Sundown on Top of the World: A Hunter Rayne Highway Mystery (16 page)

She shook her head. Now that he mentioned it, there had been something in the way he carried himself that reminded her of some policemen she’d seen over the years.

“Did he ask about me?”

“Why would you think he would ask about you?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps he saw my truck?”

She frowned. “Of course he saw it. He parked right beside it. Why would it matter?”

His moustache moved in what passed for a grin. “I might have stolen it in Canada and the Mounties are after me.”

“It’s almost as old as my truck. If you stole it you were doing someone a favor.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, his eyes kind. “My dear Betty, you’ve made a joke. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say something that was meant to be funny.”

She could feel her face get hot. She really hadn’t meant to be funny, but she liked it that he thought so. And she liked the feeling of his hands on her shoulders. He gave her shoulders a squeeze before dropping his arms to his side.

“In any case, I’m glad I wasn’t here when he arrived. I’m not a big fan of the police.”

“He wasn’t the police.”

“Of course. All the same, I’m sure it was a private matter between you and Goldie.”

She realized he’d been watching the whole time she’d been talking to Goldie as well. “He’s coming back again,” she told him. “To speak to me later.”

His brows came together in a slight frown. “Later today?”

She was just about to ask him why he cared, when he reached for her again, his smile so broad she could see the edge of his teeth under his moustache.

As if he had a sudden inspiration, he grabbed one of her hands and said, “Come with me, Betty. Let’s go to Fairbanks, and we can have a few days of fun. I’ve got a bit of money put aside. We can stay in a hotel and go out to dinner and maybe see a movie or something. It would be a fun, madcap thing to do, don’t you think?”

“But Goldie… “

“Goldie will be fine. She’s a big girl. You’ve told her about her mother today for the first time and she has a lot to think about right now.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Let’s do it, Betty. You’ve worked so hard for so many years. Isn’t it about time you let yourself have a little fun?”

Betty felt like her head was spinning. Grave and grumpy Betty Salmon who hadn’t been anywhere bigger than Eagle City for over a decade, going to a city – Fairbanks, a place she’d never been – for nothing but fun. Fun! If anyone had told her a few days ago that she’d even be considering the idea, she’d have said they were crazy. This would be a huge, dizzying plunge down that slippery slope of self-indulgence. The idea suddenly made her almost giddy with excitement. She would have to change into her best clothes for the trip, and pack up a few things to take along if they were going to stay overnight.

“Don’t think about it, Betty. Just say yes.”

“Okay,” she said, feeling as if she were in a dream. “I guess… Yes.”

Goldie was on auto-pilot driving to the lodge. In the past few days, her life had been turned upside down and she was trying to make sense of it. First it was meeting Mark at the lodge. She’d had a couple of schoolgirl crushes on boys in Eagle, but Mark was the first boy – man, really – she’d ever met who had the potential to fulfill her dreams of going Outside and seeing the world. It was an intoxicating thought, that if Mark wanted her to – and she thought he liked her more than just a little – she would go with him to California and a whole new life. She chided herself for letting herself even dream about it; she would only be disappointed, she decided.

Second was the arrival of Orville, and how he seemed to be sweeping Gran off her feet. While Goldie was cleaning up after this morning’s late breakfast, her grandmother had hastened to feed the chickens and the dog while Orville puttered around his truck. Soon Gran had appeared wearing her new jeans, a clean shirt and her beaded vest, and announced to Goldie that she and Orville were going for a drive and to please make sure Hootie and the chickens were fed until they got back. Goldie had never known her grandmother to go driving for pleasure, but that’s sure what it looked like when she joined Orville in waving a cheerful good-bye as he turned the Ford around before heading down the road.

The change in her grandmother represented the biggest revolution in Goldie’s situation. Instead of maintaining the strict, reclusive existence they had led for so long she had inexplicably opened up their world to Orville; she was the closest to being friendly that Goldie had ever seen her. In addition to, or maybe because of that, she had finally revealed the secret that had kept Goldie tethered to the little homestead in Eagle by giving her information about a mother who might still be alive, somewhere.

“She left,” Gran had said. “After you were weaned, and before the snow fell, she said she had to go, and she left.”

“But she meant to come back,” said Goldie. “The note. It said, see you in the spring.”

