“At least you’re trying to get what you can.”
When he was done collecting prints, he examined the bags with a magnifying glass, looking for specks of blood—and found none. Then he set his tools aside, opened each suitcase and went through them. Other than linens, now crumpled and balled up, which had to be brought in by each renter, since there was no washer and dryer in this remote place, he found what one would expect to find—clothing and other essentials. There was nothing unusual. No drugs. Not even a small bag of pot.
While he documented his efforts with notes and pictures, she donned a pair of latex gloves and went into the kitchen. There were some beers in the fridge and some empty cans in the wastebasket—a total of twelve. That equaled two six-packs. “What did Leland tell you when you asked him if they’d been drinking?”
Amarok answered from the living room. “Said they each had a couple of beers.”
Then Sierra might’ve had a couple, as well, but even more wouldn’t have been excessive, given the amount of time they’d been here. There was certainly no evidence of heavy drinking.
“Find anything?” Amarok called.
“Not really. Unless there are more cans outside, they didn’t bring much beer.”
“They didn’t put any trash outside.”
“How do you know?”
“The rental company would’ve warned them not to.”
“Oh. Of course. Because of the bears.” Amarok handled their garbage, so she’d momentarily forgotten that refuse attracted some formidable animals here in Alaska. “Then we have twelve cans for four people over three days. That tells me it’s highly unlikely Sierra was drunk, especially in the middle of the day, when the guys might come home and wonder what she’d done with all the beer.”
He said nothing.
“And the lack of drugs and drug paraphernalia indicates she wasn’t high,” she added. “I wish I could suggest that she did tangle with a bear, except I can’t imagine her going outside without her coat and boots.”
“Maybe, instead of going to the trouble of suiting up again, she just ran out to grab a few more sticks of wood.”
“And a bear got her?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t see it,” she said. “Why wouldn’t she take a few seconds to pull on her coat rather than let herself get soaked? And why would she run out in the cold to get more wood when she’d already carried in an armload, most of which is still by the stove?”
“I shouldn’t have brought you,” he replied. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
She chuckled because she knew he was just messing with her, and started to wander around the rest of the cabin, searching for anything that might be amiss. Besides the kitchen and living room, she saw two bedrooms, one bathroom and a small mudroom off the back, leading on to a porch that was quite a bit deeper than the one in front.
Sierra had taken the sheets off the beds so she could pack them, but she hadn’t folded the blankets that would be left behind. She hadn’t washed the dishes or picked up the plates littering the coffee table. She hadn’t done any of the usual scrubbing, even though leaving the cabin as it was would cause her, Leland and the others to forfeit whatever they’d paid as a cleaning deposit.
What Evelyn saw confirmed what she’d thought be fore. Sierra had been anxious to leave—so anxious she’d shoved everything, including shampoo, soap and toothbrushes, into the suitcases, and she hadn’t bothered to fold anything or empty the fridge and cupboards.
Sierra didn’t seem to care whether they left the cabin fit for future renters. That seemed significant. So … why the hurry?
“Evelyn?”
When Amarok called her name, she poked her head into the hall from the back bedroom so he could hear her reply. “What?”
“Come on up here.”
“Where’s here?” She walked toward his voice. It sounded as though he’d discovered something important.
“The loft.”
Evelyn had noticed the ladder in the living room. She’d planned to go up when she finished with the downstairs, but he’d beaten her to it. “What did you find?” she asked as she climbed up after him.
He lent her a hand so she could get off the ladder. Then he gestured to the small area around them, which had a ceiling so low he couldn’t even stand upright. “You smell anything?”
She sniffed. “Bleach.”
“That’s what I smell, too.” He shook his head. “I didn’t come all the way into this room when I was here before. Still I don’t know how I missed it.”
“It’s not that strong, but I can definitely smell it.”
“Someone’s been cleaning up.”
True. But if Sierra didn’t clean downstairs, she wouldn’t go to the trouble up here.…
Evelyn curled her fingernails into her palms. “Why, in a room like this, would you ever need bleach? You wouldn’t want to risk spilling it and ruining the rug. And there’s only a bed and a dresser. I could understand smelling furniture polish, but … bleach?”
“Can you go see what cleaning chemicals are downstairs?” he asked.
“Sure.” She scurried back down the ladder but couldn’t find any bleach, only some dusting cloths, window cleaner, a powdered cleanser, dishwashing soap and a small vacuum.
When she came back, Amarok was wearing a dark scowl and he’d turned over the mattress.
“That’s not a happy face,” she said when he was too preoccupied with whatever was on his mind to help her up again.
He gestured to the mattress, where she saw a big, red stain. “Does that look like blood to you?”
10
“We have a murder on our hands.” Amarok couldn’t believe it. It’d been barely eight months since Hilltop’s last murder. And the previous two were only a year before that. Three murders in eighteen months, after going years without a single homicide. He hated to admit it, even to himself—because he loved Evelyn—but he’d known all along that allowing her brainchild to be built so close to his hometown would not bode well for those in the area. That was the reason he’d been one of the few who’d tried to fight it.
“Evelyn?” He turned to see her reaction. “Isn’t that what you make of this?”
Her eyes, round as saucers, never left the mattress, and she didn’t respond.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She didn’t look okay; she looked drained, pale.
“Evelyn?”
When she startled, he realized she hadn’t heard him before. “Yeah.”
That was what she said, but that wasn’t the impression he got. If he had his guess, she was struggling not to slide down the wall. “Are you sure?” he pressed, alarmed.
“No,” she admitted, and as upset and angry as he was to be dealing with such a serious problem again—because of what she’d brought to the place he loved most in the world—he couldn’t help pulling her into his arms. He supposed that was how he knew he loved her. She mattered more than anything else.
“Look at me,” he said.
It took a moment to get her to focus on him, but she eventually lifted her gaze. “We’re in the middle of a war, remember? That’s what you always tell me. There’s more than one battle in a war, and you don’t necessarily win them all. I need you with me as we go forward. I need you to remain strong.” He gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Together we can come through this like we have everything else. Right?”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m not doing so well, Amarok.”
Her words made his blood run cold. She’d never said anything like that before. “It’s because you’re working too hard,” he told her. “You need a break. Maybe you should go home and see your family, spend a couple of weeks in Boston decompressing while I deal with this.”
She stretched her neck to be able to see the blood on the mattress again. “No. I won’t leave you with this.”