Deadfall (15 page)

J
essie stood staring at the stove that should not have been warm, her stomach in knots, mind whirling with apprehension, trying to think who could have been making use of a sauna supposedly locked against intruders. Oh God, what if it was the person who had been harassing her in Knik? Could he possibly have followed them and somehow found out where she was? Was it starting again? If so, what would he do? What could she do to protect herself?

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to stop making panicked assumptions and think this through. There were other possibilities besides the one that sent adrenaline pumping through her. Perhaps a tourist kayaking in the passage had landed on the beach, discovered that the cove was currently uninhabited, and broken into the sauna, thinking no one would ever know who was responsible. It might also have been some resident of the Tutka Bay area, or from Jakolof Bay, a little farther to the west. On their way past
the island, anyone could have pulled in and taken advantage of the sauna.

Had it been broken into? She made herself move, go to look at the hasp and the eye that fit through it. The lock was missing but the door was not damaged, leaving only two options she could think of: either it had been cut off or whoever removed it had a key. Neither prospect pleased her, especially the first. It was just possible that Millie’s daughter had given someone a key and permission to use the sauna. In that case, where was the lock? Was the visitor still around? Was there a boat of some kind on the beach?

Refusing to ask herself any more questions, Jessie went back around the building to the steep flight of stairs leading up to the top story of the building. Pausing with one hand on the railing, she examined the door that she could see on the upper landing. A lock was clearly visible, but she couldn’t see if it was fastened or just hanging there. Slowly, aware of every sound and motion around her, she climbed the stairs, Tank padding up close behind her. At the top she relaxed a little when it was apparent that the lock was clasped: a firm guard against unwelcome entry. Taking the keys from her pocket, she sorted out the right one, opened the door, went in quickly with Tank, and shut it behind her.

The overcast day provided minimal light through three large windows that faced the cove, but it was enough to see that both rooms were empty. The air was chill, the woodstove cold. She shivered, moved to a kitchen window that provided visibility along the whole curve of the shallow cove, and looked carefully up and down its entire length. Empty—it was absolutely empty of any boat or sign that one had landed.

Knees suddenly weak, she sat down abruptly on a bench at a large table that filled one end of the room. A sigh of relief escaped her, attracting the dog’s inquisitive attention.

“It’s okay, guy. Whoever it was must be long gone by now and forgot to lock the door—or ruined the lock and couldn’t.”

But in the back of her mind a small voice worried about
the outside chance that the trespasser could still be somewhere on the island. Unlikely, she thought, for in that case a boat would be at the beach—and the beach was empty. Still…

“Come on, Tank. We’re going back to Millie’s.”

It’s warmer there, she rationalized to herself. I won’t have to build a fire, and it’s time for lunch anyway.

Refastening the lock, she hurried down the stairs and returned to the sauna, where she put a stout stick through the eye, to hold the hasp closed and keep the door from blowing open. Before she went back to the top of the bluff, she checked the big double doors of the shop to see that they were safely locked as well. The small house on the bluff was also tightly closed, but she cautiously rattled its doors, front and back, to be sure.

They went swiftly back across the trail they had traveled earlier, skipping the shortcut for the gentler route down the hill to the beach house this time. The wind increased as they hiked, till tossing trees and brush were shedding sprays of water, though the rain had all but stopped. Jessie was glad she had worn foul-weather gear, and smiled once when Tank paused, braced his feet in the trail, and shook himself vigorously, only to grow wet again as they continued. Most of the brush was at his level.

Reaching the house, Jessie unlocked the door and went first to add more wood to the stove. Before taking off her waterproof suit, she went out to bring in two or three armloads of firewood.

She had just carried in a load from under the deck when she heard the sound of an engine entering the cove. Turning, she watched as a medium-sized boat came around the point at the eastern end of the beach and proceeded directly toward her. Watching nervously as the craft came closer, she recognized it as a water taxi that ferried people back and forth from the Homer Spit to various parts of Kachemak Bay, and, with a sinking feeling, knew who would be behind the wheel. Laying down the wood, she started across the long space emptied by
the tide, toward the edge of the water that was just beginning to flood in again.

