In the Barren Ground (19 page)

CHAPTER 24

Tana stomped snow off her boots, dusted off her jacket, and pushed open the door to the Twin Rivers General Store and Diner. A bell chinkled and warmth embraced her, along with the scent of fried food, coffee, freshly baked bread. The aura inside was convivial, the chatter loud, the tables almost all occupied. Most of the patrons looked up as she entered.

Tana identified a huddle of old-timers seated near the counter, hands cradled around steaming mugs. She was surprised to see Van Bleek at one table, his back to her, but unmistakably him. He was talking to a round-faced, balding man with red-rimmed glasses in his late fifties, she guessed—someone she’d not seen in town before.

A bunch of teens occupied two tables down the room to the right, Mindy among them. They conversed over glasses of pop and plates heaped with fries, and were partially cut off from the main diner area by a shelving partition stocked with chips, chocolate bars, peanuts, and other snacks. At the far back was the general store area, and a tiny section with pharmaceutical goods, as well as a small shelf of books, DVDs, and old-style videocassettes.

Tana removed her snow-caked hat and mitts, thinking Mindy was the same age as Regan Novak and Dakota Smithers when they’d died. She placed her mitts on one of the few unoccupied tables—a small two-seater next to the door and under a window from where she could watch her dogs out on the deck.

Mindy glanced up, stared. Tana nodded. Mindy flipped her the finger, then put her head down and laughed with the others. A bad taste filled Tana’s mouth, and an ache swelled in her chest. For Mindy. For her old self, which she recognized in the kid.

. . . You were a girl just like Mindy. Men didn’t treat you very nicely, and now it’s payback time, right? Maybe you even did some of your own time at the deep, dark bottom of a bottle of liquor when you were far too young. And
that
is where this burr under your saddle comes from.
That’s
why you’re gunning for me . . .

Heat burned into her face and she hated O’Halloran all over again. For reading her. For whatever he was doing with Mindy. She didn’t believe a word the bastard had said about the kid. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

She shrugged off her jacket, hung it over the back of the chair, and made her way to the counter.

Van Bleek looked up as she passed his table.

“Officer,” he said, his eyes expressionless.

“Markus,” she answered. “Harry gave his mine security the night off, then?”

He didn’t smile. “Pretty much,” he said, rolling his
R
s in his thick Afrikaans accent. “Some of the other guys are back from Yellowknife. Even us badasses get time off. This is Henry Spatt.” The round, baby-faced man nodded. “He’s a writer visiting Tchliko Lodge.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tana said, offering her hand.

The man half got up, and shook her hand. His skin was warm, fleshy, his grasp limp like a woman’s. She noticed a novel on the table at his side. It faced cover down.

“First time out at the lodge?” she asked.

“Been coming for the last five years, and will keep doing so as long as Charlie Nakehk’o can, or will, guide us.” He smiled. His incisors hung lower than the rest of his teeth and were small and pointed. “He’s the draw—one helluva tracker, that guy, best guide I’ve ever had the pleasure of hunting with. I met Markus here on our second trip four years back.”

“Hadn’t realized you’d been in town for so long,” Tana said to Van Bleek.

“Back and forth for the last four plus years,” he said. “Since Harry found the first kimberlite pipes. He brought me on board that same year, to check out the lay of the land, start planning.”

“Well, enjoy your meal.” She hesitated, then said to Van Bleek, “Thanks for your help Sunday.”

He gave a nod. But again, his eyes remained dark and unreadable.

She made her way to the counter where Marcie worked with remarkable stamina for her seventy-eight years.

“Good evening, Tana, how are you tonight—what can I get for you?” Marcie said in her halting, singsong voice. That she was a native North Slavey speaker was clear by her accent and cadence, the slow formalities of culture.

Tana smiled—Marcie had that effect on one. With her wizened old face, smooth brown cheeks, deep-set tiny brown eyes, and the way she wore her colored head scarves tied under her neck, she seriously reminded Tana of her gran who’d passed right after Jim shot his brains out in her white-tiled bathroom.

“I’m good, thanks, Marcie.” Tana studied the whiteboard menu behind Marcie. “I’ll have the chili with the bannock.”

“Good choice. I just baked a fresh batch of the bannock,” she said.

