12. Ozzie
CHAPTER 12
Ozzie
T he keyboard clicked softly as I paged through the photos on the SD card I got from Lynne Young. Claire’s stager had been more than happy to turn over the pictures when Claire asked and I explained my theory. But so far, nothing in the images jumped out at me. If there was something here, it wasn’t obvious to anyone except the people involved.
I shut the laptop with a frustrated huff and looked out the window of the small plane I was on. One look at the mountains crossing below us, and I regretted that decision. The flight to Hoonah wasn’t a long one, which meant another tiny plane. Maybe one day I’d get used to being on small aircraft, but that day wasn’t today.
Turning away from the stomach-churning sights, I spotted Claire’s blonde head a few rows in front of me. Much to my surprise, she was also on her way to Hoonah this morning. But not to investigate Marie Hammond’s murder or Warren Hammond’s disappearance. She said she was going to talk to a client.
I glanced out the window again.
Must be some client if she was willing to fly to another city to meet with them.
We soon descended into the airport and made a smooth touchdown, much to my relief. I hoped the weather held for my return flight.
When that would be, I didn’t know. At least tomorrow. It all depended on what I found here and what I could investigate on my own. Riggs had okayed me bringing Ellis, but he’d come down with a stomach virus and was currently chained to the toilet in his bathroom.
A shudder went through me. He better keep that shit—no pun intended—to himself.
The plane taxied toward the terminal. Once we stopped and the seatbelt sign turned off, I donned my coat. Unlike a normal commercial flight, my carry-on wasn’t stored overhead. All the luggage on this plane was in the cargo hold. Which meant I had to stand on the tarmac and wait for the pilot to unload it.
At least it wasn’t that cold today. Or raining.
Through the window, I saw one of the airport staff behind the wheel of the jet bridge, maneuvering it toward the plane. Moments later, it parked outside the door.
Chilly air filtered into the cabin when the pilot opened the door, ushering us out with a smile.
Once on the ground, I zipped my coat. It wasn’t frigid, but the bite to the air was enough to make me ready for the terminal’s warmth. Like small planes, the cold was something I needed to acclimate to. It would happen. One day.
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I gazed around, noting the planes parked near several buildings, thick, red covers covering some of their engines. It was strange standing out here. This side of the terminal was a place I’d never been outside of an airplane.
Apparently, it was routine for everyone else, including Claire. She had her phone out, checking messages while we waited on bags.
I let my eyes travel over her tall frame, taking her moment of distraction to study her more in-depth. Long legs cloaked in cream linen pants peeked out from beneath the knee-length, camel-colored trench she wore. Black gloves adorned her slender hands. The collar of an icy blue silk shirt peeped from the vee of her coat below the colorful green and blue scarf wrapped around her neck. She looked like the consummate professional. It was quite the contrast to the woman in the bathrobe I found scurrying down the sidewalk near her house. It was still difficult to reconcile the two. Who was the real Claire Holmes? This woman or the one who lived in the frosty-blue bathrobe?
My money was on the woman in the robe.
A gust of wind whipped by, snaking down inside my coat. I tugged up the zipper and hunched my shoulders, turning away from the wind and the woman capturing my thoughts.
Seven minutes later, rolling carry-on in hand, I followed the other passengers inside. As we wove through the people waiting to board the plane we just disembarked, I caught up to Claire.
“Do you need a ride?” I had a rental waiting for me.
She glanced over, the beginnings of a kind smile in her eyes. “Actually, that would be great, if you don’t mind. I was going to take a taxi to my hotel.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but the taxis here always smell faintly of day-old fish.”
My nose wrinkled. “That sounds… yummy.”
A low chuckle escaped her.
“Would you like to wait here or walk with me to the rental counter?” I nodded to the row of chairs under the window in the small terminal, then to the car rental counter in the corner.
“I’ll come with you. No point in taking up a seat someone else might need.” Her gaze traveled toward the door, where a family entered, a man a little older than Ellis helping an elderly woman inside.
My words to my brother the other day echoed through my mind.
Nice. Claire Holmes was nice .
The trip to the rental counter and the process to get my car only took a few minutes. Then we were back out in the blustery weather.
I glanced at the sky as we got into the sleek, black SUV I rented. The clouds had thickened since we landed. It looked like snow was on the way.
“So, where are you headed from here?” she asked as we settled into the car. “The local police station? Or the Hammonds’ cabin?”
“Police station. I’m hoping by some miracle, they can spare someone to go with me to the Hammonds’ place. I’ve hiked all my life, but the Alaskan wilderness is unfamiliar territory. Ellis was supposed to come with me, but he’s sick.” I pulled onto the main road and headed into town.
“If you really need a guide, let me know. I can swing an extra day here. I grew up in Alaska and spent a lot of time over this way. Hoonah’s wilderness is like home.”
I cast a skeptical look at her, taking in her linen pants and silk blouse once more and remembering her dash through the night after her dog in her bathrobe and slippers. “You’re comfortable traipsing through the woods?”
An impish look crossed her face, bringing a smile to mine.
“Don’t let the fancy clothes fool you. While I might prefer my creature comforts, that doesn’t mean I can’t survive in the wilderness. My dad made sure of that.”
“And you just so happen to have survival gear packed into your carry-on?” I quirked an eyebrow in question.
Her smile turned sheepish. “Well, no. But I have some friends in town. I can borrow some clothing and gear.” She raised an eyebrow back at me. “Did you pack survival gear?”
“I’m wearing my boots, and I have some extra layers in my bag, yes.”
She snorted. “Those boots on your feet are not meant for long treks through the forest. Not the Alaskan forest, anyway. Where are you from? I’m guessing the South, somewhere, judging by your accent.”
“North Carolina.”
Her head bobbed. “That explains the shoes. Before you go off to the Hammonds’ cabin, please get some proper footwear. Even if you can drive most of the way there, you need the right shoes. Just in case. Roads out here—” She paused, shaking her head. “Let’s just say they can turn ugly real quick.”
“You sound like Ellis.”
“Well, if he cautioned you to respect the land, then he’s right. Alaska is not a place you fuck around and find out.”
That surprised a short laugh out of me. “You are a walking ball of contradictions, Ms. Holmes.”
“Gotta keep you on your toes, somehow, Detective.”
She certainly did that. She and her little dog.
I shifted a foot to the brake, feeling my hiking boot flex around my ankle. “So, where would one go to get proper footwear in this town?”
A wide smile slid over her face. “Turn left at that light.” She pointed ahead to the traffic signal half a mile away.
“Yes, ma’am.”