Damn, she said to herself. How could he have known I was here? But then, how does he know anything?

“Hey, it’s Jessie Arnold. How’re you, Jessie? What’re
you
doing here?”

The figure that walked around the cabin and onto the covered bow as the boat bumped the beach rocks was tall and also wearing rain gear—yellow.

Ted Carver—solidly built, a pair of glasses slipping down his nose beneath a stray lock of straight brown hair on his forehead—had been an area resident all his life, working a variety of water-related jobs: fisherman, charter boat hand, baytour guide, and now skipper of his own floating transportation service. Jessie had traveled to and from the island aboard his boat in the past, and wasn’t particularly glad to see him. He was pushy and one of the bay’s biggest sources of information about other people. Her temporary residence on Niqa was now no secret, for half of Kachemak would know it by nightfall. Dammit, anyway.

“Hello, Ted. I’m fine—just taking a break from the big city.”

He waited, grinning, obviously hoping she would elaborate on the reason for her presence.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked instead.

“Oh, I saw smoke from the chimney and thought I’d better check to be sure it wasn’t some trespasser. Obviously, you’re not one.”

“Nope.”

“That one of your dogs?”

She turned to see that Tank had followed her over the rocks to the water’s edge.

“Yes. My leader.”

“Going to be here long?”

“Just a few days.”

She thought of asking him to keep her occupancy to him
self, but realized it would only ensure that her wish for privacy would become a more significant part of his gossip.
Hey, Jessie Arnold’s out on Niqa Island for a few days, but she doesn’t want anyone to know. Kind of makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?

Ted stood, feet apart, legs braced against the boat’s motion from waves that were strong enough to rock it.

“You got any coffee on? I could use something hot.”

Hell. If he came ashore, she would have him and his infernal nosiness on her hands for at least an hour.

“No coffee. Sorry, Ted. Can’t help you out,” she told him firmly.

“Oh…well, it wouldn’t have to be coffee. You got hot water? Tea would do.”

“Not even that. Stove cooled off while I was across on the other side. I just got back and I’ve got…ah…some chores to do…”

Just in time she kept herself from mentioning the wood she had to move, which he could insist on moving for her.

“…so I really can’t take time right now, but it was good of you to stop. Thanks a lot.”

He frowned and shrugged, hesitating.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t want company.”

“Yup. Some other time. But, again, thanks for checking.”

“Okay. See you again…maybe tomorrow.”

Not if I see you coming, she thought, and the smile she forced herself to give him felt grim.

Still frowning, he went back to the boat’s cabin and roused his idling engine. In a minute or two, the craft was rapidly diminishing in size as it whipped through the waves on its way to Tutka Bay.

Relieved, Jessie went back up the beach to her load of firewood, concern for the smoke from the chimney foremost in her mind, feeling dumb for not having thought about it. If Ted had noticed, then anyone could. It was a pointless consideration, however, for she had to have heat—especially with a storm on its way.

T
hrough the rest of the afternoon the idea of someone using the sauna—someone on the island that Jessie had no way of knowing about—bothered her. Smoke from the chimney was a giveaway she had not considered. What else had she missed? Anyone could have come and gone from the west cove while she was either on the other side or walking through the woods between the two, and she would never have known.

Even if there was no one else on the island, she no longer felt secure, but maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. She had stepped onto Niqa and allowed herself to feel safe without questioning the reliability of it. It would be a good idea to be more alert, more suspicious, but she hated the idea of going back to what she had experienced in the preceding week. Okay, what should she do? How should she be proactive, rather than just responding to whatever came along? What if the S.O.B. really did manage to find out where she was? What could she do to make her safety more difficult for him to shatter?

