White Mountain (28 page)

She tried the phones once more, telling herself that maybe they’d been in the shower, or in another room.
 
But common sense told her that they wouldn’t all have been out of pocket at once.

She called Jack’s room, but when he didn’t answer, she figured he was still in the shower.
 
Unwilling to wait for him to accompany her, she ran for the front office, grabbed a pass key and then headed for the elevator.

“Hey, Isabella.”

Not now.
 
But she stopped and turned, finding herself face-to-face with a couple of old ranchers who’d been dining earlier.

“What was that all about?” one asked.

“It was just a precaution,” she said.
 
“Thankfully, it proved unnecessary, but you know what they say.
 
‘Better safe than sorry.’”

The other rancher chimed in.
 
“Safe from what?”

Isabella didn’t hesitate to lie, not if it meant keeping her loved ones safe.

“I think the authorities were looking for some escaped criminal or something.
 
Anyway, it was a false alarm, so you two should be fine going home.”
 
Then she winked.
 
“However, I wouldn’t pick up any hitchhikers if I were You.”

They both blustered and frowned.
 
“We ain’t afraid,” the first rancher said.
 
“like I told you before, I got my gun in the pickup.”

“Just don’t shoot Charlie,” she teased.

The other rancher snorted.
 
“He’s not gonna shoot me, because I’m unloading that rifle before we get in the truck.”

They were still arguing as they exited the hotel.

Isabella breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the elevator again.
 
This time she made it inside without being detained.

As always, it rose slowly, creaking and groaning as it moved to the top floor, and for Isabella, the ride was endless.
 
The moment it stopped, she was out on the run and banging on the first door she came to as she put the key in the lock.

David was the first out of the tiny elevator as he dashed through his closet into his room.
 
He started to pick up the phone and call Isabella, then froze.
 
Someone was in the hallway, calling their names.
 
It was too late to call.
 
She was already up here looking for them.

“Hurry,” he said.
 
“We don’t have much time.
 
He ran to the door and took of the chain, unplugged his phone and then scurried back to help the others set up the long-practiced ruse.

Jasper grabbed a folding card table as Thomas and John started dragging chairs from around the room and placing them at the table.
 
Rufus yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out a deck of cards and a box of poker chips.
 
Within seconds, the five men were seated around the table, ostensibly immersed in a game of poker.

“I’ll bid five dollars,” Jasper said, just as the door banged inwardly.

All five men looked up with expressions of pretend surprise.

David soot, his cards still in his hand.

“Isabella!
 
Darling!
 
Is something wrong?”

Isabella went limp with relief.
 
Poker.
 
They were all in Uncle David’s room playing poiker.

“I called you—all of you—and no one answered.
 
I thought something had happened to you, too.”

David laid down his cards and went to her, taking her in his arms.

“We’re so sorry we worried you, dear, but my phone didn’t ring.”

“I called and I called,” she said.

Jasper got up and went to the phone.
 
“Look,” he said.
 
“It’s unplugged.”

David frowned.
 
“Probably the cleaning staff accidentally unplugged it.
 
I’m so sorry you were concerned, but as you can see, we’re fine.
 
Why don’t you come sit with us?
 
You can help me play my hand, just like you used to when you were small.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.
 
I didn’t make myself clear.
 
It’s not just that I couldn’t find you.
 
I thought you were all dead, just like Uncle Frank.”

“But why would you think that?” David asked.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said.

“At the beginning is usually best,” Thomas said, and offered her a chair.

She sat, because her legs were still shaking, and then looked at the five aging men who meant so much to her.

“you are all I have left in this world,” she said softly.

“And we love you as if you were our own child,” David said.

“I know,” she said.
 
“But a situation has developed since we talked this morning.”

David ruffled her hair.
 
“I see you took my advice.
 
I like the new style.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I mean.”
 
She took a deep breath and the spat out the words like a bad taste.
 
“Jack Dolan isn’t a writer.”

David frowned.
 
“He hasn’t trifle with your affections, has he?
 
Because if he has, I’ll—“

“No, no…oh, Lord, I’m saying this all wrong.”

“Then let me help,” Jack said.

They turned as one, looking with surprise at the man in the doorway.

“Jack, I was just about to—“

“I heard,” he said, and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

“Sir, I believe you owe us an explanation,” John said.

Jack frowned.
 
“No, sir, I don’t.
 
But even so, I will tell you what I told Isabella.
 
I’m a Federal agent.”

Five men stared without speaking, each locked into his own set of horrors.

Isabella interrupted.

“Uncle David, he thinks Victor Ross is the man who killed Uncle Frank.”

There was a collective gasp of horror, and then all of them were talking at once.

“Wait…wait…” Jack said.
 
“One at a time…please.”

“I’ll ask the most obvious question first,” David said.
 
“Why would Frank’s killer come all the way to Montana?
 
