Page 9

9

Bear took a few days for Lila’s revelation to sink in. That was how he generally operated—he liked to turn things over in his mind before he came to any conclusions. That was one reason why he’d been an excellent detective in Bethel—which, unfortunately, was the last thing that corrupt police chief had wanted.

He gave no thought to Lila’s explanation of why she’d decided not to leave. A crush? That was clearly a cover story and not worth the time to delve into. If she really had a crush on him, there would have been countless opportunities for her to show it. She wasn’t especially shy. So he dismissed that out of hand.

But the rest of it…the intuitive abilities, the knife throwing…that was different.

He’d asked Cromwell straight out, as he’d gotten back in his rig the other day. “I heard it was a knife that sent her into the river. Was she stabbed? Has the knife been recovered? Want me to organize a search?”

“The coroner says the angle and depth of the wound suggests it was a knife throw, and no, we didn’t find the knife. My guess is the killer yanked it from her body, and it’s probably in the Gulf of Alaska by now. Stay out of it, Bear. I don’t need anyone messing in my investigation.”

So Lila had been correct. He hadn’t doubted her. But at that point it really sank in. She’d known the cause of death before the coroner.

He’d backed away from the SUV. “You got it, Officer Cromwell. Better make it speedy, though. Looks like we have a murderer on the loose.”

“Screw you. There was a boyfriend, this was a domestic dispute, a one-off. Keep out of my case.”

That seemed like a lot of jumping to conclusions to Bear, but he got the point. Keep out.

When he’d given adequate thought to everything Lila had told him, he knocked on the door of the old hardware store. He still hadn’t told her that he’d hooked her up with the place. That was the way he generally moved…quietly, in the background, making things happen without anyone knowing.

It was Sunday, and The Fang wouldn’t open until mid-afternoon. Now that it was nearly October, business had slowed to a steady trickle of locals and hunters. Soon he would cut the hours even further as the town settled into the magically slow rhythm of winter. His favorite time of year.

The door opened and Lila blinked at him. Her hair was tied back in a sunflower-patterned bandanna, and the smell of wood polish hovered around her.

“You aren’t cleaning, are you?” he asked, alarmed, thinking of Ani’s warning that Lila always deep-cleaned before taking off.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is that a problem?”

“Are you…am I about to lose my bartender again?”

“What? Oh. No.” She opened the door farther for him to come inside. “Sometimes a cleaning binge is just a cleaning binge.”

He gazed around the space that had once been the storefront of the hardware store and was now a living room. Everything—furniture, old steamer trunks, ancient whiskey barrels, the creepy dress form, even the cast iron anvil—had been pushed to the center of the room.

“The baseboards were a disgrace,” Lila explained. “Allison would be appalled. I’ve been scrubbing them all morning.”

Was it odd for a renter to care so much about baseboards? “Who’s Allison?”

“Allison Casey. The woman who used to live here.” She gestured at the dress form as if that explained anything. “She was a stickler for a spotless shop.”

“Oh. Is that something you,” he waved at his own head, “sensed?”

“It’s history, as a matter of fact. I found this.” She pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of her apron. “It’s a list of chores. Daily, weekly, monthly. She was very organized and meticulous. The least I can do is not let the place fall apart while I’m here.”

She gave him a sunny smile. It was lethal, that smile. It could sneak under your skin and tell you everything was wonderful and right with the world.

He cleared his throat. “Can you take a break?”

“Um…sure, but aren’t we closed right now?”

“This isn’t for The Fang. I’ve been thinking about your blip. I want to try something.”

A shadow fell across her face. “Will it help figure out who killed that woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well, anything’s worth a try. I can’t stop thinking about her. I’ve been doing some research on her.” She untied her apron and tossed it onto a tin bread box painted with flowers, now faded with age. Lila was such a bright spirit, it seemed odd that she’d be surrounded by so much old junk. And yet she seemed to fit right in, somehow.

In the passenger seat of his truck, she toed off her sneakers and folded her legs into a cross-legged position. As they cruised down the main road, he watched a bald eagle land on the top of the Magic Breakfast Bus and focus its predatory gaze toward the ground.

“What research?”

“It seemed like an odd kind of coincidence that Rita Casey and Allison Casey had the same last name. I wanted to see if they were related, and if that was why she was here in Alaska. I racked up a pretty big Wi-Fi bill at the general store just to come up empty.”

“No connection?”

“I can’t say for sure. Allison came from the East Coast, and Rita’s family has been in Oregon for generations.”

“It’s not an uncommon name.”

“No, not really. Still, it seems odd. Like history repeating itself, almost.”