“She must have changed her mind.” Gran looked away. Goldie sensed that Gran was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth, and wondered which part of what she said was the lie. How could her mother have abandoned her? Had something happened to her mother? What was Gran hiding? She thought about a recent news story where a woman had kidnapped a baby right out of the hospital because she couldn’t have a child of her own. Was it possible?

“Do you know where she went?”

“Michigan, maybe. That’s where she was from.”

“Where in Michigan?”

“She didn’t say.” At this point, her grandmother had almost clamped her lips shut, and Goldie knew the conversation was over. She knew that the man from the lodge, Hunter, was planning to go back and talk to Gran later, and perhaps she would be more forthright with him.

Goldie braked to a stop in the middle of the road, struck by a sudden insight into why Gran and Orville had gone ‘for a drive’. Gran had no intention of talking to Hunter later today. She had talked Orville into taking her away from the homestead to avoid seeing him again.

Goldie made a growling sound in her throat and smacked the steering wheel with her hand. She watched in the rearview mirror as the dust raised by her sudden stop began to settle before easing the old Merc back up to speed. So much for finding out more from Hunter. She would just have to see what she could find out on her own. Or, she thought with a sudden burst of optimism, it just might be possible that Mark would be willing to help.

At least, Goldie thought, although her grandmother was acting out of character, she didn’t seem to be losing her mind. She was still sharp as a needle and not on a fast track to senility.

– – – – – TEN

“What can I do for you, Bart?”

Hunter was on Yukon Sally’s satellite phone again. At almost five dollars a minute, he needed to keep the conversation short.

“Picked up my murder suspects yet?”

“I didn’t know you had any.” Hunter recalled the old Ford pickup with Yukon plates parked at the cabin past Eagle Village. He hadn’t had a chance to even ask about it, but when he went back to interview Betty Salmon this afternoon, he’d remedy that. “Are you talking about your persons of interest? I haven’t seen anyone fitting those descriptions, if that’s what you were hoping for.”

“Just kidding; I’m sure we’ll get that under control without your help, but I do have something for you. I looked for the Martin Blake file, since that was the name of the missing trapper, as far as we knew. There was a note in the otherwise empty folder cross-referencing the name Grant Sanford, and someone had moved everything to a separate file. I wondered how they had come up with that information until I found the note.”

“What note?”

“In a newer file under the name Grant Sanford, along with the case notes and the fingerprints lifted from two of the few items in the cabin suitable for dusting – seems the only clear prints came from a tin mug found in the sink and the corner of Martin Blake’s drivers license – was a handwritten note, evidently received at the detachment from an anonymous source. All it says is, ‘Murder near Johnson’s Crossing last October. Real name Grant Sanford. From military base in Leesville, Louisiana. Wanted for murder.’ You remember that note?”

Hunter frowned. “I never heard about a note. I wasn’t officially in investigations in Whitehorse, so I guess that’s not surprising. Tell me more about the note.”

“It’s written on a page of lined paper, the kind with holes in the side that students use. Cheap ballpoint pen, kind of blobby. Looks like it was written in a hurry.”

“Come in an envelope?”

“No envelope with it. Folded up, on the back side is scrawled ‘Whitehorse RCMP’. Nothing in the file to say who or where it came from, but someone noted that it was left at the reception desk on October 3, 1973. The note led them to check the fingerprints against the military records at Fort Polk in Louisiana, which probably took months, if not years. Sure enough, they were a match. Turns out the guy, Sanford, was wanted for the murder of his estranged wife and her brother. He deserted immediately after the killings, never reported back to his unit.”

“Is there a photo?”

“Usual military ID photo circa 1964. Clean shaven, short hair. Looks close enough to the photo on Blake’s forged driver’s license where the fingerprint came from, allowing for the hair and beard difference and Blake’s John Lennon glasses.”

Hunter rubbed his chin. “Kind of opens up the suspect list, doesn’t it?”

“Meaning?”

“Revenge. Did someone from the wife’s family find out where he was? But who would have left the note? If the note was dropped off at the Whitehorse detachment almost a year later, it’s more likely it was left by someone from here.”

“Whoever it was wanted to make sure the dead man’s real identity was discovered,” said Bart. “No sign in the file of any follow up calls regarding the Louisiana case, but –.”

Hunter looked at his watch. “Look, I’m sorry, Bart. I’d love to discuss this in more depth but I’ve got to get off this phone unless Her Majesty wants to pick up the tab.”

