Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Ace’s phone rang just after he dropped May off at her clinic for the morning. They’d swung by her house after leaving his place to grab her a fresh change of clothes. She still didn’t have any lights or power at home, but the clinic was nice and bright.
The outage had affected half the town, and while the sky had cleared, the lines weren’t fixed yet. He watched her unlock the clinic door in his rearview mirror before pulling away, the sun catching in her hair and turning it almost white for a second. The woman looked like an angel.
Yeah, he was losing it. Seriously.
Mud clung stubbornly to the tires of his backup truck, the one he used for plowing during the difficult winters.
The Alaskan state troopers still had his main truck, considering he’d handed it right over for them to search.
At least they’d released his cabin back to him after not finding anything linking him to the death of that poor tourist. He should call Brock for an update on the case but figured if Brock had any news, he would’ve shared it.
Ace would rather think about May than murder.
He kept one hand steady on the wheel as he hit the main road.
The sky was a deep, impossible blue now.
Clear. Clean. It was the kind of morning that made Alaska feel untouchable and attracted even more tourists to visit.
The mountains rose powerful and immortal in the distance, snow still clinging high on the peaks.
The air through his open window carried the scent of wet earth and spruce. It should’ve felt peaceful.
It didn’t.
His mind was still back in that shower. On May’s mouth. On the way she’d looked at him like maybe they had a future. Not just a present, and not just one night. But like there was something real between them.
God, he wanted that.
They hadn’t made it to the bed the night before until the fourth time, and it had been an exciting trip the entire time. The passion in that woman inspired him.
His phone buzzed again, and he clicked the speaker on, careful with the steering wheel as the truck pulled slightly left where the mud hadn’t quite worn off. “Osprey,” he answered.
“Hello, Ace. This is Flossy Veltinbelt. How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m very well, Flossy. What can I do for you?”
The sound of pots being put away came over the line. “Well, dear, Delores is busy with her family tomorrow, and Olly is swamped with FBI business, so we need a fourth for bridge. You’re not working yet, are you?”
“No, ma’am. I’m still not flying.”
“Oh, good. Then you’re not doing anything. Will you substitute in for bridge?”
He thought about his schedule. About the empty hours stretching in front of him. About the fact that he’d planned to check on a few repair jobs but nothing that couldn’t wait. “I’m free.”
“Well, I know, dear. You’re not working.”
He rolled his eyes, though she couldn’t see him. The truck rumbled beneath him as he shifted gears, the old engine steady and familiar. He’d rebuilt part of it himself last winter. “Flossy, I know what y’all are doing.”
Silence ticked over the line for a moment before she sighed. “Yes, we’re looking for someone who has nothing better to do during the day than to play bridge.”
“No, you’re trying to get me to go back to work.”
Flossy laughed, bright and unrepentant. “Oh, honey, if you don’t want to go back to flying, you don’t have to, though you should get some sort of job.
” She hummed, cheerful as ever. “You know the Miller boys are getting awfully busy with their landscaping business and their touristy business. Maybe they could hire you. You wouldn’t mind working for a couple of seventeen-year-olds, would you? ”
He fought back a laugh. The Miller boys were good kids. Hustlers. Probably making more than he was right now. “No, ma’am. I’d be proud to take any hard work to earn a living.”
“Oh, that’s such a refreshing thing to hear. One would think a grown man such as yourself would just hate to work for kids. I’m glad you have no pride, Ace.”
“Flossy,” he said, warningly, though a grin tugged at his mouth.
“Yes, dear?”
He couldn’t stay mad at her. Nobody in Knife’s Edge could. She’d fed half the town at one point or another and knew every secret worth knowing. “I’m going to kick your butt at bridge tomorrow.”
“You’re a big talker, Ace. I would say let’s put some money on it, but we both know you don’t have any.”
He gasped in mock outrage, playing his part with her. “Well, I never.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at two.” She hummed softly. “In fact, I need a ride.”
He eased the truck around a bend where runoff had carved a shallow rut in the dirt. Sunlight flashed off the hood. “I’d be happy to pick you up. I’m assuming we’re playing out at Loretta’s house?”
