The Suspect Groom

“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.

Damn it, there wasn’t time to come up with the right words to express the effect Trina had had on him. And that was a great irony in Alaska where—during the dark cold winter—time stretched into a slow infinity. Since Trina arrived, every moment seemed to speed as quickly as sand in an hourglass. Every moment was sparkling.

“So where’s my bride?”

“Upstairs in her room, making herself pretty,” David said.

“For me.” Ivan grinned. “I’m going to like having some sweet young thing fluttering round, catering to my every whim. I don’t know why I didn’t do this years ago.”