• Wednesday, August 24 •
Near the Active home, Chukchi
Active handed Grace a paper cup of chai tea as she finished zipping up her jacket and they started their walk along the lagoon. A few ducks bobbed at the edge of the water. Gold-leafed aspens shivered in a sudden gust and sprayed leaves across a carpet of wet tundra that showed the first hint of autumn rust.
He took a sip of coffee, let the steam from the opening in the plastic lid swirl up against his face. “So how often are we doing this?”
“Three times a week, at least. I’m exercising for two. The baby’s heartbeat was so strong on the ultrasound! I want to make sure we both stay in good shape.”
“And I’m here because . . . ?”
“Because you’re keeping your honey company. And a walk will do you some good, too.” She reached over and patted his middle. “I’m not the only one getting a little paunchy.”
“Is that so?” he said with a grin. Her quicksilver eyes sparkled up at him. A rosy glow made her tawny skin even more luminous than usual. He flicked back a strand of hair that had blown across her face and caught at the corner of her mouth. “You’re beautiful when you’re pregnant, Grace Palmer Active.”
She drained her cup, stuffed it in a pocket, and kissed him. “That’s very kind.” She whirled around. “Now, let’s move it.” She took off in a power walk, arms pumping.
Active quick-stepped to catch up. “Hey, did you and Nelda have a good talk?”
“Not exactly. She was on her way to Cape Goodwin for a funeral. We had maybe ten minutes.”
“And nine and a half of that was exchanging greetings.”
“And interstitial silences. You don’t rush an elder.” Grace slowed her pace. “But she said something interesting.”
“Like?”
“When there’s mourning for a death, there’s more reason to celebrate a life.”
“Wow. Where’d that come from?”
Grace looked down and shrugged. “I told her I was two-minded when I found out I was pregnant.’”
“But now you’re not, right?” He suppressed his frustration—and his alarm—at having to ask this again.
She nodded thoughtfully. “I keep thinking about that night in the tent on the Hawk River.”
“Yeah,” he said with a slow, satisfied smile. “That was excel—”
She dropped his hand and slapped his shoulder. “Not that. My dream.”
“Right. You were falling out of the sky.”
“Yeah. And what I keep thinking about is, Evie really did fall out of the sky and lose her baby. I don’t know how to explain it, but when I think about being there, below that ridge where she and her baby died, I feel like, no matter how afraid I am about not getting motherhood right this time either, it’s like this baby deserves its chance because Evie’s baby never got one. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, kind of like what Nelda was saying, her death makes that little life you’re carrying that much more important.”
She smiled and hugged his arm. “It’s not true, what women say.”
“Eh?”
“A man can have a clue about what a pregnant woman goes through.”
“We have our moments, I suppose.” He pulled up his collar against the wind off the water. “So you’re talking to Nelda again when she gets back?”
“Absolutely. And she wants you there, too. Shared therapy.”
“Glad to know you’re feeling more sure about the pregnancy,” he said. “I was a little worried.”
“I’ve been getting my checkups, eating right, taking walks, all the mommy stuff. I thought you’d get the message.”
“Maybe I’m not as much in tune as you give me credit for.”
“Or maybe investigating a double homicide requires a little focus? I can see where it might.”
She smiled up at him and gave his arm another squeeze, and he understood the subject had changed.
“Yeah, two deaths, too many things that don’t add up,” he said.
“And now that suicide, Jesse Apok.”
“Yeah,” Active said, “And the thing is, Jesse’s death could be connected to the plane crash. He was the guy who fueled up the plane. So he could have screwed up somehow, or even sabotaged it. But, of course, he’s not talking now and, so far, there seem to be no witnesses to anything unusual that night.”
“No one at the airport?”
“We were hoping surveillance video might show something, but most of the cameras weren’t hooked up, and the ones that were don’t cover Lienhofer’s tarmac.”
“Security, Chukchi-style.”
“Absolutely. And Alan Long and Danny and I talked to the Lienhofer employees—nothing. Of course, most of ’em work the day shift, so they weren’t around that night.”
“Nothing even from Cowboy?”
“No,” Active said. “Jesse said he saw Cowboy and one of the other pilots, Pete Boskofsky, there that night. But Cowboy says he left before Jesse came on shift and Long found out that Pete, who normally makes a run on Wednesdays, was in Kenai on family business.”
“So maybe Jesse mixed his nights up? Maybe he wasn’t there at all that night?”
