The autumn days were lengthening. Rachel stood at the door on the moist October day and watched a ruffled grouse run through the aspens. She had trouble keeping track of the days, but she thought this was a Tuesday. Her larder proclaimed the necessity of a trip to town.
“You stay here.” Rachel tousled Sam’s unruly hair. Choppy from her inexpert use of the scissors, his red hair stood up like a rooster’s comb. She smiled, but there was no answering grin on his pale face, just a solemn nod. Her smile faded.
Rachel knew he was used to the drill by now, though she worried every time she had to leave him. This would be the last time though. When these supplies were gone, she would take Sam to town, find out who he was. It was time. No one could blame her; after all, she’d saved his life. His limp was evidence of that. They would all applaud her for saving him.
For a moment she allowed herself to imagine the acclaim, the way the papers would laud her as a hero. A smile tugged at her lips. Maybe the news story would reach those who had accused her so unjustly. They would see how wrong they were. All her life people had said she didn’t have good judgment, that she didn’t think things through. She’d finally prove them wrong.
But what if this new story brought out all the hounds onto her trail again? She’d been cleared of all wrongdoing, but that hadn’t stopped the nursing home from firing her and her neighbors from snubbing her. Her surfacing would be fresh fodder for the news mill. Maybe they would bring charges against her because she hadn’t returned him before now. You couldn’t trust law enforcement. Look what they’d done to her. Hounding her out of a job she loved.
Her face tightened at the memories. One false story, and a career of thirty years had been swept away like tumbled debris in a flood. It wasn’t fair; life had never been fair. But no, not this time. This time she would be rewarded with praise and honor. Sammy’s mother would lavish attention on her son’s savior.
She chewed on her lip. Maybe there was no mother to go back to. His father had been dead when she’d found the plane, and it had been a year. They’d just take him and put him in foster care, and if anyone knew the hell that could be, it was Rachel. She and her brother had been shunted from one home to another throughout their troubled childhood.
Her gaze traveled to Sam. He was always frightened. Rachel despaired of ever hearing him squeal and play like a normal child. The most animated she’d seen him had been when those children shad-howed up. She frowned. She’d had entirely too much contact with the outside world this week. First that snoopy woman climber, then those children. And that man at the mine had seen her too. What if he came looking for her?
She’d found a haven here, a place of peace and rest for her and Sammy both. But it looked like they would be driven from their safe harbor, just as she’d been driven from Detroit. What if someone came before they were ready to leave? Would they suspect her of kidnapping the boy?
“Sammy, what’s my name?” she asked slowly, an idea beginning to take shape. If busybodies believed he was her son, they would be less suspicious.
His forehead wrinkled, then he shook his head, and she realized he’d had no need to call her anything before now. “It’s Mother. Can you say ‘Mother’?”
“Mother,” Sam repeated. “Is that like mommy? I had a mommy once.”
A shaft of jealousy surprised her with its intensity. She was the one who had taken care of Sam. Where was his mother? She hadn’t come looking for him. “It’s kind of like that,” Rachel told him. “I take care of you like a mommy, don’t I? I feed you and bring you treats from town.”
Sam nodded.
“Can you remember to call me Mother? That’s my name. Mother.”
He nodded. “Mother,” he repeated again.
“I’ll be back by lunchtime. Don’t open the door to anyone.” She waited until he nodded again before she left the cabin, pulling the door tight behind her.
Dry leaves crunched underfoot, and a blue jay chattered angrily at her from the tall pine over her head. She would miss these woods. But it was time to take up her life again. Hers and Sam’s. The furor had died down enough, and she could surely find another nursing job. But how did she go about finding Sam’s family?
It took Rachel nearly two hours to walk to Rock Harbor. She knew she was close when she began to hear the sound of the waves and the gong of the fog bell out in Lake Superior. She quickened her step. As she entered town, she kept her floppy leather hat pulled down low over her face and avoided looking anyone in the eye.
The bell tinkled on the door as she pushed into Rock Harbor General Store. Lars Thorensen wiped his hands on his massive white apron and nodded to her. Rachel avoided his inquisitive gaze. The last thing she needed was to get into a conversation with the loquacious Lars. He could talk until her eyes glazed.
The shop had changed little since its inception in 1868 and still resembled a general store straight out of Mayberry RFD, Rachel’s favorite show of all time. Narrow rows of basic food items stood in the center of the store. The counters and shelves that lined the walls were filled with fabric and notions, a few toiletry items such as toothpaste and deodorant, and glass jars of candy. The floor was made of wide boards of unfinished native timber. Rachel almost expected to see Sheriff Andy Taylor come strolling through the doors that led to the storeroom. Being here always made her nervous for that very reason. After her one and only brush with the law, the thought of even talking with the sheriff made her throat close up.
