ten

“Recent Anchorage Homicide Might Be Work of Serial Killer.” Back in our room Etienne read the headline aloud as I lingered beside him, watching him scan the article.

“Do you think this could be why the police are so hesitant to release any information about Delpha’s death? Are they afraid they might be dealing with a serial killer?”

He continued to read, absorbing content like a human sponge, his former police inspector instincts kicking into high gear. “Serial killers often have rituals they follow in the execution of their crimes, bella. The same patterns. The same methodology. I assume that’s what a forensics team might be trying to determine today. If they do find the pattern repeated in Delpha’s death, it would make her his fourth victim. So they’ll need to play their cards close to the vest. They won’t want to slip up and divulge any pertinent evidence that would alert the killer that they’re onto him.”

He set the paper down and exchanged a sober look with me. “If Delpha died in a hiking accident, it’ll be recorded as an unintended mishap. But if they discover it’s the handiwork of their serial killer, it would mean he’s expanding his territory, and that could well cause a public panic, especially among visitors during the height of tourist season.”

A shiver tap-danced its way up my spine. “Ennis mentioned a baker who’s still in prison for killing at least forty-nine women in the Anchorage area in the eighties. He also said the Pacific Northwest boasts a lion’s share of known serial killers. It creeped me out when he said it, but I’m even more creeped out now because it looks as if he really knew what he was talking about.”

Etienne hugged me against him, wrapping me in the protective circle of his arms, suppressing inspector Etienne to allow husband Etienne to surface. “Despite the newspaper article, bella, and contrary to your worst instincts, we don’t know what caused Delpha’s death. We’re only grasping at straws. So can we refrain from drawing any conclusions until we learn the specifics? I can guarantee it’ll save you hours of needless hand wringing.”

“Easier said than done. It’s genetic. You’ve met my mother, haven’t you? The woman with the little moon face and the steamer trunk of worry grafted onto her back?”

“Listen to me, Emily. Based on my police experience in Switzerland, where mountains are the geologic norm and hiking is the national pastime, I can almost guarantee that Delpha’s death was an accident.”

“I hope you’re right.” I inhaled a calming breath. “Did you have to investigate many serial killer cases in Switzerland?”

“Uh…none, actually. Switzerland ranks rather low on the percentage chart of citizens who become deranged murderers.”

Yup. That made me feel much better.

We parted company at the lobby, where a throng of tourists stood around watching Dad being interviewed and Mom displaying her heart on her sleeve as she offered him an assortment of encouraging facial expressions. I wasn’t sure what the two of them planned to do after the interview, but at least Mom wouldn’t be bugging Nana. And since all the ladies had decided to follow Nana’s lead and spend the day in Girdwood shopping for souvenirs, we abandoned the shuttle idea in favor of the tour bus. So while Steele brought the vehicle around to the front door, I packed my mosquito spray and skipped out the back entrance to take the shortcut to the tram station, where Alison and the guys were already waiting.

“We’re all here,” she spoke up. “All eight of us, present and accounted for.” Even though she was wearing nondescript jeans with holes in the knees, a generic short-sleeved tee, a baseball cap with her ponytail poking out the back, and off-brand sunglasses, she still looked like a million bucks, which was not lost on her admiring companions, who looked as if they were suddenly feeling decades younger.

“Hush, you muskies,” barked Dick Teig as he cracked an imaginary whip into the air.

“Dude,” chortled Dick Stolee, “you just failed Sergeant Preston of the Yukon 101. The command is mush, you huskies.”

Dick bunched his features into a knot. “You sure?”

“Depends on what you’re trying to do,” needled George Farkas. “Spur a dog team forward or hush a bunch of fish.”