“He seemed pretty sure about it. And we do have a sighting from the woman who works nights down at the weather station. But all she can confirm is that she saw him on a ladder at the wing, maybe fueling the plane, which is where he would have been if he was doing his job.” He looked across the lagoon. The wind rippled the gray-blue water. “How far is it around this side of the lagoon?”
“And this woman is a reliable witness?”
Monique Rogers, reliable? “Up to a point.”
“What point?”
He chuckled. “The point where she opens her mouth, basically.”
She gave his jacket sleeve a little tug. “Luckily, you don’t have to worry about that with me.”
He smiled and squeezed her arm against his side.
“You said Jesse’s death might be connected to the plane crash?”
“There could be a second person involved in that crash who thought he might talk about it.”
“You’re saying Jesse was murdered to keep him from talking?”
“It’s possible. But we don’t have any concrete evidence for it. No witnesses to anyone else being in his apartment at the time. I’m waiting for the crime lab in Anchorage to come back with identification of the fingerprints on the rifle he was killed with or the cell phone we found at the scene, maybe something on his body or on that balloon from the 207’s fuel tank. Just hunches at this point.”
“You’re still going with the water balloon theory?”
“Yeah, Danny and I tested it out this morning on the one balloon I kept from the crash. It took twenty-three and a half gallons of water, no problem, which would leave room for seven or eight gallons of fuel per tank, just like Cowboy figured.”
“So you think that balloon you sent to the lab will lead you to the murderer?”
“Maybe. If they don’t lose it.”
“Three quarters of a mile.”
Active paused for a few seconds, hit his mental rewind button, and remembered the question she was answering.
“Ah,” he said. “Around the side of the lagoon.” It was crazy how she could calculate that on sight, which he suspected was the point.
“You wimping out?” she said with a grin.
“No chance.”
He figured they had walked just under a quarter mile, meaning a half mile to go.
“But, you know, the case. I might get a phone call and have to get back to work.”
“Work. Okay, that might get you off the hook. So let’s kick it into gear before that happens.”
Grace threw back her head and took off again, elbows chopping the air and heels flipping up. The white soles of her shoes looked like the undersides of the tails of leaping caribou.
“Hey, hold up, speedy.” Active jogged up beside her and checked the temptation to break into a full run to show her which of them was out of shape.
As he came alongside, a cell phone bleated from one of their pockets.
“You didn’t arrange with Public Safety to make a rescue call to get you out of this, did you? That had better not be Lucy Brophy. Seriously.”
Active fished in his pocket for his cell and pulled it out. “Ha! Not me.”
Grace retrieved the phone from her jacket, frowned at the caller ID, and put it to her ear. Her eyes widened, then she rubbed her forehead and said, “What? Why?” She listened for another few seconds, then said, “Okay, we’re on our way.”
She tapped off. Active raised his eyebrows in the naluaqmiut expression of inquiry.
“We have to go to the school. Nita got sent to the principal’s office.”
“For what?”
Grace’s eyes burned with anger.
“She punched a girl.”
Nita was slumped in a red plastic chair, eyes puffy from crying, hiccupping intermittently and wiping her nose on the sleeve of her hoodie. An angry red scratch ran across one cheek.
“Oh, Dad!” she cried as Active stepped into the principal’s office. She launched out of the chair, threw herself into his arms, and sobbed. The frown on Grace’s face got a little deeper. Was the girl parent-shopping in her moment of crisis?
Active folded her into his chest and cradled a hand around the back of her head. How small it was; sometimes he forgot she was still only a child. And the way she had said, “Dad.” The word had come to feel less awkward since their talk on the Hawk River. But now, the weight of responsibility that came with it paralyzed him.
Maybe Grace would know what to do.
Their eyes met over Nita’s head for a second. He thought Grace might reach out to the girl, turn her around, and embrace her.
Instead, she pulled one of the red chairs up to the principal’s desk and sat down. “You said on the phone that Nita hurt someone, Ms. Savok? Any bones broken?”
Lena Savok was long-torsoed and fortyish, projecting an executive-suite cool with her gray suit, stern look, and thick black hair pulled back into a bun. Her office matched her personality—a ruthlessly organized desk with not so much as a stray pen on the blotter, nothing on the walls but diplomas, credentials, and a framed color photograph of a band of musk oxen circled up on the tundra, horns out.
The principal took off her glasses and folded her hands in front of her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Active, I appreciate you coming in. Thankfully, the other student was not seriously injured, just a bloody nose. Her mother took her home.”
“What happened?” Grace twisted the fingers of one hand in the other.
“I think it would be best if Nita owns her actions by explaining the situation herself.”
Grace pushed back her chair and turned to face Active and Nita. “Well?”
