Chapter 24
Charlie wasn’t usedto other people slaying dragons for her. It was impossible for her to sit still and do nothing while Nick Perini did all the work. Besides, there were a million unanswered questions running through her mind.
She limped downstairs to the manager’s office and took a moment to appreciate the view of Fire Peak. The morning sun gave the trees a subtle golden glow. Even the granite crags held a quiet sparkle. Was there any place more beautiful in the entire world? This wilderness brought everything into perspective and made her problems seem so much less dire. It was soothing, in a weird way, even though that very wilderness could easily kill her if she went into it unprepared.
She popped two Tylenol and gingerly sat down at the computer.
Before Nick had left, he’d airdropped her the voice recording of the couple outside Solomon’s camper. She had a translation app on her phone that could tell her what language and what they were saying.
The answer came quickly.
Chechen.
Chechen?
All she knew about Chechnya was that Russia had fought bloody wars with it when it tried to break away. She did a quick search to learn more. The country had its own language, its own culture, but was now firmly under Russian control, and was known as the Chechen Republic of Russia. Why were two people from Chechnya lurking around the woods near Firelight Ridge? Were they working on behalf of Russia, or for some other entity?
Carefully, she read through the translation.
According to the app, the man had said, “Vasily wants to turn up the heat. The woman is dragging her feet.”
“We need to be patient,” said the woman. “Why is he being so crazy?”
“There’s a history. But we need Vasily. Without him, we have nothing. What can we do?”
“We can find out…Shhh. What’s that noise?” The drone of the helicopter grew louder.
“Let’s go. Quick, quick.”
Charlie played it a few times, listening for nuance and picking up mostly frustration.
Had one of them shot her? Or had “Vasily,” whoever that was?
Turning back to the computer, she did a search on archery and Chechnya. Every spring, the country held a festival that included an archery competition as part of an effort to revive Chechen national culture. If the Chechen couple had shot that arrow, maybe they were on the “Chechen culture” side rather than the Russian side? Did that make a difference? What were they seeking here in the wilds of Alaska? What connection existed between Firelight Ridge and a faraway Russian republic?
Next, she shifted gears to the dead birds. What could cause birds to die in such a dramatic way? The dark-eyed juncos migrated from southern regions into the vast expanse of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park every summer, where they got to spend the long summer days feasting and nesting.
Maybe they’d simply become exhausted by the long journey of migration. That had been known to happen. Perhaps they’d all reached the end of their tether at the same moment. Or maybe they’d been under severe stress from an encounter with a larger predator bird. That was what had happened in most cases where large numbers of birds had suddenly veered toward the ground.
They could have collided with something, although Charlie couldn’t imagine what, since this had happened in the woods, far from any buildings.
She remembered that Nick had also airdropped her the video he’d recorded from the helicopter. Maybe it showed the meadow.
It did not, but it did reveal something else of interest. A ways down the creek from the camper, a tent was set up in a small clearing. A four-wheeler was parked next to it, and a motorized skiff was tied to a tree along the creek’s edge.
Where were they taking that skiff? Where did that creek go? She pulled up a map of the area and studied it. She didn’t know the territory well enough for it to mean much, but it looked like the creek meandered down from Fire Peak and bordered Chilkoot territory. Maybe it was fed by the snowmelt from the upper slopes.
Back to the birds.
Just for fun, she allowed herself to get distracted by the “meaning of birds falling to the ground.” Apparently, that could symbolize grief and hopelessness. Yikes. It could also mean you were in for a time of transformation and change.
Could she choose door number two?
She knew the feeling of grief and hopelessness well. Losing her father to prison and being helpless to do anything about it had seared her soul. But whenever she cried about it, Dad had blabbed on about resilience and challenges only making you stronger. At this point in her life, she was pretty dang strong. She was ready for some change and transformation.
Images from last night flashed through her mind. Those moments with Nick had been…mind-blowing. The way he’d filled her entire being with pleasure, the way he’d released all the tension and stress that had built up inside her, was pure magic. It had left her feeling…weak, in the best possible way. Weak in the sense that she didn’t have to be strong anymore, she could just lie on the bed next to him and drift back to sleep, knowing everything would be okay.