“And you can lose the whip,” lectured Grover Kristiansen. “Mushers don’t use whips on canines. Ever. They’re driving dogsleds, not chariots. And speaking of dogs, did you know the only dogs allowed to run in the Iditarod are Siberian huskies and Alaskan malamutes? Interestingly, that rule came about because one fella had the idea of training a bunch of standard poodles to run in the race, so he—”

“Ho-lee Hannah,” interrupted Thor Thorsen as he peered at the vehicle rumbling down the drive toward us. “I think our ride is here.”

It arrived with a deafening blare of heavy metal music blasting out from the cab and a rack of humongous moose antlers perched above the windshield. Looking like a cross between an all-terrain vehicle and a jeep, it sported a closed cab, an extended flatbed with a canvas canopy, six wheels, and the word pinzgauer stenciled on the glass beneath the moose rack. It was painted a brilliant fire- engine red because it was obviously too easy for drivers to miss a vehicle rumbling down the road with giant moose antlers mounted on the roof.

The vehicle screeched to a stop ten feet away and the driver jumped out with a clipboard, all teeth and energy. “Hey, folks, are you my pick-ups for the dog mushing adventure? Nine guests from Destinations Travel?”

“You bet,” hooted the guys, who immediately began to circle the vehicle, oohing and aahing over its heavy steel construction as if it were the Batmobile.

“My name’s Matt. I’m your driver today, and as soon as I check off your names, we’ll hit the road.”

“Is this vehicle military?” asked Thor as he ran his hand along the front quarter panel.

“Sure is. Austrian made and used by Delta Force teams for special operations behind enemy lines. A sweet ride, isn’t she? With mounts available for attaching weapons systems like M2 machine guns and MK19 grenade launchers. ’Course, we don’t need those mounts right now, but it’s a real comfort to know we could get them if we needed ’em.”

Right. Like on those terrifying occasions when Alaska faced the threat of imminent invasion from Saskatchewan.

Whistles from the guys. Chests puffing out. Testosterone spiking.

Matt brandished his pencil in the air. “Okay, when I call your name, raise your hand.”

Attendance taken, he shouted out final instructions before loading us into the back. “It’ll take us about forty minutes to get there. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. And like my grampa always said to his wife”—he offered his hand to Alison with a winsome look in his eye and a smile on his lips—“ladies first.”

The music began blaring again when he started the engine, giving onlookers the impression that we were a traveling rock concert on six wheels. It blasted out with ear-piercing loudness as we sped down highways that snaked through primal forests…as we caught fleeting glimpses of houses that seemed to be cobbled together from hand-hewn lumber and spit…as we passed abandoned A-frames whose weathered signs might once have advertised dinner specials…as we spied cisterns and rain barrels, rusted pickups and tar paper privies…as we covered our ears to block the wind from puncturing our eardrums…as we jolted along uneven pavement until we hit the sign that warned End Road Maintenance…as we bounced down the teeth-clacking dirt road that led to the rutted cow path that meandered through flower-glutted meadows, over sparkling streams, and into a dazzling valley that was bounded on three sides by towering mountains with razor-sharp peaks.

Matt killed the engine inside the entrance of a compound that was enclosed on two sides by a plywood fence and was home to a couple dozen small wooden hutches whose occupants were barking frenetically at our arrival, causing me to wonder if I should have packed flea spray rather than mosquito spray. Dick Teig plugged his finger into his ear and gave it a rattle as Matt lowered the tailgate. “Anyone else lose his hearing on the way over here?”

“what?” shouted George as he wiggled a finger in his ear.

“You gonna play any better music on the way back?” Dick Teig groused to Matt as we climbed out.

“Sure, man. What’s your pleasure? Death Angel? Anthrax? Slayer?”

Dick stared at him, nonplussed. “How about something that’d be good in a more confined space? Say, like, an elevator.”

As the dogs continued their chorus of howls and barks, the man who looked to be our host sauntered over to us with an easy stride and confident smile. “Welcome, welcome. I’m Jean-Claude, but it’s these scamps”—he spread his arms wide to include all the animals in the broad gravel yard—“who are the real stars of our adventure.”