Active got a box of Kleenex from the principal’s desk and handed it to Nita, who was back in her chair now. He sat down beside her. She blew her nose loudly, wadded up the Kleenex, and stared at her hands, not saying a word.
Active stroked her shoulder. “It’ll be okay, kiddo. Tell us about it.”
Nita drew a deep breath and blurted out, “I punched Mindy Harper.”
“Why would you do that?” Grace almost shouted.
Nita glared at her. “Because of what she said about you.”
Grace’s eyes widened and she pressed her hand over her heart. “About me?” She looked like a fox in a trap. Active felt a tremor in his chest.
“Wha—what . . .” Grace’s fists were clenched, but not enough to control the trembling.
Active realized he was standing now. “What did Mindy say, Nita?”
The girl’s eyes swung from Active to Grace and back again.
He smiled and nodded. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
Nita looked at her lap again. She drew a deep breath that raised, then lowered her shoulders. “She said you killed my Uncle Jason.”
Grace’s face contorted. Nita looked up, eyes pleading. “Is that true, Mom?”
Grace’s mouth was frozen in a silent cry. Active felt the same, but he put an arm around Nita and pulled her into his shoulder.
“No, Nita, that’s not what happened.” He hoped his voice sounded more certain than he felt.
Nita straightened and looked into his face. “How did he die? I thought his gun went off when he was cleaning it.”
“No, he was shot.” Active tried to say it calmly, as he would have to the next of kin after any other killing.
“Who by?”
Active turned to Grace, his eyes asking if he should continue to play this by himself. But she found her voice.
“Your aunt confessed to it.”
“Aunt Ida? Why?”
Active touched the girl’s shoulder again. “We could talk about this at home, ah?” He glanced at the principal. “Not here.”
Savok cleared her throat and stood. “I’ll step out and give you some privacy.”
As the door clicked shut behind the principal, Nita turned back to Active. “Why would she shoot Uncle Jason?” she asked again.
“Bunnik, come here.” Grace pulled the girl onto her lap and cradled her like a toddler. She stroked Nita’s hair, teasing out the tangles at the ends. “Sweetheart, I grew up in a very troubled family. There are some things that I still don’t understand. There are some things you may understand when you’re older. And there are some things neither of us will ever understand.”
Active leaned forward, hands between his knees. He was on a pitching boat in a storm, unsure exactly how to rescue himself and his family. All he could do was brace for the next wave.
“What happened between your aunt and uncle,” Grace continued, “is a secret she took to her grave.”
Nita looked up at Grace. “But Mindy said—”
“Nita, honey, every family has troubles. Even Mindy’s, I’m sure. But family troubles should stay in the family, with me and you and your dad. And that’s where you go when you hear something bad that you don’t understand. You don’t take village gossip at face value and hash it out with your fists. Okay?”
Nita nodded. Active put out his hand and she moved beside him again. Grace went to the door and waved the principal in.
“Is there something more you would like to say, Nita?” Savok asked as she returned to her desk.
“I was so angry when Mindy said that about Mom.” Nita’s eyes flashed. “I called her a liar.”
“And that’s when you hit her?”
Nita touched her cheek. “No, that’s when she scratched my face. Then I punched her.”
“Ah,” the principal said.
“That sounds like a mutual altercation, Ms. Savok,” Active said. “With mutual provocation.”
“Fair point. But we can’t tolerate violence in our school.”
“Absolutely not.” Active matched the principal’s stern tone.
“There must be consequences, no matter who struck the first blow.”
“Absolutely,” Grace said.
“I think a three-day suspension would be appropriate.”
“For both parties, yes, that would fair,” Active said.
Savok nodded.
Active stood and extended his hands to Nita and Grace.
The principal picked up a folder and handed it to Nita. “Here is your homework for the rest of the week. I trust we will see you back in school on Monday ready to make better choices and make this a great year.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nita said.
Active took Grace’s arm and led her and Nita out to the Tahoe. The girl climbed into the back seat, slammed the door, put in earbuds, and buried her face in her phone.
“Nathan, Nathan,” Grace said as she crumpled into his arms. “I don’t know if I can do it. I mean, the thought of putting another child, and myself, through all of this again in a few years, it just seems so hard, I . . .”
And here they were again. Maybe he’d been fooling himself. Maybe she’d never be ready to have his child. But she was the one who had lived through the destruction wrought by Jason Palmer, was still living through it.
He stroked the back of her head. “I know, baby,” he said. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s your decision.” He had to take a deep breath to get the next words out. “If you do choose to have the abortion, do you want me there?”
There was a long silence. “I’m not sure.”