Hunter told Bart he expected to be back in Whitehorse in two days and would try to find the time to talk before he got back on the road. He almost mentioned Betty Salmon’s story about April, but he didn’t want to get into it over the phone.

After he hung up, he went looking for Sorry and found him in the big lodge kitchen with Yukon Sally and the two women from Florida. The kitchen was full of the yeasty odor of fresh baking.

“Have one of these,” Sorry said, gesturing at a plate of cinnamon buns in the middle of the table.

Sally pushed back her chair. “I’ll get you a coffee,” she said.

Hunter’s mouth began to water. He pulled up a chair and reached for a cinnamon bun.

“What’s next, boss?” said Sorry. He was spreading butter on a still-steaming bun. “Aren’t we leaving today? No offense, Sally, but this isn’t exactly a happening place.”

“Want to go back to Dawson?”

Sorry made a face.

Hunter heard footsteps behind him, and saw Yukon Sally look up as she was setting a mug of coffee in front of him. He swung around in his chair, and saw young Goldie. He was struck again by her resemblance to April Corbett.

“You’re early. Join us for coffee?”

Goldie thanked Sally, but shook her head and remained standing. “I was hoping we could talk,” she said to Hunter, so shyly that she reminded him of a child. When he nodded, she added, “I’ll be down by the creek.” She excused herself and left again.

Sorry raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t she a little young for you, boss?”

Hunter scowled at him, surprised at how irritated he felt. “Get your mind out of the gutter. She’s almost as young as my daughter.”

“Whoa! Just jokin’.” He reached for another cinnamon bun. “A little touchy, are we?”

Hunter saw the two Florida women exchange glances. He punched Sorry lightly on the arm. “If you don’t want to go back to Dawson, I think we’ll stay here another day, if Sally’s still got room for us.”

She nodded.

He put milk and sugar in his coffee, wolfed down what remained of the cinnamon bun, then excused himself. “I’ll take a rain check on a second cinnamon bun, if that’s okay,” he said. “They’re fantastic.” As he walked, he licked the sticky sugar glaze off his fingers, then wiped his fingers on his jeans.

He found Goldie sitting on a rough log bench – just a plank supported on two upright rounds – beside the creek. He straddled the bench facing her and set his coffee down in front of him. “Your grandmother told you what you wanted to know?”

“Yes and no.” She smiled, almost mournfully. “So now I know who my mother is. Or was.” She bent down and picked up a coarse stalk of grass and began rolling it between her fingers. “But I have almost as many questions as I did before. I still don’t know if my mother is alive or dead, or why she left me. Or if –.” She didn’t finish the sentence, just stared at the creek with her mouth slightly open, as if lost in thought.

“What did your grandmother say?” Hunter prompted gently.

“It’s what she didn’t say. What she didn’t say for so long.” She turned to face him. “Why did she keep this from me for so long? I can’t help but wonder what the reason was. It’s like she was hiding something, maybe something that she did. My grandmother, I mean. What do you think? Can you understand why she would keep it such a secret from everybody?”

Hunter shook his head. He had his own suspicions. He tried to imagine what it had been like for Goldie, growing up with a woman who was hiding such important information from her. How much affection had the sullen bush woman shown to Goldie when she was a child?

“Was she good to you?”

“Gran? Betty, you mean?” A smile played over her lips as she nodded. “She was strict about some things, and there were the secrets, but yes, she was good to me. She worked very hard to provide for us and she taught me so much about living in the bush. She always let me know that she was proud of me, and in spite of her being sort of crusty, I always felt loved. I guess I’m much luckier than a lot of girls Outside.”

“More than you’ll ever know,” he said. During his years on the force, he’d seen girls who were forced to endure appalling childhoods. Many hadn’t survived unscathed, some hadn’t survived at all. On that spectrum, yes, she was lucky.

A raven began to squawk in the woods behind them, and they both turned to see who or what he was complaining about. Nothing appeared, and soon the raven flew out of the trees and away, following the creek toward the river.

Betty Salmon hadn’t told her much more after he had left them alone, Goldie said. Her grandmother described how she had taken care of April until the young mother had recovered from being beaten, and from the exposure she’d suffered trying to carry her baby to safety. April stayed with Betty at the Hootalinqua cabin until after the baby was weaned, then told Betty that she couldn’t stand to spend another winter in the north and wanted to go back south to make a home for herself and the baby. She was afraid the journey would be too hard with the baby, and asked Betty if she would be able to take care of Goldie until she came back to take her home in the spring.