When was the last time she’d felt that way? A long, long time ago, before the police had shown up at their house and handcuffed her father and her entire life had changed.
And then that text from Hobbs had come in, and all that good feeling had evaporated.
She stared at the computer keys. Her fingers itched with the desire to backdoor into Hobbs’ system and do something dramatic. Reroute all their income to Earthjustice or dig up all their dirt and expose them to the media.
She should do it. Forget that twenty-four hour agreement with Nick. This was her problem, not Nick’s. Her battle.
Her hands were on the keys when the sound of April’s voice interrupted her. She jumped and winced, having forgotten that she’d been shot by a damn arrow.
“You’re supposed to be recovering, not working.” April sounded stressed and irritated.
“I can multitask.” Charlie quickly cleared her search history, then turned to face her boss, who held a basket of freshly picked yellow tulips from the garden.
“Multitask. Humph. Is that what you were doing with my four-wheelers out in the forest?”
“We thought there might be a connection to the smoke bomb.”
“And what business is that of yours?”
Charlie got to her feet, exaggerating her limp. “It’s definitely my business because I’m the one who got hit with strike two. It said that on the arrow.”
April swung away to hide her reaction, but Charlie caught it anyway. Shock. Fear.
She grabbed her opportunity. “April, do you know anyone from Chechnya?”
“Chechnya? I don’t think so, but people come here from all over.” Having composed herself, she turned back to face Charlie. “You should really get back to your bed.”
“I will.” But she wasn’t going to leave without asking a couple more questions. “What about someone named Vasily? Does that ring a bell?”
Oh, it definitely rang a bell. A loud one, judging by the tremor that went through April’s body. “A long time ago, there was someone named Vasily here.”
“Well, I think he might be back.”
“So what if he is? Why is that your business?”
Charlie wanted to scream from frustration. “Something’s going on around here, and you’re keeping it to yourself and it’s getting dangerous! I just got shot with a damn arrow.”
April pushed past her and stuck the tulip stems in the vase she kept on the desk. “Maybe you were poking around where you don’t belong.”
So much for sympathy from her boss.
“Well, I probably was. And I’m probably going to keep doing it. So you’d better just tell me something. Tell me about Bulldog. Who was he? What happened to him?”
For a moment, she thought April’s head might explode from sheer astonishment. Fortunately, that did not happen. “Will you go back to bed if I tell you?”
Charlie held up a hand to seal the promise. “Yes, ma’am.”
April poured some water from a plastic bottle into the vase of tulips, then arranged them in a more harmonious way. “Bulldog was my…boyfriend. Lover. We came to Alaska together as an adventure. He was…killed three winters later. Don’t ask me who did it, I don’t know.”
“You must know his real name if you came here together.”
“Of course I do.”
So why hadn’t she told the police? Charlie stopped herself before she posed that question, and instead asked something more open-ended. “What was he like?”
A faraway expression came over April’s face. “He was very idealistic. He was drawn to lost causes. He loved exploring the wilderness. He was young, as was I. He was barely twenty-one when we came here. We wanted something different from the world we grew up in. So stifling, so materialistic. We saw ourselves as rebels.”
So Bulldog came from a wealthy family too. She wondered why April didn’t want to say his real name. She must have at least told his family; maybe they didn’t want the public attention that went with a police investigation.
“You must have been heartbroken when he was killed,” Charlie said softly.
April’s gaze shifted back to her and turned wary. “So?”
“Well…sometimes when something traumatic like that happens, people need to get away. Like my mother did after my father went to prison. So what made you decide to stay here without him? That’s when you built all this, right? After Bulldog died?” She waved her arms, indicating the lodge in general.
April shook her head, then shooed her toward the door. “I said I’d tell you about Bulldog and I did. Now back to bed with you.”
With a sigh, Charlie obeyed and limped out of the office. The back of her thigh was burning. Was it supposed to be hurting this much?
She shut herself into the shared bathroom and angled herself in front of the mirror so she could see her wound. Peeling away the bandage, she saw that it didn’t look infected. That burning sensation…maybe that was just how arrow wounds felt.
Yawning, she decided a nap wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, and headed back to her room.