He spoke with a slight accent I couldn’t identify, but with a name like Jean-Claude, I figured he probably hailed from one of two places.

“You’ve got an accent,” Grover pointed out in what might have been a cheesy attempt to shine the spotlight on himself in front of Alison. He elevated his chin at a jaunty angle. “You from Canada?”

“Brittany,” said Jean-Claude.

“Is that near the Yukon?” enthused Dick Teig. “We’re gonna be visiting Yukon Territory sometime while we’re here.”

I shook my head. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are,” said Dick. “It’s on our itinerary.”

I shook my head again. “No, it’s not. The Yukon’s in Canada.”

“Brittany, where I come from, is a region,” Jean-Claude clarified, “in France.”

“So you’re Canadian, are you?” asked Osmond as he turned his hearing aids back on. “I fought alongside Canadians in the war.”

I hung my head. Oh, God.

My phoned chimed out Jackie’s ringtone, which not only spared me from having to witness any more of this conversation, but filled me with admiration for the telecommunication giants who’d had the foresight to erect cell towers in the middle of nowhere. “’S’cuse me,” I mouthed to the group as I slunk away to a more isolated spot.

“Hi,” I whispered into the phone. “What’s up?”

A pause. “Why do I hear dogs barking in the background? Are you at a greyhound racetrack?”

“Dog mushing adventure. The pooches are happy to see us. So how is Mildred? Did her face shrink back to normal size?”

“Not yet, which is why she’s still in the hospital. The doc thinks something else is going on, so they’re keeping her for further observation. But she’s pretty perky because she’s got company now.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Did her family drive down from Windsor City to visit her?”

“No. I mean, she’s not the only tour guest in the hospital anymore.”

A chill lifted the down on my arms as if the tiny hairs had been electrified. “Another guest has been hospitalized?”

“Uhh…actually, would you believe two guests?”

I fought to remain calm as I scanned the compound for somewhere to sit, but there was no bench. No stool. Nothing.

With gnawing fear and trepidation, I asked the question I had to ask. “But…the two guests are still alive, right?”

“Oh, sure. No chance of their dying from their injuries. They only suffered broken bones and bruises.”

“How? What were they doing that they suffered broken bones? And which two guests are you talking about?” Jean-Claude must have invited the group to show the animals a little love because the guys had spread out and were wandering among the hutches, scratching and petting the dogs, who were leaping and barking in response.

“It’s the two Toms. I knew they’d be trouble. They’re just like the two Dicks—adult males who act like they’re still in high school. So here’s the scoop. They were in their tractor-cars, crashing into everyone on the floor at warp speed, when boom! They both hit a support beam at the same time, flew out of their little tractor-cars because they were both feeling macho and hadn’t buckled their safety belts, and accidentally got run over by a couple of our tour members who couldn’t remember which pedal to push to stop. These short-term memory issues are starting to create real problems, Em. How would you feel about making psychological testing a part of the sign-up process?”

“Explain ‘tractor-car.’ ”

“Oh, remember the old bumper cars that were such a big hit at summer fairs—when you could hop into little electric-powered pods and ram the daylights out of all the other little pods? Well, Green Acres has resurrected the ride, only the cars look like little John Deere tractors and there’s no electrical current sizzling across the floor or ceiling, threatening to electrocute you. Everything runs on battery, which really takes the fear factor out of it…except when someone runs over you at fifteen miles an hour and fractures your leg and pelvis and arm and—”

“How many broken bones do the Toms have?” I shrieked.

“Individually or collectively?”

“Jack!”

“Okay, okay. Tom number one has a broken tibia, arm, and nose. Tom number two has a broken fibula, pelvis, and wrist. And since neither of them can text one-handed, they’re enlisting my thumbs to send messages for them. It’s ruining my manicure. But you don’t have to worry about who pays for their emergency surgery because they both bought the travel insurance. At least, they think they did.”