“I was beginning to think you lit out for other parts, ma’am,” Lars said. His blond mustache quivered, and his pale blue eyes roamed over Rachel’s face with an avid curiosity.
Rachel ducked her head and turned away to find what she needed. The last thing she wanted was to deal with a nosy Parker like Lars digging into her business. In a frenzy to be done with the owner’s prying eyes, she hurried along, depositing items in her basket. She knocked a tin of cocoa to the floor near the checkout counter and Lars bent to retrieve it, but she snatched it up before he could touch it.
“Where’bouts in the North Woods you come from, ma’am? You don’t seem to get to town much.”
Rachel compressed her lips. She wasn’t about to indulge in chatter. She’d learned the hard way not to trust anyone. Maybe if she refused to speak to him at all, he’d get the picture.
The bell on the door tinkled again, and two men entered the store. Rachel’s eyes widened at the shiny star on the man’s shirt. Blood thundered in her ears. She couldn’t let the sheriff see her. She only hoped those lost kids hadn’t told the authorities about her. She turned and went down an aisle then stooped to look at cake mixes.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Lars said. “I was hoping you’d stop by today—I just got in some thimbleberry jam Hilary was asking me about last week. It’s from this year’s berries.”
“That’s why I’m here. Hilary used all hers up on the campaign dinner, and she wanted to make some thimbleberry tarts for Thanksgiving. How many jars do you have?”
“Five right now, with more promised from one of my distributors by the end of the week.”
“I’d better take all of it. At ten dollars a jar, I hope she appreciates it.”
Her fingers tightly clamped on the basket, Rachel gauged the distance to the door. If she could just slip out unseen. But no, that wouldn’t work. Lars would likely accuse her of stealing. He knew she had come in to get supplies. Maybe the sheriff would just finish his business and leave. Rachel pressed a hand against the galloping beat of her heart.
The old cash register clanged as Lars rang up the sheriff’s purchase. “Any news on Fay’s death? I hear tell you’re thinking it might be murder.”
The sheriff cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was sharp with dismay. “Where’d you hear that, Lars? We haven’t even got autopsy results yet, let alone DNA testing. Don’t go starting any rumors. I get enough of that on a daily basis.”
“DNA on the blood by the road?”
“You know I can’t discuss the case,” the sheriff said. “And I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I’d appreciate it if you zipped your lip about this until we know more.”
“Is Steve a suspect?” Lars seemed undeterred by the sheriff’s rebuke.
The sheriff gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not going to discuss it with you, Lars. I just remembered something else Hilary needed.” His footsteps echoed against the wood floor as he approached Rachel’s aisle.
She was trapped and she knew it. The best she could do was to face him and not let him see her fear. She rose with a box of devil’s food cake mix in her hand.
His gaze touched her face, skittered on, then jerked back to look at her again. “Sheriff Mason Kaleva, ma’am. You look familiar. You just move to town?”
“No, no, just a summer visitor,” she babbled. “I have a cabin in the woods.”
“Whereabouts?”
She could see the suspicion on his face. He probably had old wanted posters plastered all over his office. Panic froze her.
“Sheriff, we got a call,” the deputy said.
The sheriff’s frown deepened. He gave her a final stare and turned to exit with the deputy.
Rachel let out the breath she’d been holding. Reprieved, but for how long? Now, more than ever, she had to get out of the area.
The bell on the door clanged, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Murder. She shivered. They’d already figured out that much. How much longer before they knew all of it? She needed to get away before the trail led right to her cabin door. She had been wrong to think she could bring Sam back to a small town like this. No, she needed to stay invisible. Maybe she could turn him over to authorities in a large city like Chicago. They could track down his mother and reunite him from there. At least Rachel herself would be out of the limelight. The thought of having her face plastered on the front page again was enough to give her hives.
She finished filling her basket then carried it to the counter. The store carried an assortment of Michigan newspapers plus the Chicago Tribune. She grabbed one as Lars began to ring up her purchases. Lars seemed to sense her agitation, for he stared at her as he packed her supplies in the knapsack she gave him. She ducked her head so all he could see was the top of her hat. Nosy old man. Why couldn’t he mind his own business? That was the trouble with a small town like Rock Harbor. People felt they had the right to pry.
Rachel knew people thought her a strange hermit of a woman, but why couldn’t they see beneath her old clothes? She had the same hopes and desires they had. A place to call home, a family, peace, contentment. She thought she’d found all that here in these North Woods, but she could already feel it sliding from her grip. Seizing true peace was like trying to catch the morning mist over Lake Superior.
