Читать книгу: «The Suspect Groom»

Chapter One

He was exactly the way she’d imagined. Trina Martin peered through the window of the single-engine Cessna at the tall, long-legged man in a shearling coat who stood beside the Osprey airstrip. Behind him, the glacial landscape of Alaska, north of Juneau, glistened in the midday sunlight. The sparkle of crusted snow matched the two-carat diamond in the ring she wore on her fourth finger, left hand.

Trina couldn’t believe she was actually here, couldn’t believe that she was finally going to meet him. Though the brim of his black Stetson obscured his features, she had the impression of a strong jawline. What would he look like? Was his hair blond or brown or red? Was it streaked with silver? She knew he was in his mid-forties. She knew he was healthy and fit. But, in all their correspondence, she hadn’t seen a photograph, hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Was he handsome?

The plane taxied forward and she could no longer see him. She leaned back in her seat, trying to catch her breath and to calm the tremulous quiver of anticipation in her stomach. Finally, she thought. Finally, she would be face-to-face with her future husband, Ivan Stoddard.

“We’re here,” the pilot announced from the cockpit.

Trina was the only passenger in the small plane, and she was struck with a sudden reluctance to disembark. What if Ivan didn’t like her? What if he thought she was plain or clumsy or boring? Worst of all, she thought, he might take one look at her and discover the lie she’d perpetrated since the very beginning of their correspondence.

“I got to tell you,” the bush pilot said as the plane slowly glided to a stop. “I’ve transported a lot of weird stuff to people out here. A pair of matched apricot poodles. A frozen cheesecake from New York City. And the skull of a prehistoric man to some archeologist. But this is the first time my cargo has been a mail-order bride.”

“I’m nowhere near as interesting as those other things.”

“Beg to differ, ma’am. You’re plenty more exciting than a poodle or a prehistoric head.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Oh, that was a compliment, ma’am. You mind if I ask you one thing?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why? Why would a pretty woman like yourself agree to come up here and marry a man she’s never even met?”

The answer wasn’t easy. When Trina first replied to the advertisement for a mail-order bride, she might have been undergoing the first prickles of an uncomfortable mid-life crisis. She was thirty-five, unmarried and stuck in a dead-end job. Taking off for Alaska appealed to her, and she’d started a correspondence with Ivan Stoddard.

Over the course of a month, he wrote to her almost daily, and she fell in love with his letters. Maybe not in love, she thought now, but deeply in like. He was witty, honest and sensitive. His occasional attempts at poetry, though perhaps not brilliant, were charmingly sincere. Most of all, his letters showed that he loved his life-style, without reservation and fear. Trina wanted to share that excitement. She was tired of petty whining and complaining. She longed to embrace her future, and Ivan seemed to be the man who could show her how to live. When she received the engagement ring by special courier, she slipped it on her finger, quit her job and made her travel arrangements.

“Well?” the pilot prodded.

“Adventure,” she said.

“You’re surely going to have that wish come true. If there’s one thing we’ve got more of than snow in Alaska, it’s adventure.”

While he jostled the switches and shut down the engines of the Cessna, Trina lifted her large canvas purse onto her lap. Digging through her makeup, she found a small compact and checked her appearance. Her cheeks were flushed, which deepened the blue color of her eyes. Her minimal makeup was okay, but her long brown hair, pulled back in a single braid, was something of a mess. She tried to tidy the straggles that had come unfastened, then gave up, pulled out the rubber band at the end of the braid and shook her head. The untamed thickness cascaded halfway down her back. Her long hair was her best feature, but right now it seemed too wild. Should have had a trim, she thought. Should have had a hairdresser add russet highlights to the dull brown color. It was too late now, and Trina didn’t expect to find stylists in attendance at the secluded game preserve where they were headed.

She took off her gold-framed glasses and stashed them in their case. Perhaps her vision of Ivan would be an unfocused blur, but she didn’t want his first impression of her to be of a bespectacled former secretary. Besides, she needed to look younger, and the glasses added years.

The pilot flipped down the exit hatch. “Here you go, ma’am. Best of luck to you. Many happy returns.”

Too excited to speak, she nodded her thanks and stepped from the Cessna. The ridged rubber sole of her boot crunched on the hard-packed snow beside the tarmac runway. An icy wind coiled around her and nipped the tip of her nose. She shivered. This would be her home now. Alaska.

The man who stood waiting held his hat in his gloved hands. His eyes were a deep, moody brown. Sunlight sparked golden reflections in his dark blond hair.

She tried not to stare, not to squint myopically to bring his features into clear focus. Truly, she didn’t need to look too hard to see that he was wonderfully masculine, as strong and rugged as the land he called his domain. It was nearly impossible to believe that this virile man had written the twenty-eight thoughtful letters she’d received.

“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m David St. John.”

“You’re not Ivan?”

