Quinn got up with the sun at about 6:30 a.m., thinking he’d overslept. No, he was okay. They were between groups of students here at the tracking camp. A new group arrived in a few days, ages ranging from twenty-one to sixty-five from two countries besides the US this time. Two weeks later, a smaller advanced bunch. Then more survivor training after the first big snow fell.
Today he had to pick up Geoff, his cable TV producer, at the airport. They were going to map out the next series of shows. If he could pry his video guy away from Val, he’d have Ryker sit in on the planning session, too. Ryker loved this job, loved being out in nature, and his big-city girlfriend was a real distraction. Wait until Geoff, who had hired Ryker, saw Val hanging all over him. She’d already talked Ryker into renting a B and B room for both of them in town instead of his bunking here, but they could work around that.
Quinn took a cold shower fast—one of the drawbacks of this place was no hot water unless you boiled it. He got dressed in clean jeans and a new shirt and ambled over to the mess hall where Sam would probably be making pancakes. Sam’s wife, Mary, was sleeping in since she’d felt queasy enough to miss the salmon bake. Besides, she had a few days off from providing the early chow line for students.
The main four buildings, one on each corner of the three-acre grounds, included his two-bedroom log cabin; Sam and Mary’s, which was the same size; the storage structure; and the larger dining and lecture hall, which could seat up to forty. Behind the lecture hall in the even thicker spruce and alder trees were two bunkhouses, a fairly large one for men and a smaller one for women because relatively fewer came to the camp.
The two homes on-site were cozy but basic, and the bunkhouses even more so with the bucket showers and Port-a-Johns outside, whereas the two cabins had flush toilets and septic tanks. It was roughing it for sure, but luxurious compared to being out on the trail or tracking in the forests around here.
“Morning,” Quinn said to Sam, who was bent over the big stove, stirring something. Quinn hit the kitchen refrigerator for orange juice, then got a cup of coffee from the urn. “You’re a nice guy, you know, to fill in for Mary so she can sleep late. How’s she feeling?”
“So far, so good. So, you ever gonna find a woman out here in the boondocks—which we both know is paradise on earth.”
Quinn had to laugh. “Don’t start on lovelorn advice for me. You sound like my mother. Who would want a guy who lives mostly in the Alaskan bush—alternating with a New York hotel or my mother’s New Jersey condo now and then?”
“How ’bout one of them sisters at the lodge?”
“Would you give it a rest, Sam? No sparks fly, just friendship,” he muttered, and downed the juice and then had some coffee. “Hey, where are the pancakes, my man?”
“Steel-cut oatmeal’s good for you,” Sam said, putting two steaming bowls of it on the table. “I threw in some raisins like Mary does. Beats granola bars, pemmican and all those plants and stuff you eat out on the trail.”
Sam and Mary Spruce were Quinn’s closest friends here. Sam’s father had been a trapper in the area for years. Trapper Jake had taught both men when they were young everything they knew about tracking and survival in the wilds, whatever the season. Like Quinn’s father, Jake was gone now, but Sam and Q-Man not only carried on the special knowledge of tracking and wilderness survival, but were now sharing it through Quinn’s books and cable show.
More than once, Sam had tried to teach his younger brother, Josh, some of the skills he had been taught by their father, but Josh wanted no part of it, even to escape doing odd jobs here and at the lodge. Trapper Jake had been puzzled and hurt that Josh was not interested. With the internet now available here, Josh had become an online gamer, even made money that way to supplement his salaries from the camp and the lodge.
Josh lived above the barbershop in town, though he camped out in warm weather and didn’t want to stay with Sam and Mary. Maybe Josh was just a loner, not unusual in the wilds of Alaska.
“Eat up, man,” Sam said. “Got to keep your strength up for the new bunch coming in. You working on a new book, too?”
“That I am.”
Quinn’s books on tracking skills and his occasional assistance finding missing persons brought many to the camp to learn basic skills. Some students from as far away as Japan and Austria flew into Anchorage and paid hefty fees for lectures and on-the-field training. Some came back for the advanced classes. Quinn and Sam believed such knowledge, especially in an increasingly digital world, was as essential to the human spirit as any other heritage or history.
“So,” Sam said, stirring maple syrup into his oatmeal, “you didn’t take the bait about the new lady at the lodge. What did you think of her?”
“My friend, I do not need you for a dating service. She’s Meg and Suze’s cousin from near Chicago, come to visit and run the lodge gift shop. That’s it.”
“Oh, yeah, the same gift shop you told me last night you’d be glad to drop off some of our DVDs instead of my doing it this time. Not that many folks just happen to pass through Falls Lake in general, ’less they want to scuba dive the lake to look at the lost pioneer village. I swear, after all these years, I wish Mary would get over losing her grandparents there. But hey, I saw you watching the city girl, Alex. You think she’s running from something?”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“Never mind trying to get me off track. You’re busted, man. You liked the looks of her.”
“She seemed...friendly but wary. Intriguing for that reason, that’s all.”
Quinn was glad Sam finally cut the conversation as they downed their breakfast and more coffee, then went back to what Quinn’s dad used to call “shooting the breeze.” They discussed what topics might be good to suggest to their cable TV producer, Geoff Baldwin, who was bringing his wife, Ginger, with him this time since the weather was still warm. They were glad he was bringing his wife rather than sending Brent Bayer back again. His lawyer and top investor, Brent, was a control freak.