“My mother came along on Gran’s annual fall trip to Carmacks to sell her furs and beadwork and pick up winter supplies. That’s a hundred mile trip down the Yukon by boat. She found someone who would give her a ride to Whitehorse, kissed me goodbye, and Gran said she never heard from her again.” She emphasized the word ‘said’.

“You don’t believe her?”

Goldie sighed. “I don’t
not
believe her. Not totally. Something could have happened to my mother so she was never able to come back, I guess.”

“But?”

“If she cared enough about me to struggle along the river bank carrying me in her arms as a baby, wouldn’t she care enough to come back for me in the spring?”

He said what he thought any daughter would need to hear. “I’m sure she loved you very much.”

They were both silent for a few moments, watching the water boil and ripple across the creek bed, listening to its liquid music in counterpoint to a series of raspy tsik-a-dees from a boreal chickadee before Goldie spoke again.

“I love Gran, but I feel somehow incomplete, not knowing anything about my parents. I need to know who they are, and if they’re still alive.” She looked straight at Hunter as she said it, and her expression, if not her words, seemed to be pleading with him for help.

His heart, almost literally, ached for her. He had not been in love with her mother, but he had been captivated by April’s ingenuousness and fascinated by her enthusiasm for life. The thought that April’s bright light might have been extinguished in that bloody cabin had haunted him ever since he’d seen her picture on the wall. And now to see her daughter – much the same age as his own two girls – suffering through no fault of her own, touched him deeply. And how could she, with no telephone and few or no connections outside of Eagle, even begin to find information about her parents?

“I’ll see what I can find out for you,” he said. “Maybe your grandmother will be more forthcoming with me this afternoon.”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“She and Orville left before I did. They didn’t say where they were going or when they’d be back, but it looks like they’re gone for the day.”

“And Orville is –?” He thought about the old pickup he’d seen.

“Oh, that’s right. He wasn’t there when you arrived. He’s just retired from trapping and prospecting, from what I gather. Gran seems to like having him around.” She stood up. “I’m sorry. I really should get to work. How can I get in touch with you again, in case you find something out?”

He told her he’d leave his phone number with Yukon Sally.

She suddenly stepped forward and bent to hug him where he sat, then stepped back. “Thank you so much. I was feeling so – so helpless, I guess. And hopeless.”

Hunter felt the strength of her lean forearm, however briefly, on his neck. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best. I can see how much this means to you.”

“Like you just said.” She smiled briefly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

A breeze swept her long dark hair across her face as she turned away, and for a moment, she was April. April in that photograph on the bloody cabin wall.

Betty began to second guess her decision as soon as Orville pulled out of the cabin’s driveway onto Eagle Village Road. What was she thinking? How could she let herself be talked into this crazy drive with a man she hardly knew? She had avoided male company most of her life, and for a good reason, she thought. After Wim Reinder went under the ice in 1959, she had sworn never to lose her independence again, and in the case of an abusive man – one like Reinder had been – that meant never allowing herself to be alone in a man’s company without suitable protection.

Over the years, she’d had trappers and travelers stop at her cabin seeking refuge from the elements, and like any responsible northerner, she had let those who needed shelter spend the night. But she had never encouraged visitors and always slept with her rifle, loaded, by her side. She made sure there was a securely fastened curtain, if not a door, between the main room and the place where she slept. It might not keep them out, but it would keep them out long enough for her to wake and grab her gun. Fortunately, it had never come to that, and over the years she had become less wary of her own safety. After Goldie became a part of her life, her main concern had become to protect the girl.

The thought of Wim Reinder made her shudder involuntarily. After his body had disappeared under the ice, she had run back to the cabin, the two dogs at her heels. She had barred the cabin door behind her – as if Reinder might have survived both the axe and the frigid river – and sat near the stove with a rifle at her feet. She was shivering uncontrollably, and put as much wood as she dared in the stove; the heat didn’t help as much as the passage of time. An hour or so later, she had stopped shaking and the feeling of panic had abated. She had gone outside to the burning barrel and lit a fire inside it. Then she had thrown all of Reinder’s clothing and blankets – everything of his that might carry any trace of his scent, a scent that had become abhorrent to her –into the burning barrel. She watched the flames, stirred the embers, added fuel to the fire if she had to, and didn’t go inside for the night until there was nothing left of his belongings but ash.