“They had surgery?” My voice was a squeak. “Both of them?”

“Not yet. But there won’t be any more TSA pre-check for them. They’ll be packing more metal now than the Tin Man.”

“Oh my god.” Guests might have died on me, but at least none of them had needed emergency surgery. “Have you phoned their emergency contacts to speak to them personally?”

“Yup. Lots of family and friends headed in our direction. Isn’t it good we’re within driving distance and not stuck in Europe somewhere? Or Alaska?”

“Where are you now?”

“At the hospital.”

“Who’s watching out for the guests who are still at Green Acres?”

“Our van driver. Johnny’s really good with people, Em, so I told him if he’d take over my escort duties while I was here, you’d settle up with him later, like, give him a bonus or something.”

I nodded. “Sure. That’s…that’s fine. Will you call or text me later to give me an update on the Toms?”

“You got it. But…umm…there’s one more thing I should probably mention.”

I was so dazed already, what was one more bombshell? “What’s that?”

“I told the Toms’s families that if they wanted to stay in the area until the guys were released from the hospital, you’d pick up the tab for their hotel rooms, no matter how long they were here. That would be the classy thing to do, so I knew you’d insist I make the offer.”

“Of course,” I muttered, not knowing whether I should laugh or cry at how generous Jackie was being with our operating capital. “So maybe you could ask Johnny to direct the remaining guests toward the more risk averse rides?”

“Sure. The miniaturized cultivators look pretty tame, and the harvester ride looks about as dangerous as a merry-go-round, so I’m thinking we’re home free.” She let out a melodramatic sigh. “Try not to feel guilty about the tremendous hardships I’ve had to deal with, Emily. I’m quite happy to spend endless hours cooped up in a hospital. And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’ve been told that my bedside manner is unparalleled.” A pause. “So…would this be a good time to revisit the issue of my wardrobe allowance?”

“No. Thanks for the call, Jack. I’ll talk to you later.”

I disconnected, feeling as though I’d just been anesthetized. So while Jean-Claude gathered the guys around him to demonstrate the proper way to wrangle a harness over a sled dog, I questioned my idea of expanding our itineraries to two concurrent tours. The added revenue had looked attractive, but the reality was less rosy because instead of working myself into a lather over only one tour, I could now work myself into a lather over two.

As my brain started to clear, I cobbled together a mental to-do list and immediately got to work, starting with insurance. Rechecking the Toms’s application forms, I discovered they had both bought our catastrophic travel insurance policy, so no matter what happened to them medically, they’d be covered. But in an effort to cover my bases, I called the company anyway.

After navigating my way through their menu, I got put on hold long enough to watch the guys wrestle harnesses onto the dogs, which was a bit like watching new dads try to dress overstimulated toddlers, but at least no one got peed on. By the time I finally connected with an agent, the huskies were in position at the front of the sled, attached to their rigging, with eight dogs on each line, jumping and howling in anticipation of their impending run.

Alison waved her arm to catch my attention. “Do you want to go with the first group?”

I shook my head and gestured for her to climb aboard with Thor, Ennis, and Grover, who’d already seated themselves. I still had another phone call to make before I could go anywhere.

As I ended my conversation with the insurance agent, Jean-Claude took off down the gravel drive like Santa with his reindeer, standing at the back of a compact wooden sled that sported wheels for runners and front- and back benches to accommodate a maximum of six passengers. Not knowing how long their jaunt would take, I put in a call to Etienne and spent the next ten minutes informing him of our forthcoming hotel room expenditures and repeating the mind-boggling misfires that were happening with Jackie in Iowa.

“But the prognosis is good for everyone concerned?” he asked as we were wrapping up.

“So far. I hope that doesn’t change. How are you faring in Girdwood?”

“The situation is a bit dicey. Your dad finished up his interview right before we left, so he and your mom decided to join us, much to your grandmother’s dismay.”

I pinched my eyes shut and cringed. “I suppose Mom is breathing down Nana’s neck?”