That sounded far-fetched to him. “If you look hard enough, you can find patterns everywhere. Doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“Yeah…that is the logical conclusion.” She spoke the word “logical” as if she didn’t like the way it felt on her tongue.

He looked over at her, amused. “Got a problem with logic?”

“I mean, it’s fine as far as it goes.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But it can also get in the way.”

He grunted, not wanting to argue with her.

“You don’t believe me? If you always expect things to be logical, you’ll miss the infinite number of times they just aren’t. Oh.” She snapped her fingers. “Which reminds me. Why was Officer Cromwell making all those digs at you?”

The swift change of subject made him blink. “Why did that remind you of Officer Cromwell?”

“Oh, logic…police work…it’s a natural segue. Perfectly logical.” Again with her sunshiny smile. “So?”

“How should I know why Officer Cromwell does anything? Logically, you should ask him.”

“I don’t want to ask him because I don’t like him.”

That made him happier than it should have. “Why not?”

“Because he was making digs at you. It was very unbecoming of a professional. And you are the last person anyone should be needling like that.”

“Oh yeah? Why not? Were you worried I might clock him and get hauled off to the Blackbear jail?”

“No, no. That’s not what I mean. I mean because you’re so kind and don’t deserve that sort of treatment.”

“So kind ?” That was definitely not what he’d expected her to say. People generally found him intimidating.

“Yes, you’re the absolute nicest person in Firelight Ridge, and I thought it was shameful that he would speak to you that way. I’m tempted to call his supervisor.”

“Don’t even—” he growled.

“Of course I wouldn’t do that. It would just make it worse. But I have my eye on that man. My friends can tell you, do not make an enemy out of me.”

He fought back against the smile that wanted to break out. How would Lila, who was the size of a large kitten compared to him, be a worse enemy than he’d be? “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said dryly.

“Oh, you could never be my enemy. You’re far too kindhearted. Hey, where are we headed?” She looked out the passenger window, seemingly only just now noticing they were driving through the woods to the east, toward Snow River.

“We’re going to throw some knives,” he said casually. “Don’t worry, we’ll do it in a kindhearted way.”

If Lila’s smile was lethal, her laugh was on another level entirely. Every time he heard it, the corners of his mouth lifted. It made him wish he was funnier so he could hear it more. But he wasn’t one of those fast-talking quipsters, the kind who wielded humor like darts.

He turned onto an old logging road that wound through a section of woods along Snow River that had been clearcut years ago. Since then, mostly cottonwoods had repopulated the area, with a scattering of spruce and birch. It made for a less densely wooded environment than the typical spruce forest around here.

It would be easier to fling a knife and hit the target.

He pulled over at a wide spot in the road, out of the way in case anyone else came through. The cottonwoods still held some of their leaves, but most of them had drifted to the ground in piles of faded gold. As he got out of the truck, he listened, as he always did, for the sounds of wildlife. Hyper-alert squirrels could tell you a lot about what was going on in the woods, if you knew how to listen.

But now, the woods were so quiet that he could hear the waters of Snow River flowing across mossy rocks. This time of year, most of the migrating birds had already flown south, leaving only the ravens and crows and Steller’s jays and eagles. A deep croak alerted him to the presence of a raven, who whisked away from them in a flap of black wings.

Lila climbed out of the truck and dropped lightly to the ground. “This is where you want to throw knives? Do you have something against cottonwoods?”

He reached into the backseat of his truck for the cardboard box of knives he’d assembled. “I’m cool with cottonwoods.”

She giggled, surprising him. Apparently she thought he was funny; go figure.

“I was thinking about your blip,” he explained. “There would have to be plenty of open space for that knife to hit its mark. Obviously they would have to be near Snow River. This spot came to mind.”

“You want to recreate my blip?”

“I want you to tell me if one of these looks familiar.” He tilted the box toward her so she could see the knives. “I gathered up a selection of knives that might match the one you saw. Figured I’d throw them and maybe something would ring a bell. It could help us narrow in on what type of knife he used.”

“Why he?” she murmured. “Do you know it was ‘he’?”

“No.” He smiled wryly. “I guess it’s sexist to assume someone hurling a knife into someone’s back is a man. Did your blip specify a gender?”

“No, I told you I couldn’t see the knife-thrower at all.” She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re taking my blip very seriously. Do you really think it’s evidence?”

“I wouldn’t call it evidence, no. But I also wouldn’t call myself a cop anymore, so it doesn’t matter.” He winced, realizing that he’d released that bit from his personal vault of secrets.

She didn’t react to his slip, which he appreciated. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a try. At the very least, I get to watch a big studly guy throw some knives.”