“He sends his regrets. There was a crisis this afternoon, and he couldn’t get away.” David stuck out his hand. “I’m the foreman at the hunting preserve.”

Her red mitten disappeared into his thick leather glove, and she gave a firm handshake, suppressing her disappointment. Throughout this long journey, she’d been anxious to see Ivan, to finally meet him. It didn’t seem like she could hold off for one more minute. But there was no choice. “I guess an occasional crisis can’t be avoided.”

“Afraid not.”

She forced the smile onto her face. Trina needed to be strong, to be prepared for anything. In his letters, Ivan had explained, several times, that life in Alaska didn’t follow the predictable rules of politeness.

“I’m sorry,” David said, and she detected a note of sympathy in his voice. “I’m sure if Ivan was here, he’d tell you that you were some sight when you were coming off that plane. You looked like Alice, taking her first gander at Wonderland.”

“That’s how I feel. This land is so beautiful. Last night, when my plane landed in Juneau, it was too dark to really see anything. But this morning we flew over the Mendenhall Glacier. It’s so amazing and it looks blue. There’s so much water, too! And the Cathedral Peaks. And the forests. I can’t wait to see the green fjords in the springtime. I’ve read all the books on Alaska that I could get my hands on, but this is...well, it is like Wonderland.”

“And Ivan would probably tell you...” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me saying it, Trina, you’re prettier than your photograph.”

Her eyebrows arched in disbelief. The picture she’d sent was from ten years ago when she was twenty-five, and that little white lie had prevailed throughout her correspondence with Ivan. In his advertisement for a mail-order bride, he’d said he wanted a young, healthy, strong woman to be his wife. Trina fulfilled the requirements, except for the youthful part. “That was a posed photo,” she said, hoping that explanation would cover the ten extra years. “With makeup and special lighting.”

“I like you better this way. You look real.”

With the pilot’s help, he loaded her two suitcases and steamer trunk into the back of a four-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee. Then he turned to her. “Is this all of it?”

“Yes.” Those few cases held all her earthly belongings. Trina had been ruthless in discarding everything that wasn’t absolutely essential. She’d sold all her furniture, had given away her trinkets and mementos.

In Alaska, she wanted a completely fresh start. A brand-new life, full of promise and adventure. And maybe she’d even find love.

David held open the door on the passenger side. “Let’s roll.”

She fastened her seat belt and settled back for the ride, noticing that he peeled off his heavy leather gloves and wore only a light thermal pair for the drive. “How far are we from the lodge?”

“Not far.”

“In terms of miles?”

“Time and distance don’t mean much out here. In a blizzard, it can take an hour to go a mile. In clear weather, like today, we’ll be at the lodge before your eyes get accustomed to the glare off the snow. Have you got sunglasses?”

“Yes.” Prescription sunglasses! These would be the perfect thing to wear. Not only would she be able to see clearly, but the dark lenses would disguise the faint traces of laugh lines around her eyes. She fished them out of her canvas bag and put them on.

The snowy panorama, though muted by the sunglasses, was spectacular. She scanned in all directions, absorbing the view, then turned her gaze to the man who was driving. She’d been right about the strong jawline. His profile appeared to have been chiseled from granite. He was remarkably good-looking. “Have you lived up here long, David?”

“I was born near Skagway at the foot of the Yukon Trail. I left for a while, but I came back home. It’s funny how that happens, how the place where you have roots calls you back. No matter how far you roam, there’s one place on earth where you really belong.” He smiled. “What about you, Trina? I know you’re from Colorado, but is that where you were born?”

“I was born in Los Angeles, but I don’t consider that home.” Her father had been in the military, and they had lived in dozens of places. She wasn’t fond of her personal history and preferred not to remember her family’s unsettled life-style, ruled by a dictatorial father. She changed the subject. “So, David, what does a foreman on a game preserve do?”

“It depends. Mostly I take care of the livestock.”

“The moose and the bear?”

He laughed. “They take care of themselves. We have domestic animals. Horses, a couple of beef cattle. We tried sheep and chickens, but the wolves found them too appealing.”

“Appealing?”

“Succulent,” he said.

Aware that she was in a different land with different rules, Trina swallowed the automatic exclamation of disgust that rose in her throat. Succulent? Yuck! Though she knew the food chain was a part of nature, she’d never been a farm girl, and she hated to acknowledge the natural fact that meat came from a living creature. Rather, she liked to believe that it grew on trees in prepackaged cartons, which were then available in the butcher’s section of her local supermarket.

“Also,” David said, “I maintain the property. Do some carpentry, some building, some repairs. Mostly, at this time of year, I run the snowplow. And I handle the hiring and firing when we need help. During slow times, I do a lot of the paperwork for Ivan, setting the appointments for the hunters who stay at the lodge.”