“And all’s well with you?” Tana said.

She gave a slight bow of her head. “It’s been a good day.” She leaned up to the hatch that opened to the kitchen at the back, and asked the chef for one chili special. Tana figured it was going to be moose mince. In Tex-Mex disguise.

“I’ll bring it over to your table,” Marcie said, ringing Tana’s purchase in and noting it on her tab, old style, in a ledger. Tana signed for it and made her way back to her table. She seated herself with her back to the wall so that she could observe the room, as well as her dogs outside. They lay in the snow on the porch, waiting for her. Fat flakes swirled in the wind around them. They didn’t mind. They loved the cold—were born to it with their thick coats. Her heart warmed whenever she looked at Toyon and Maximus—her true friends. Never any judgment as long as she was there with food and water for them, and plenty of exercise. Both had had a rough start in life, and she’d given them a second chance, and second chances resonated with Tana.

It’s what she was striving for out here herself.

Marcie brought the bowl of chili and a hunk of bannock over.

“Terrible thing,” she said as she set the simple supper down in front of Tana along with a spoon. “Those biologists and the wolves.”

“It is.” Tana reached for the bannock and tore off a chunk. Steam exploded with the fragrance of freshly baked bread. Hunger cramped her stomach. She delivered the bread to her mouth, closed her eyes, savoring the taste for a second. She grinned. “Reminds me of my gran,” she said.

“She makes bannock?”

“Used to. On the fire, outside. I lived with her a while.”

While my mother was too drunk . . . and my dad did one of his disappearing tricks . . .

“You did a good job, you know, with Charlie’s little nephew, and taking that alcohol away from Damien and those boys. It’s a good thing that you are here,” Marcie said in her soft, slow voice.

Tana paused midchew, met Marcie’s eyes. “You have no idea how much that means to me—thank you.”

“Is Jamie going to work off the damage at the Red Moose now?” she said.

“I think so.” Tana hesitated, glancing at the other tables. All occupants were engrossed in conversation. She lowered her voice and said, “Marcie, do you know of anyone who might have gone missing, many years ago, at the north end of Ice Lake, or if there could be an old burial site out there?”

Marcie’s body went still. Her eyes changed. Tana could literally feel the walls go up.

“Why?” she said.

“Just curious.”

“The names of old burial places belong to the families of those buried,” she said. “They are not to be asked about.”

Tana nodded, and brought a spoonful of chili to her mouth. “What about missing people? Not just locals, but are there any old stories of missing outsiders in that area.”

“I don’t think so.”

“This is good, Marcie,” Tana said, pointing her spoon at the chili bowl. “Tell chef.”

“Moose,” Marcie said.

“I guessed.” Tana smiled.

“Well, I will go and tell chef. Let me know if I can get you anything else, Constable?”

Tana hesitated. “There is one thing—do you know anyone who’d take me out to find Elliot Novak?”

The whole diner seemed to suddenly go still. Faces turned to look at her. Marcie made a small sign of a cross—the visible legacy of the Catholic colonization out here decades ago. Like the small church down the street. This place was a mix of myth and religion and aboriginal tradition unique to the area.

Crystals ticked against the windows. A gust of wind lifted a whirlwind of flakes, momentarily obliterating the porch light.

“You want to be careful, Tana,” Marcie said, very quietly. “I don’t know why you are asking all these questions, but you should stop. Let the natural order of things—the way of nature—take its course. It has a way of doing what is right. It was this kind of thing that drove Elliot mad. Too many questions.”

“I just want to meet him. I need a guide to help me find him.”

“He’s in a dark place. Badlands. Not safe. You will not find a local guide who will go in there.”

“Not even Charlie?”

“Not Charlie.”

The door swung open with a gust of cold. Crash O’Halloran entered, dwarfing the space, sucking the air out of it like a vacuum, right out of Tana’s chest. He froze at the sight of her.

Shit
.

“Oh,” Marcie said. “Someone like Crash. He might take you. She will be safe with you, won’t she, Crash?”

Safe was the last thing Tana felt when she thought about Cameron “Crash” O’Halloran.

He palmed off his hat, bits of snow falling off him. “What are you talking about?” He didn’t look at Tana. He addressed Marcie.