“Your mother attaches herself to your grandmother like static cling, bella, but Marion displays a remarkable aptitude for losing her. I’ve been running interference when I can, but your grandmother is quite self-sufficient. This isn’t her first rodeo.”

I blinked at his reference. “Ooo, unexpected catchphrase. Where did you learn that?”

“From your nephews. They insisted I watch an event being broadcast live from Las Vegas. Quite the curiosity. I’d never seen grown men scrambling around an arena dressed in such garish attire before. ”

“You don’t have calf roping in Switzerland?”

He paused. “No. We don’t have clowns.”

After hanging up, I wandered over to where the guys were taking selfies with the dogs that remained behind—or, more correctly, trying to take selfies. With the dogs straining at their leashes, pawing the ground, head-butting and leaping, they were a bit too frisky to pose for the perfect Kodak moment selfie.

“Here’s a thought, guys. I could make myself useful and snap your pictures with the pups so you wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to do it yourselves. Any takers?”

“You bet!” said Osmond as I watched one of the dogs bump his arm with such surprising force, it sent his phone flying out of his hand onto the gravel. Osmond picked the device up and brushed it off, and after inspecting it for damage, shoved it into his jacket pocket for safekeeping. He wagged a playful finger at the scamp who’d done it. “No more monkey business, you little whippersnapper. Now settle down and smile for the camera.”

While the Dicks made a quick circuit of the compound, taking photos of each other, I took a series of photos of Osmond and George with their new canine buddies. “This Jean-Claude fella has run the Iditarod for five straight years,” Osmond marveled. “And he’s placed three times. Imagine: a thousand-mile race in the dead of winter where you’re armed with a cook pot, an axe, and a sleeping bag, and contestants slap down big bucks for the honor of participating. I can see why it’s a young person’s sport. From where I’m sitting, even a Holiday Inn Express feels too much like camping.”

“I thought the dogs were gonna be bigger,” admitted George. “You know, like timber wolves or Sergeant Preston’s dog King. But look at ’em. They’re so small and wiry, they don’t look strong enough to tow an empty toboggan much less a fully loaded sled and musher.”

“They’re lean and muscular,” concluded Osmond with a wistful smile. “Kinda like I used to be before my legs turned to spindles.”

“No poking fun of your legs,” I scolded. “They still get the job done, don’t they?”

“Yup. But I gotta keep moving. Standing in one spot for too long makes me stiff as a fence post—like in that museum on the mountain, I practically had to tap dance in place in order to finish reading all the materials.”

I glanced at the huskies, who’d begun to whine with operatic drama at the sudden lack of human attention. “Did the museum offer any information on the beginnings of dog mushing in the area?”

George shook his head. “Nope. Plenty of other historical details and pictures though.”

An idea suddenly bubbled up in my brain. “Hey, the book club guys have discussions every month about the latest book they’ve read. Maybe we can arrange a get-together where all the guests who visited the museum can share what they learned with those of us who did something else.”

Osmond snorted. “It’d be an awful short meeting. The Dicks made the circuit of all the displays in about two minutes flat before ducking out, and the other fellers weren’t there much longer. Once Alison left, it was like game over.”

“Alison left early?”

George nodded. “Every time we moved on to a new display case, we lost someone else. But Alison left first.”

“Then Grover.” Osmond snorted. “That feller chases after that girl like his feet’s on fire.”

“Then the other two slunk out after that,” said George. “Thor and Ennis. But I don’t know if they left together or separately. One minute they were there, and the next they were gone.”

This new revelation stuck in my brain like a monkey wrench in revolving gears. “Do you know where they went?”

Osmond shrugged. “Could’ve been anywhere around the building there.”

Anywhere around the building, like the trail where Delpha was hiking? I felt an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. “Did you see the guys anywhere outside when you left the museum and trekked over to the restaurant?”

“Couldn’t see a thing for the fog,” said Osmond.