Mary came in, looking tousled, her long, reddish hair loose instead of pulled back into a ponytail. She patted Quinn on the shoulder and kissed Sam’s cheek, then dished out oatmeal for herself. They were a happy pair, though he knew they wanted children, who did not seem to appear.
Quinn admired their marriage. They reminded him of his parents before the tragedy. Solid, but a bit spicy.
“So,” Mary asked, her green eyes riveted on Quinn, “Sam says there was a pretty, single new guest visiting her cousins at the lodge. What did you think of her? I hear you chatted her up some. Don’t know why all three of those girls are still single.”
“No playing matchmaker,” Quinn warned, pointing a finger at her. “Your better—I mean, your worse—half has already tried.”
She just gave him a smug little smile. Maybe they’d been talking about that last night. Pillow talk. Had he been so obvious? Not to Alex Collister, he hoped.
“What, am I being tracked by both of you?” he challenged, raising his voice. “Gonna put me under surveillance to be sure I behave—or don’t?”
“I know all about striking a match and causing instant flame and fire,” Mary countered, ignoring his phony bluster. “It was that way between me and Sam from the first. I’ll check her out myself, but Sam and I rest our case.” She rolled her eyes, then went back to drinking coffee.
“Both of you have been working too hard and you’re losing it, so I’m glad we have a few days off,” Quinn said, rising. “When Geoff and Ginger get here, we have better—serious—things to talk about.”
He washed his dishes with a scrub brush in cold water and headed for the door. He was going to stop to pick up those DVDs of the most recent Tracker Q-Man TV seasons and drop them off at the lodge gift shop.
“Everyone was so nice to pitch in last night to unload my truck,” Alex told Suze as they stood in the Gifts and More log cabin after breakfast. Suze had just spent an hour going over the business end of things here: using the cash register, keeping inventory, storing and ordering supplies.
On his leash, Spenser followed tight to Alex’s heels on the rough flagstone path as he had ever since their arrival—except when he was cavorting with Chip or trying to dig in flower beds. Scottish terriers were bred to root out rabbits and even rats. “It took no time at all,” she added, “and these boxes of my herbal products they put in here are heavy.”
“You’ll find it’s all for one and one for all in this community when there’s a problem or task. Here’s one of the two keys to this building for you to keep,” Suze said, extending what looked like an old skeleton key. “Despite the unpopulated area, I’d lock it if you come in for a restroom break, to eat or whatever. We advertise in town, but most of our guests are our lodgers or guys who are here for the tracking and survival school.”
“I figured they’d be kept really busy there—classroom and field trips, so to speak.”
“Oh, guess I didn’t tell you. It starts in a couple of days, but students often come early and sometimes stay late, either here or at a couple of B and Bs in town. They have only cold water at the camp unless they boil it. Even Quinn, Sam and his wife, Mary, come in for hot showers sometimes, so we keep one room at the end of your hall for that. Their camp staff lives mostly in town, so they have gas heat and septic tanks like we do here. Listen, I have to make some phone calls, then zip into town for supplies. I’ll take you with me next time, introduce you around, but I know you want to put things to rights here.”
“I do. Thanks for everything. I hope to open up this afternoon or definitely tomorrow so you can mention that in town or in the lodge. I’ll just make a handwritten sign for my beauty products and display them in that corner there. I’ll use that old door on top of the barrel you showed me out back to make a rustic display. I’ll add some flowers or plants to soften the effect. I was really thrilled to see you have a great growing season here with the cool-weather pansies and asters.”
“We’re not far from early hard frosts next month. Just dig up a few of the plants crowded in by the front door of the lodge—or your little Spenser will. Out there, near the tree line, is our shed, and it’s loaded with planters and pots we don’t use.”
Suze headed out the door. Alex blinked back tears again at how kind everyone was, how helpful and generous. At home, at least since working at the vet clinic and catering to Lyle’s schedule and demands, she seemed to have no close friends but only acquaintances. She should have realized she was in trouble since her best friend was her dog. Lyle had been a lover but never really a friend, because he was always her superior and let her know it. Now that she thought about it from this distance, it was as if she were his pet to be coddled but controlled—kept on a leash.
She shuddered, grateful she was safe and free, then, after assessing her own life, took a moment to assess the stock here in the store. Mosquito spray in bright metal cans. She’d overheard more than once last night that it was only the alder wood smoke keeping the “little buggers” at bay and that “real” Alaskans used more subtle, natural ways to ward off insects. Also, someone had joked that mosquitoes were the official state insect.
She saw some rustic antiques here. Over to the far side were displayed an antique-looking Antiques sign, a copper kettle and a lovely array of hand-carved duck decoys. There were examples of scrimshaw and beautiful baskets of several sizes, several made with what was labeled as porcupine quills. She’d have to keep an eye on Spenser so he didn’t try to chase porcupines, if they lived nearby. Despite his small size and one eye, like his breed, he was strong-willed and could be fierce.
She fingered quilted or woven place mats on a counter that also held a display of small, charming, wood-framed paintings Suze had done of scenes in both warm weather and the dead of winter.
And now, she thought, her own prettily packaged products would be put on display. She bent to unpack her first box. Then, hopefully with help from a tech-savvy computer person, she could lock down her website against any hacking and figure out how to erase her digital footprint, or at least smudge it. That way Lyle couldn’t ever find and harm it—or her.