Her revised plans racing through her head, she nodded her thanks at Lars, took her knapsack, then rushed toward the door.
What a change to have something to look forward to. Bree sat on the couch with her legs under her and pored over a real estate book. Where could she buy land for her training center? For the first time, she saw how the publicity that came Samson’s way could benefit her. An old schoolhouse was for sale about five miles out of town. It came with ten acres that ranged from meadow to forest. That might work. She’d have to call the agent and take a look.
In spite of her enthusiasm for the project, Bree couldn’t seem to settle tonight. Staying home with a frozen pizza didn’t sound at all appealing. Anu would be glad to have her come by for supper, or she could go to Naomi’s, but neither prospect felt right. Her thoughts drifted to Fay’s death. The information Fay might have had about the cabin in the woods was gone with her. But if she could track Fay’s movements for the past few weeks, maybe she could get a feel for what quadrant to search. She couldn’t imagine there really was a plane seat outside that cabin, but she had no other direction to look right now. At least it was a goal.
Samson needed to be fed, then she could go to town and see if she could find out anything. She fed the dog then got her coat. “Want to go out, Samson?”
His ears pricked at the word “out.” He barked and ran to the back door. “No, we’re going to town,” she told him. She could stop by the sheriff’s office to see if he’d heard anything. The blood test might be back by now. At work today, she’d hoped Mason might stop by with news, but there had been no sign of him.
The air held a hint of moisture that promised rain or snow. October was not too soon to get major snow, but they’d been lucky this year. The stars were like ship lights bouncing off the black waves of the lake. The wind had picked up, and the crash of the waves on Lake Superior was oddly soothing. Rock Harbor’s streets were deserted, a pleasant state of affairs after summer’s high traffic.
Visitors loved the quaintness of the town with its Victorian buildings and community activities. But for a time, the residents owned the town again. Rock Harbor had “nine months of winter and three months of company,” the saying went, and that was pretty accurate. Tourists came for the fishing and hunting, for the natural beauty of this land of waterfalls, and for the festivals with their Finnish or Cornish food and fun.
Many people in the Midwest never seemed to realize the enormity of the North Woods. And it wasn’t just the miles and miles of pristine forest, it was the heavy snow and frigid temperatures that hindered Bree’s efforts to find her family.
Rock Harbor County Jail sat stolidly in the center of downtown, across the street from the Copper Club Tavern. Built five years ago, its white stone edifice seemed out of place amid the gracious brick buildings that lined downtown. She opened the door, and Doug Montgomery looked up from his perusal of a fishing magazine. The desk was battered with gouges made by countless deputies over the past fifty years. Montgomery eased his bulk back into the worn leather chair and gazed at her over the top of his spectacles.
His oversized head sported a great thatch of thick blond hair like some Nordic warrior of long ago, though the resemblance stopped there. The blue eyes peering at her were too dulled with apathy to ever envision sailing across the ocean in an ancient longboat. Bree had to wonder what criteria the sheriff used to hire his deputies. But maybe in a town the size of Rock Harbor, Doug was one of the best he could find.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Nicholls?” he said.
“I don’t suppose the sheriff is around?” she asked.
Doug shifted in his seat. “Nope. He left about an hour ago.”
“Any news on the blood we found by the road?”
He scratched his head. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to let out that information or not.”
“Come on, Deputy, I’m the sheriff’s sister-in-law. I found the blood.” Bree took a step closer to the desk and tried to peer over the deputy’s arm at the papers lying scattered under his meaty hand.
He covered the papers with an arm then slowly lifted it again. “Well, I guess that’s all right then. The blood seems to be hers, all right. At least it’s the same blood type. We don’t have the DNA back yet.”
Samson had been right. Bree’s initial elation faded, and her stomach roiled. Murder in Rock Harbor, or manslaughter at the very least. “That means Fay didn’t die of a climbing accident,” she said slowly.
“Looks that way,” the deputy said. “The sheriff called in the state police forensic experts. They’re coming over tomorrow.”
“What time?” She intended to tag along and see what they had to say.
“About eight.”
“Thanks, Deputy.” Snapping her fingers at Samson, Bree turned and went to the door. Outside, the evening winds had picked up, and she pulled the hood of her sweater up over her head. Her hunger faded in light of this more pressing news. If it hadn’t been so dark, she would have been tempted to go out to the site and poke around. Instead, she settled for a pensive walk around the quiet streets.
By the time she’d crossed the courthouse square for the fifth time, her head was clearer. The neon light above the Suomi Café glared through the gathering mist along Kitchigami Street like a lighthouse guiding the ships to port. The aroma of fish stew and cabbage rolls wafted into the street, and her hunger raged to the fore again.
