him,
or maybe those were the groping hands of guilt clawing at my
insides.

“Lucy?” Martin’s words were soft. His hands
moved down my shoulders to my arms. “Is anything broken? Did you
hit your head?”

“I’m...” I struggled to sit up. The snow and
my down coat made it difficult, but with Martin’s hand pressing
against my back and Peter somewhere close by watching, I found
enough motivation and strength to get upright.

Martin rolled back onto his heels looking
relieved. I covered my eyes with my hand while I tried to think of
something to say.

“Lucy—” Martin started again.

Unable to put it off any longer, I dropped my
hand and looked at Peter.

His cowboy hat left his face in shadow, but
his body was stiff. Kiska stood by his side, looking up at him with
total adoration.

“I saw Kiska and thought you might need help.
But it looks like you’re doing fine.”

I opened my mouth, searching for a reply, a
witty comeback that would let him know what he’d seen hadn’t been
me sighing against some other man’s lips... but it had, and I knew
it, and at the moment I couldn’t think of any explanation that
would make my actions even begin to seem acceptable.

He turned and stalked off between the
trees.

I stared after him, stunned. He’d said he’d
be home this weekend, but why hadn’t he called? Or had he? Had I
forgotten to check my messages? Did he think I’d been ignoring him
and then come to investigate and found me like this?

Guilt wrapped around me tighter than a fist.
I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t think.

Martin looked from Peter’s retreating back to
me. “Is everything okay?”

Okay? It was dandy. Jim Dandy.

I clenched my jaw and stared up at the sky. I
wanted to cry, but why? What had I done? Nothing. I’d gone skiing.
That was it, and Peter had ignored me for weeks.

And so far as messages... now that my brain
was working again, I knew he hadn’t called. I’d checked for that
light every ten minutes, hoping against hope that the Humane
Society or George or someone would call with a new home for the
dogs.

And I wasn’t near my house. Peter’d had no
way of knowing I’d be here, on a trail, in the woods. He hadn’t
come looking for me. No. He’d come home and not called and not
stopped by. Instead he’d... I didn’t know what he’d been doing in
the forest. Not that it mattered, because it hadn’t been fulfilling
his promise to me.

Kiska, apparently accepting that Peter wasn’t
coming back, wandered over and placed his nose against my cheek.
Then he sneezed, splattering my face with snow and dog snot.

Dog snot. That pretty much summed up my life
right now.

“It’s fine,” I replied to Martin, getting
annoyed even as I spoke. Peter thought he’d seen something. He
hadn’t. Maybe his feelings were hurt, but mine were too.

“Where are we?” I asked, maybe a little
snottier than needed.

“Half a mile, maybe, before the campground.
I’d meant to take the trail that leads to the campground, but Fluff
had other ideas.”

Before the campground? “Are we near the
highway?” I asked, trying to figure out what Peter had been doing
this deep in the forest.

“Depends on what you mean. In a sled, it
wouldn’t be far, on foot in the snow, it would be a pretty long
hike.”

Peter had been on foot.

“What else is near here?”

Almost in answer to my question, a motor
sprang to life.

“Snowmobile trail. What we were on isn’t big
enough, but it leads into the bigger trail that leads to the
campground.”

Was that Peter’s snowmobile I’d just heard?
He had come back to Helena and taken a joy ride instead of calling
me. My guilt all but disappeared.

I held out my hand for Martin to help me up
and tried to put Peter out of my mind. “The one the snowmobile club
was mad about being closed because of the race?”

“No. That’s on a different leg. Besides, it’s
open now too. Will be until a week before the race. Might be open
through it now...”

“Are they talking about moving the race?” I
knew it was selfish, but I had plans around the race, and they
depended on it being held on my road.

Martin shrugged. “There’s been talk, but most
people are against it. They think it would be giving in.”

“Giving in?”

“To the snowmobilers.” He suddenly looked
uncomfortable. All my gossip alarms rang.

“Do people think someone in the Skyers shot
Red?” Frank Kelly had been pretty mad when he found out what Red
had done, and chances were he wasn’t the only angry snowmobiler.
But killing someone because you were going to miss out on a couple
of weeks of riding one trail? I found that hard to believe.

Looking shame-faced, Martin continued, “It
isn’t just what happened at the fund-raiser. It’s the trails
too.”

“The trails? I thought that’s what the
argument was about.”

“It was. What I mean is that people think
whoever killed Red might have come and gone from the campground on
a snowmobile.”