Dana Stabenow - A Fine and Bitter Snow

“Put you up against Dina and Ruthe.”

“So did a lot of things. Nature of the businesses we were in, respectively.”

Jim pondered for a moment. “Dina Willner thought enough of you at one time to marry you. Think she might have left you anything in her will?”

“What might that be,” John Letourneau said very dryly, “maybe a half interest in Camp Teddy?” He laughed. “I guess you don’t hear everything after all. Ruthe and Dina have joint rights of survivorship in Camp Teddy. When they’re both dead, it goes to the Kanuyaq Land Trust.”

“You’ve seen their wills?”

“No. Dina told me, back when we were married. Can’t imagine they changed them. Now,” John Letourneau said, rising to his feet and speaking with an air of finality, “I have told you more about my personal business than I have told anyone else, ever, and I still can see no way that it will help you convict someone already in custody. So I will say good night to you both.”

As they left, Kate had the distinct impression that John Letourneau had learned more from them than they had from him. There was no reason for it to bother her, but it did.

They drove a mile without speaking. With Mutt crowded on behind, Jim’s legs were so long that they wrapped around Kate’s on either side. His hands rode lightly at her waist, his body a solid wall of warmth at her back. She was thinking more kindly of the cramped quarters of the Cessna when he raised his voice over the noise of the engine. “What wasn’t he telling us?”

So Jim had picked up on that, too. She did him the courtesy of not pretending not to know what he was talking about. “Everybody has secrets, Jim.”

“And usually they get to keep them,” he said. “But not when it comes to murder. I’ll find out. I always do.”

The man they had left alone in the elaborate lodge came to the same conclusion. An hour later, he sat at an old Royal manual typewriter and pecked out a letter. He signed it, and reached for the shotgun leaning against the desk.

And we’re here, why again?“ Kate said. She knocked her boots free of snow at the door of the Park Service headquarters on the Step, at the same time moving just outside Jim’s reach. ”It’s late and I’m tired, and you know perfectly well Dan O’Brian had nothing to do with Dina’s death.“

“I found him standing over the body,” Jim countered. “He might have seen something, heard something. I have to talk to him.”

“You already have.”

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah.”

Her gaze sharpened. “What?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “A feeling, like maybe he’s not telling me everything.”

“Crap. Dan O’Brian’s not a guy to withhold knowledge of a crime.”

“Maybe,” he said in a level voice. “Maybe not.” He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “I told you I could have dropped you at Bobby’s on the way.”

Like she would have let him interrogate Dan O’Brian without her being in the room. She stamped up the stairs without deigning to reply and then slammed into the building, nearly catching his nose in the door.

Well, at least she wasn’t indifferent to his presence. He followed her down the hall, long legs eating up the distance between them.

Dan was still in his office, head down in a stack of paperwork. He looked up when they came in. “Great,” he said, tossing down his pen. “Cheese it, it’s the fuzz.” Mutt trotted around the desk and bounced up for her usual exchange of sugar. “Except you, babe. You I’m happy to see anytime.” He directed an unfriendly gaze at Jim. “What?”

Kate took up a strategic position perched on the corner of Dan’s desk. Jim sat opposite and cocked one heel on the other corner, a relaxed pose that deceived no one. “Tell me again. Everything you saw, everything you heard, every detail-I don’t care how insignificant you think it is.”

“Jesus.” Dan pushed away from the desk and leaned back, rubbing his face hard with both hands. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Tell me again,” Jim repeated.

Dan sighed sharply and dropped his hands to the desk in front of him. In a flat, dry voice, he repeated his story as if by rote. Due to Washington politics, his job was in jeopardy. He had consulted with friends (he didn’t look at Kate) and had decided to fight for it, which meant asking Park rats with influence to intercede on his behalf. Dina Willner and Ruthe Bauman were wired into the conservation movement, his relationship with them was good, and so they were naturals to ask for help. He drove to their cabin. He found them-he swallowed. “I found them like that,” he said. “Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I thought maybe this was who did it coming back.” He rubbed his head, which still sported a knot on it, although reduced in size. “After that, it was like the Keystone Kops or something. I yanked the door open the same time somebody shoved it open from the outside, and bam! The next thing I know, I’m on the floor next to Dina, looking up at you coming through the door. I thought it was you who smacked me.”

“It was Dandy, bringing the mail.”

Dan nodded. “Yeah, he told me.”

“What time was this?”

“Midafternoon. Say three, maybe? Three-thirty?”

“Did you see anything?”

“Other than stars? No.”

“Hear anything?”

Dan sighed. “I wish. I didn’t hear a damn thing.”

Kate, watching, was alarmed to see that Jim’s instincts had not deceived him. There was something that Dan wasn’t saying. “Dan,” she said.

“Goddamn it, Kate,” he said, his voice rising. “Dina and Ruthe were and are friends of mine. Do you think if I knew something I wouldn’t tell you? That I wouldn’t want to help you find who did this horrible thing and kick the shit out of them myself?”

“No,” Kate said, her voice by contrast calm, even soothing. “I don’t think that.”

And yet, as they walked down the path of hard-packed snow to where the snow machine sat waiting, she couldn’t help thinking that Dan O’Brian had sounded as defensive as he had angry. He had wanted them out of his office, had seemed almost desperate to see them go. Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry. As if he had allowed them to stay, he might have said more than he wanted to.

Hearing Jim take a breath, she said, “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”

She’d seen what he had, and that was all he’d been looking for. He exhaled without speaking. In grim silence, they mounted up, this time with Mutt, in response to a barked order, hopping between them.

Jim shifted on the couch in Bobby’s living room, restless. It didn’t help that he could hear the soft sound of Kate’s regular breathing, and that his overactive imagination could put that sound much closer to him without any effort at all.

The fire crackled on the hearth. A log shifted and sparks flew upward, casting a faint glow over the dark head buried in the pillow on the other couch. It was a wide couch. Plenty of room. She probably wouldn’t even wake up if he slid in next to her. She probably wouldn’t even stir. Maybe she’d just roll over and he could curl into her spoon-fashion. He could slide his hands around her waist and pull her in tight. He thought of that ass against his crotch and had to shift again to make room for his erection. It didn’t even bother him anymore; it was like the damn thing was on automatic around her.

He tried like hell not to think about it. Think about Riley Higgins instead, he told himself, and for a few moments he actually did. Bobby was right: The guy was a poor fucker, but that didn’t in and of itself make Higgins not a murderer. Crazy people did crazy things. Higgins, by empirical evidence newly observed, was manifestly crazier than a bedbug. He could have taken out both Dina and Ruthe in one of his rages.