“Do you remember seeing them in the foyer of the restaurant when you arrived?”

“Yup,” said George.

“Nope,” said Osmond.

They eyed each other sharply.

“Why are you saying nope?” asked George. “Grover and Alison were already there. Center foyer. He was talking her ear off and she was standing there taking it. Remember?”

“Sure,” defended Osmond. “He was making googly eyes at her. Hard to miss an old geezer like that making such a dang fool of himself. But I don’t recollect seeing the other two fellers when we walked in. They arrived after we did, didn’t they?”

George gave his head a bob that ended in a sigh. “Honest to Pete, I don’t recall, but if you say they weren’t there, I’ll believe you.”

Of course he would, because it was always safer to trust the memory of the guy who was pushing a hundred.

“Maybe we should call it a draw,” I suggested. “Two guests definitely accounted for and two to be determined.” Which meant both Thor and Ennis would have had plenty of time to catch up to Delpha on the hiking trail and…

And what?

Could Thor’s simmering anger with Delpha have reached a boiling point while he’d been in the museum? Could he have tracked her down on the trail and…and…

Okay, Thor was mean-spirited and moody, but that didn’t mean he was capable of committing cold-blooded murder…did it?

I looked from Osmond to George. “Do you think it might have been a good idea if one of you had mentioned to Lieutenant Kitchen that while Alison and most of the guys had gone to the museum yesterday, everyone left early except the two of you?”

Osmond shrugged. “I woulda told him if he asked, but he didn’t ask, so I didn’t think it was important.”

“Me neither,” said George.

Osmond studied me with squinty eyes. “Are you thinking it’s suspicious that those folks left early?”

“Between you, me, and the bedpost, I’m not discounting anything.”

George eyed me skeptically.

“I’m not making an accusation, George. I’m just saying that you’ve provided another avenue of investigation that Lieutenant Kitchen might want to explore. Another narrative.”

“But what’s the point?” asked George. “Thor and Ennis might have left the museum early, but they were sitting at a table right in front of you when Delpha died, so this new avenue might prove to be about as useful as a side saddle on a pig.”

I’d gotten so far ahead of myself that for a brief moment, I’d forgotten it was my own phone that was providing the best evidence for Delpha’s time of death. So why did this early departure from the museum bother me so much? And why was I being plagued by a niggling fear that not everything was as it appeared?

The sled rolled into the compound about ten minutes later. While Jean-Claude rewarded the dog team with doggie treats, Alison and the guys piled out, laughing, joking, and looking exhilarated from the experience. All except Ennis, who climbed off the sled in slow motion, his face pale, his motions fraught with unease.

“Bumpy ride?” I teased as I approached him.

He stared at me with a vacant gaze, as if he had no idea who I was. “I don’t know. I…” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, studying it intently. “I called Lorraine while the dogs were taking a break on the trail. I wanted to FaceTime with her so she could experience the ride for herself, but she didn’t answer. So I said screw this and called the hospital where her mom’s at—the one in Ames. I asked to be connected to her mom’s room, and the receptionist told me there was no one by that name in the hospital.”

“She’s been discharged already? Wow, her surgery must have gone really well. What a relief, huh?”

“They hadn’t discharged her.”

I paused. “Did they lose her name in the computer?”

“They couldn’t discharge her because they never admitted her in the first place. They had no record of her ever having been a patient.”

“But she had a broken hip. Did the ambulance take her to another hospital? In another city maybe?”

“I went to the source. I phoned Lorraine’s mother at her home in Story City. She picked up on the second ring.”

“She’s back home? That’s incredible!”

“Not so incredible, really. She never broke her hip.”

“What?”

“She didn’t break her hip,” he repeated. “She’s been at home the entire time.”

I peered at him, stupefied. “So if Lorraine’s mom is at home, where’s Lorraine?”

He stared at me, a haunted look in his eyes. “That’s what I’d like to know.”