“The hunters.” There was another source of possible conflict. Trina had tried not to dwell on that part of her future husband’s business. His land wasn’t a pristine game preserve where the Alaskan version of Bambi and Thumper scampered free. The lodge was a hunting operation.

She had reread the letter several times wherein Ivan told how he had stalked and killed a bull elk. Though he described the skinning and processing of the venison in detail, she had sensed an obvious admiration for the magnificent animal that provided its meat. He’d mentioned another hunter who’d accompanied him on that expedition—David St. John. Though Ivan didn’t say much about him, it made Trina feel more familiar with the foreman. “Ivan mentioned you,” she said. “In his letters.”

“Did he?’ David pointed to a fence post. “That’s the beginning of Stoddard land.”

She peered along the fenceline that stretched farther than the eye could see. “All this?”

“It’s a big place. Over two thousand acres.”

“Why is it fenced?”

“Mostly to keep the poachers out.”

“Well, of course.” She tried to make sense of this vast, bizarre land. “I don’t suppose a scrawny little bit of barbed wire would hold something as big as a moose.”

“You’d be surprised. There are two things you need to remember about moose, Trina. They’re a whole lot more dangerous than Bullwinkle. However, they are just exactly as dumb as they look.”

He turned and they drove through a gateway that stood open. “Not much farther,” David said. “The lodge is over this ridge, just through the forest and straight on from there.”

They entered a corridor between tall spruce trees, so thick that the forest blocked the sunlight. The branches started high on the trees, and the dark trunks seemed to surround David and Trina in an ominous, impenetrable fortress. Amid the trees, there was silence and so much less snow that patches of the narrow road’s surface were visible. “Taming this land is quite an accomplishment,” she said.

“Alaska is never tame. At best, we puny humans have momentary control. But the environment is king. The Haida Indians understood that. They always made peace with the local spirits of trees and wind and water. But nobody ever really expects to conquer the land. No more than they can change the weather.”

“If it was that bad, no one would live here.”

“There are rewards. The sight of the first snow. Ever held a snowflake on your glove and watched it melt?”

She shook her head. “Never have.”

He continued, “There’s a special smell in a winter camp fire. No sparkle of a diamond mined in Africa is as beautiful as sunlight on a waterfall or the northern lights. And the springtime? It’s heaven. You can taste spring in the air. In the melting snows, the fjords are lush and inviting. You want to run across the remaining ice floes and roll around in the green. But then, crack! The ce breaks. And you’re stranded. Trapped.”

He glanced over at the woman who sat so primly beside him. Her full lips were slightly parted. Her head was cocked slightly to one side, like a curious fawn. “Stop me, Trina. I’m beginning to sound like a damn poet.”

“Like Ivan,” she said.

“Oh, yeah.” David couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Ivan’s real poetic. A regular bard.”

“In his letters, he is.”

He didn’t want to argue with her. It wasn’t right for him to be thinking about her at all. She was Ivan’s woman. Not his. “Just remember, Trina. Southeastern Alaska can be very beautiful, but it’s dangerous, too.”

When they came out of the trees, their way was blocked by several four-wheel-drive vehicles and pickup trucks. David pulled to the side of the road and parked. “Let’s check it out. This must be the big crisis.”

“Is that a police car?” She gestured toward a beat-up truck with police lights on top and a sheriff’s star painted on the side.

“Belongs to the sheriff from Osprey.”

“Fascinating,” she said. Though he started around the Jeep to open the door for her, Trina opened her own door. She needed to assert her independence.

David escorted her toward a burly man with a dark walrus mustache. He was huge, as tall as David and half again as wide. Was everybody extralarge up here? Or was it just the padding of parkas and snow gear? Though she was above average height at five feet, eight inches, she felt positively petite as David introduced her to Reuben Kittridge. “Reuben’s the sheriff.”

The big man shook her hand. Beneath eyebrows that were nearly as bushy as his mustache, he studied her with penetrating eyes. “You’re the mail-order bride,” he said, “and I’ll be doggoned if you aren’t a pretty little thing.”

“And you’re a pretty big thing.”

“You’re right about that.” He glanced at David. “She’s a beauty. Ain’t Ivan got all the luck?”

“Just so. What’s the problem here, Reuben?”

“Early this morning, at first light, a couple of kids came through here. Cross-country skiing, they said, but I expect they had their rifles with them. No way to prove it, though. So, you tell Ivan not to press charges for poaching. They were good boys to come forward even though they might get in trouble.”

“I hope nothing happened to them,” David said.

“They found a body. A man’s body. Or what was left of it...after the wolves.”

“Anybody we know?”

“I don’t think so. If he was carrying a wallet, it’s gone now. His face and hands are pretty well torn up.”

Trina shuddered. The cold wind swept around her, but the icy feeling came from deep within her heart. What a horrible way to die! Being eaten by wolves. The trembling froze her blood, and she folded her arms across her waist, holding tight to keep the bones from rattling against each other. She tried to be braver. This was beautiful Alaska!