The beach house had seemed like a haven, but in reality it would be easy to just open either door and walk in. And if she weren’t close enough to the shotgun, all she had was the handgun at her belt. It might not be enough in a moment of surprise and adrenaline rush—too easy to miss with a first shot, which could then be her last.

She didn’t like the idea that both the doors opened out and could only be locked from outside. Anyone could come in while I was asleep, she thought, be inside before I was aware of it. Tank would hear them, but would he hear them soon enough? Was there a way to remedy that situation? She decided there was, and that, under the circumstances, Millie wouldn’t mind a temporary and fairly minor addition to her house.

On a flat shelf on the hillside, almost hidden in the trees between the beach house and the meadow, was a large shed.
Once used as living space while the house was being built, in the years since it had become a storage place for odds and ends of tools, bits and pieces of equipment, furniture, and things that no longer fit into the island houses. Potentially useful, too precious to throw away, or simply forgotten, objects found their way to this building that also housed a shop with a workbench. A section of the front of the shed was sectioned off by several walls of shelves that held hundreds of books collected by family members. An old upright piano, badly out of tune and with a few dead keys, stood in one corner, and a couple of cast-off, but still comfortable, chairs with faded upholstery filled the rest of the space.

Late in the afternoon, Jessie walked the short distance up the hill and let herself into the shed. Passing between the book shelves into the shop and storage area, she searched the workbench and a few boxes until she found the tools and materials she needed. One by one, she clamped four pieces of foot-long rebar upright into a vise attached to the bench. Then, slipping a long piece of pipe over the free end for additional leverage, she bent a right angle in each piece about four inches from the end.

Back in the beach house, she pounded heavy nails into the doors, top and bottom, and bent them over, forming slides for the rebar. With a hand drill, she made holes in the doorframe into which the rebar pieces could be inserted by sliding them with the four-inch extensions. These improvised locks, she calculated, could have been ripped from the doors if the doors had opened inward and force could be applied against them, but would be extremely difficult, even impossible, to dislodge by pulling on the doors. If nothing else, they would give her warning—plenty of time to reach the shotgun or escape from the opposite side of the building.

Feeling more secure with these slides engaged, she put the tools by the back door, ready to return them to the shed in the morning. Making herself a cup of tea, she sat down to further analyze her surroundings and watch the light fade from
the waters of the cove. It went quickly, already half dim because of the overcast and rain, and the house was soon almost too dark to see anything but shapes. She lit a kerosene lamp and quickly tacked up two blankets over the large windows to keep the light from shining out, and was glad the chimney’s smoke would be invisible in the dark.

At eight o’clock, after she fed Tank and had eaten dinner, she called Alex and, through static that was even worse this time, told him about her day, though she found it hard to tell without mentioning anything that would give away her location to an unwelcome listener. It was easier for him to tell her about the destruction he had found in the Knik cabin, but he revealed little about the ongoing investigation. They were both frustrated by the time they had picked their way through as much information as was possible, the reception fading in and out, and having to repeat themselves often. He was anything but pleased to hear that some unknown person had been in the sauna.

“But, I’m…I’m fine, Alex…eally. I’m sure…was only a tempo…intruder.”

“…can’t know that.”

“Maybe not, but…obviously it wasn’t wh…trashed my cabin. No one…once.”

“What?”

“Nobody…be in two plac…once.”

“…less there’s mo…an one….”

“Is there…indica…of that?”

“No…just
…what if
.”

“Did…ou repla…window?”

“Yes…but it’s li…closing the proverb…ba…n door.”

“How…mutts doing?”

“Fine. I call…on them. Tank?”

“I’m glad I…him.”

“So…I. He’s a good…atch-dog.”

There was little else to say and, after hanging up, Jessie found herself feeling torn between missing him and being glad
she hadn’t been there to see the vandalism of their possessions and living space. She knew it must have been worse than he had told her and, this time, didn’t so much mind his tendency to protect her from unpleasantness. Still, she would always rather be informed of everything, however disagreeable, for how could you be prepared for things you didn’t know about?