Across the street she saw Steve Asters exit the bank. Bree glanced at her watch. Seven o’clock. He was working late. Steve locked the door behind him then came toward her. Even from here, she could see the way his shoulders slumped.
Bree watched him for a moment before walking toward him. “Hi, Steve,” she said softly.
His head jerked up as if pulled by an invisible rope. The pallor on his face deepened when he saw her, then color flooded into his skin. “What do you want?” he muttered, his gaze wandering back to the ground.
“Want to join me for a sandwich and coffee?”
“No thanks. I couldn’t eat anything.” He looked at the ground. “Everyone looked at me today like they think if I really loved her, I would be home grieving. Well, I can’t stand the empty house. Is that so hard to understand? I don’t know how I’ll get through the funeral tomorrow.”
“Have you talked to the sheriff?”
“He stopped in to see me about an hour ago.” His gaze probed her face. “He said it looks like the blood you found by the road is Fay’s. That means someone killed her, doesn’t it?”
“It still could have been accidental, a hit-and-run driver maybe.”
“You don’t believe that,” he said.
His shoulders slumped even lower, until Bree wasn’t sure he wouldn’t simply slide to the ground. In spite of herself, she couldn’t help the niggle of sympathy she felt for him. But maybe it was all an act. She, of all people, knew how convincingly a man could lie.
She narrowed her eyes. “No, I don’t believe she was hit by a car. And even if it did happen that way, it’s still manslaughter, especially since whoever killed her arranged her body at the foot of the cliff.” That’s what had bothered her, she suddenly realized. Fay had been arranged like a mannequin. Her body had been staged, even to the arm flung out as if to try to catch herself.
“Well, it wasn’t me!” Steve finally seemed to recover some life and straightened his back to stare her squarely in the face.
She’d always liked Steve, but then, whoever said she was a good judge of men? She’d laugh if it weren’t such serious business.
The wind blew tendrils of hair across Bree’s eyes, and she brushed them away. “Let’s get out of this wind. You can at least drink some coffee.”
He shrugged then followed her into the café, where she led him to a back table.
Molly came to the table. “What’ll it be, Bree?” She barely looked at Steve.
“I’ll have some cabbage rolls and fish stew,” Bree said. “And maybe some lingonberries for dessert. Oh, and a coffee—for Steve too.”
Molly wrote down the order then nodded and hurried away, returning moments later with the coffee pot. She filled their cups without comment.
“See what I mean?” Steve said. “Everyone looks at me like they think I’ll pull a knife on them any second. I’ll probably have to move away.”
Bree dug a handful of pistachio nuts out of her pocket. “Want some?” she asked. He shook his head, and she split a shell with her thumbnail and popped the nut into her mouth. “The sheriff will find out who did it,” she told him.
Steve gave a bitter laugh. “Mason’s too wrapped up in the election campaign to care. As long as he has a suspect—namely, me—that’s all he’ll care about. I’ve always laughed about small-town gossip. But now the finger is pointed at me, and it’s not fair! I loved Fay. We had our problems, including money. I’m not denying that. But that doesn’t mean I killed her.” He wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup and stared at the liquid.
Bree stared at him. Could he know something about the location of the cabin? He was her only source of information. “Do you know where she’d been hiking recently? She mentioned seeing a cabin with an old airplane seat in a ravine near it. It’s probably nothing, but I’d like to check it out. I just don’t have any idea of where to look.”
Lost in his own thoughts, Steve didn’t answer for a long moment. He finally blinked and looked up. “She never talked much about her hiking.”
“Think,” Bree urged.
He took a gulp of coffee. “I think maybe she mentioned hiking out near Ten Mile Peak. But she was all over the place. I can’t even remember when she said something about it. Sorry.”
At least it was a start. She wouldn’t be searching totally blind.
Steve stared at her for a long moment, then his face grew thoughtful. “You could figure it out, Bree. Fay always said you were smarter than the rest of the town rolled together.” He leaned across the table, and his voice grew excited. “Will you poke around for me?”
Committing herself to Steve—who she still wasn’t convinced had nothing to do with Fay’s death—was more than she was prepared to do. “I’m just a search-and-rescue worker,” Bree protested. “The sheriff has called in forensic help. They’ll figure it out.”
Anger flashed across his face. He stood slowly, as if he wasn’t sure his legs would support him. “So you won’t help me either,” he said dully. “I might as well have the sheriff lock me up.” He turned and rushed from the restaurant.
Bree watched him go. There seemed to be a desperation about him—a desperation that could be caused by guilt.