And yet, she was frightened. This sort of thing never happened in urban Denver where she’d worked as a secretary. Her voice squeaked like a rusty hinge on a door that she was trying with all her might to keep closed. “Wolves, you say?”

Reuben nodded. “It was wolves, all right.”

She felt David’s presence nearby. Though he didn’t touch her, he was close, shielding her from the fearful chill.

The sheriff continued. “He had some high-class snow gear. His parka was shredded, but it was one of those fine Gore-Tex things. Good boots. Thermal everything. Not that all the padding in the world could save him from hungry wolves.”

“He was careless,” David said. “Really, Trina, this sort of thing doesn’t happen every day.”

“Every other day?” she said, trying to be rough and ready despite the tremor in her voice.

“Seldom,” David said. “Most people know better than to go wandering off at night and get themselves lost. That must have been what happened. Right, Sheriff?”

“Don’t know. My guess is that he died at least a couple of days ago. Maybe even a week. Hard to say. We’ve had some light snowfalls at night.”

They stood and watched. About two hundred yards from the road, Trina saw a group of men trudging through ankle-deep snow. Two of them glided a litter across the rolling field. Though the body on the coffin-size sled was completely covered, she too easily imagined the dead man.

Her stomach lurched. Trina closed her eyes rather than turning away. She didn’t want to betray any weakness. This was her new home. If she wanted to stake her claim, she needed to be strong.

“But it wasn’t just the wolves that got him,” Reuben said. “Nope, this good old boy was dead before he hit the ground. Three bullet holes right in the back.”

* * *

DAVID HAD BEEN looking forward to meeting Trina and showing her the wonders of Alaska, a little piece of heaven. Instead, he had introduced her to a hellish murder.

Though she had exclaimed enthusiastically when they first beheld the buildings of the Stoddard Lodge and Hunting Preserve, her voice held a high note, a tremble like the sound of a startled thrush. She’d been tense, stiff. When he’d showed her the bedroom in the big house beside the lodge, the bedroom that was to be her own, she asked for a moment alone.

David left her, went downstairs and through the front room to the study. He rapped on the door. “Ivan!”

“What the hell is it?”

Pushing open the door, David entered. “I’ve got her.”

“Her?”

“Trina Martin. The woman you’re going to marry.”

“Oh. Her.” Ivan peered through hooded eyelids that always reminded David of a hawk or a falcon. A predator. That was Ivan. Though he could be vicious and demanding, he never apologized for his attitude. And David respected that. Ivan was what he was—no worse and no better. “What’s she look like, David?”

“If you cared, you could have come to the airfield.”

“I was busy. I had a crisis to attend.”

David glanced around the quiet office. The fax machine was still. The copier, untouched. The screen of the computer, equipped with up-to-date software, stood dark and blank. On the desk top in front of Ivan, a game of solitaire was spread but unfinished. “Light seven to dark eight,” David said. “I can see how busy you are.”

Ivan moved the cards and flipped through the deck again. There were no more moves.

“Looks like you’ve lost,” David said.

“By now, you know me better than that.” Ivan manipulated the layout of the solitaire game and won by cheating. “There. That’s better.”

“By the way,” David said, “about the crisis... Reuben says the dead man isn’t easily recognizable and has no identification.”

“So they don’t know who it was.”

“Not a clue. And he was shot.”

“Murdered?” There was a singular lack of surprise in Ivan’s question. He scooped up his deck of cards. “When?”

“They can’t tell. Reuben said they’d probably go all the way to Juneau for forensics.”

“A forensics team? My, my, a real homicide. That must be a big deal for Sheriff Reuben Kittridge.”

David settled himself into the chair opposite the desk. Over the past five years, he’d sat here so often that the leather was worn to the shape of his rump. The distance was exactly right for David to stretch out his long legs and prop his boot heels on the edge of the desk. Usually, he was content, even pleased, by Ivan’s lack of attention to business because it left more for David to work on. But this was different. Trina was different. David couldn’t allow Ivan to run roughshod over her life.

“Reuben probably thinks he can give me a hard time about this,” Ivan said. A slow, evil smile curled his lips. “I’ll look forward to his feeble attempts.”

“This is murder, Ivan. Take it seriously.”

“One more dead trespasser. Who cares?” He looked up. “Tell me about the girl.”

“She’s okay.”

“Only okay? I wanted somebody who’d make the rest of you backwoods yahoos sit up and notice. Is she going to do that?”

David cleared his throat, paused. He wanted to say that Trina was more than a trophy. One look had told him that. She was warm and bright with an inner beauty that outshone her lovely exterior. But David couldn’t admit his feelings. Ivan would laugh and tell him to forget it. He’d marry Trina just to spite David.