Marcie wavered. Her gaze darted to the group of old-timers who were now all openly listening, faces turned toward them. Among them Tana noted two ice road engineers she’d been seeing in town recently. A sense of tension tightened into the warm, food-scented air.

“To see Elliot Novak.” Marcie walked back to the counter. “What can I get for you, Crash?”

He stood there, looking at Tana. Then Marcie. Mindy got up, started coming over. Tana tensed. He did, too.

“Why do you want to see Elliot?” he said, green eyes sparking into hers.

Tana’s jaw tightened. “To talk to him.”

Mindy reached them. “Hey, Crash.” She placed her hand on Crash’s arm, and he did not push her away. He kept his eyes locked with Tana’s. Animosity spewed through Tana. Mindy angled her head and gave a sickly sweet smile. “This lady cop is trying to tell me who I can sleep with, Crash.”

He said nothing.

Tana shoved her bowl aside, slapped her napkin on the table, pushed back her chair, and came to her feet. She grabbed her hat, jacket, gloves, and brushed past him as she made for the door.

“No need to leave on my account,” he said.

“Lost my appetite.” She yanked open the door, and let it swing shut behind her, slicing off warmth, light, the scent of food, sound of chatter. Him. Outside the air was sharp and awhirl with snow. She tugged on her gear as her dogs wiggled over. She crouched down to pet them.

Everyone needs a tribe, Tana . . .

She was trying, by God she was trying, but she seemed to be alienating herself at every turn.

She inhaled deep, drinking in the cold, cold air, drawing comfort from her dogs. “Hey, guys,” she said softly, ruffling their fur with her mitts. “At least I got you two—” She stilled. Blood covered their muzzles.

There was blood on her gloves.

Fear, shock slammed through her. She glanced up, saw meat bones on the deck, near the stairs. Great, big, raw and bloody ones, pinking the snow where her dogs had been eating them.

“Who gave you those?” She held Toyon’s head between her mitts. He was salivating, strings of drool hanging from his mouth. His body was trembling. Max’s, too.

Oh, my, God.

A screaming noise began inside her brain. Her heart began to pelt in her chest.

“Come on.” She took them by the collars, and led them down the steps. Tana hurried with her animals through the blizzard toward the lights of the police station, panic rising, suffocating her chest. She took her dogs inside, brought them in front of the fire where she could examine them properly in the light. Her hands were shaking. Tears blurred her eyes.

Max flopped onto his mat, his legs quivering. Toyon sat, listless, blood-stained saliva foaming at his mouth. As she peeled back his lips to check the color of his gums, glass tinkled behind her. A small windowpane shattered as a rock hit Rosalie’s desk and bounced onto the floor. Cold wind tunneled in through the broken window. Shadows darted in front of the light coming from the satellite-and-cell-tower communications enclosure outside.

Her heart thumped. Fear kicked her. Triage. Dogs first. No vet in town. She had to do this herself, make them throw up. If she was lucky, it might get rid of whatever was poisoning them. But if it was rat poison, or something like that . . . they wouldn’t stand a chance. They could die a slow and horrible death over days.

It had to have been in those bones. She needed to know what the poison was. Someone coming into the diner, or leaving the diner, could have poisoned her dogs.

“Wait here!”

She flung open the door and ran, head bent into the driving snow. She clumped up the stairs to the diner. The bones were gone. Just bloody spots remained. She bashed through the door in a flurry of flakes and wind. Everyone spun around. The place fell silent.

“Who!” she yelled. “Who poisoned my dogs? Who gave them those bones!?” Her voice shook. Her arm trembled as she pointed to the window. Her eyes blurred with tears.

“What’s on them? Marcie? Bones—
who
gave my dogs bones, I need to know what they ate, dammit!”

Everyone just stared. Marcie looked frightened. Crash came to his feet. He gripped her arm hard.

“Tana.
Tana! Look at me. Focus.
”

Yes . . . Yes, focus.

“Max and Toyon have been poisoned,” she said. “I . . . I don’t know with what.”

“Go back to them.
Now
. Be with them.”

He strode to the pharmacy section at the back of the building. “Peroxide, Marcie, you got hydrogen peroxide? I know you have charcoal. Tana—
go
! I’m coming.”

She swore under her breath, face hot, and she raced out.