We were given to understand that his death was the result of a mugging.”

Jack hesitated, debating with himself about revealing Frank Walton’s true identity, then decided against it.

“We’re not sure,” Jack said.
 
“All we know is that the killer cleaned out Mr. Walton’s hotel room, making it appear as if he’d checked out on schedule, then used his plane ticket.”

“And I hired him,” Isabella wailed.
 
“I gave that man shelter and food and money.”

“You couldn’t have known,” David said.
 
“None of us could have.
 
Why I even treated him that day he was ill, remember?
 
Just because he deceived us, that does not make us culpable in Frank’s death.”

“I know,” Isabella said.
 
“But still…”
 
The she shuddered.
 
“I can’t get over the fact that he was in my home, standing in my own living room and commenting on art as if he hadn’t a care in the world.”

“What art?” Jack asked.
 
“And why was he in your room?”

“I told you earlier.
 
He helped me carry some things from my car, then he waited so I could pay him.”

“Did you give him cash?”

She nodded.

Jack’s mind was racing.
 
If Ross
was
the Hawk, money was the last thing he would need.
 
He had a way of procuring whatever was necessary without buying it, and leaving bodies in his wake.

“Mr. Dolan…what made you think that Victor Ross was the killer?” Thomas asked.

Again Jack guarded his words.
 
“He was a stranger.”

“Yes, but you said you thought your recognized him, remember?” Isabella said.
 
“I even commented on the same thing to Ross myself when he was looking at the painting.”

Shit.
 
“Exactly what did you say?” Jack asked.

“The painting is of a farm scene.
 
He said it reminded him of where he grew up.
 
I asked him if that was Louisiana.
 
He said no, that he’d never been there and wanted to know why I asked.
 
I said a guest had seen him earlier and thought he looked familiar.
 
That was all I said.
 
I had no way of knowing it would alert him.”
 
She looke up at Jack, her expression drawn.
 
“It was me, wasn’t it?
 
What I said made him run.”

Jack laid his hand on her back and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring pat.

“We don’t know that, and besides, it can’t be helped.
 
If I’d been thinking.
 
I would have kept my comments to myself.
 
I’m the one who knew there was a killer in the area, not you, so don’t blame yourself.”

“But I still don’t understand,” Jasper said.
 
“Why would a New Yorker commit a crime in Brighton Beach, then come all the way to Montana where his victim lived?
 
It makes no sense.”

“Ross isn’t from New York,” Jack said.

“Then where
is
he from?” David asked.

“Russia.”

Isabella sighed.
 
“That makes even less sense than ever,” she said.
 
“We have no ties to Russia, do we, Uncle David?”

Jack’s attention slid from Isabella to the aging doctor, and the moment he looked at his face, he knew.
 
He looked at the others, and while they were doing their best to hide it, he could tell they were in shock.

That settled it.
 
They knew Walton’s secret.
 
He could see it in their eyes.

When Isabella saw Jack touch his cheek and then wince, she remembered they had yet to doctor his face.

Uncle David…I told Jack you would put something on his scratches.”

The old man seemed to shift mental gears as he looked at the wounds.

“Of course,” he said.
 
“Please, sit here.
 
I’ll get my bag.”

Jack sat willingly, glad for the excuse to stay in their midst.

“How did this happen?” Jasper asked.
 
Did you fall?”

“No.
 
I was running down White Mountain.
 
Didn’t pay close enough attention to where I was going, I guess.”

David set down his medical bag, then took out some sterile swabs and a bottle of disinfectant.
 
“White Mountain isn’t a very good place to jog,” he said.

Jack looked up, meeting the doctor’s gaze.
 
“I wasn’t jogging.”

David didn’t question him further, which Jack thought strange.
 
It was almost as if he knew why Jack would have needed to hurry.

Isabella suddenly straightened and turned to Jack.

“Jack, I just remembered something.”

He winced as the disinfectant ran into one of the deeper cuts.

“Like what?”

“Remember when you ran into the lobby and were shouting for me?”

“Yes?”

“Why the panic?”

He shifted slightly so the he could see her face.

“I needed to see that you were all right.”

A frown knitted her forehead above her brows.

“I’m just not following all this.
 
If Ross killed Uncle Frank—and I have no doubt that you believe he did—then why would you assume I’m in danger?
 
What happened up on the mountain that made you so sure it was him?
 
He’s been here for quite a while.
 
You’d seen him more than once and never said a thing.
 
Why now?”

David had finished cleaning the cuts and scratches and was listening intently, as were the other old men.

“I didn’t go to White Mountain to hike.
 
I went looking for the man who used Frank Walton’s plane ticket home.
 
I didn’t find him, but I found a camping knife with Russian markings.
 
As I was coming down the mountain, I remembered where I’d seen Victor Ross’s face.”

Jasper Arnold leaned forward, his eyes wide and filled with shock.