“Yes, it’s her turn to host, and I know it’s a bit of a drive out to the Randsoms. You still do have a truck you can use, don’t you? I heard the troopers have your nice black one.”
The woman just wanted gossip. He couldn’t blame her. “Yes, ma’am. The troopers should be giving back my main truck any day. For now, I do have my plow truck, sans the plow right now. It’s sturdy.”
“That’s good. You haven’t lost that to the bank?”
“No, ma’am. I still own both trucks and have a full bank account.” Even after going into business with Amka, he was financially secure. He’d saved and invested well through the years, although he did miss having a steady job.
Flossy cleared her throat. “You’ll pick me up at one thirty.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And wear something decent. No grease.”
He glanced down at his T-shirt, already smudged from checking the undercarriage earlier. “I’ll shine my boots.”
“Oh, good. And since I have you…”
He ran a hand through his thick hair, sunlight flashing across the windshield as he rounded another bend. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I need some more firewood. I’m happy to pay you three dollars an hour if you don’t mind chopping some.”
“Huh?” He had to concentrate, but his body was still satiated and relaxed after a very energetic night with May. He already missed her, which was just crazy. He focused on the phone call. “Flossy, I cut wood for you last week. You have enough to last several months.”
“I may have given some to both Sally and Mrs. Robeson. That old bag didn’t have any.”
Considering Flossy was well into her seventies, if not eighties, he nearly choked. The ‘old bag’ was probably five years younger than Flossy. “That was very kind of you, and I’m happy to bring you more wood for your fire.”
“Oh, good.” She tisked her tongue. “Is three dollars an hour okay?”
She was absolutely messing with him now, wasn’t she? “Actually, I think it’s a little too much.” He barked out a laugh as the truck bounced over a shallow rut. “How about just some of your ginger snap cookies?”
“Oh, well.” Her voice warmed immediately. “I suppose that would be okay.”
He actually loved those cookies. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, you have a good day now. Maybe think about doing something productive,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and she hung up.
He chuckled and set the phone on the seat beside him.
Truth be told, he’d enjoyed being called on for odd jobs during the last six months.
It was definitely the town’s effort to force him back into the air, back to a job he had once loved, but it was nice being useful.
And frankly, his bridge game had improved greatly this last year.
May played poker and was good at it, but now he most certainly knew her tells.
He’d have to be careful not to take all her money next time they had a game in town.
The thought pulled a slow grin from him.
She’d try to act cool about it, all doctor calm and collected, but her left eyebrow would twitch every time she bluffed. He’d noticed it more than once.
The road narrowed as he wound farther along the mountain and hung a left onto Briar Trail Road.
It was basically one lane with trees pressing in on both sides and potholes filled with rainwater.
The truck dipped and rocked as he eased around the deeper ones.
Sunlight filtered through the spruce in broken patches, flashing across the hood and windshield.
The forest still smelled damp from the storm, rich and clean.
It was a nice day in the Alaskan wilderness, and it felt good to be home.
They really needed to pave this stretch, but getting cement and asphalt all the way out to Knife’s Edge wasn’t simple. Most of it would have to be done by hand, and there were always bigger priorities. He didn’t mind the rough roads. They kept things quiet.
He twisted around a downed tree that had been dragged halfway off the shoulder and continued up the incline. Smitty’s A-frame log cabin came into view through the trees, smoke curling lazily from the chimney now that the sky had cleared.
Smitty’s dented blue four-wheeler sat out front of the A-frame, parked crooked beside a stack of split logs. One of the rear tires sagged low, the left one nearly flat. Ace would have to fix that. The old trapper ran everything into the ground before getting repairs done.
Ace cut the engine, cleared his throat, and took a steadying breath before hopping out of his truck. Within seconds he was at the front door, knocking once with his knuckles.
The door opened to reveal Harold Smith Jr. “Hey, Ace.”
“Hey, Smitty.” Ace held out a full bottle of Crown Royal.
“Gee, thanks.” Smitty accepted the large bottle, weighing it in his hand like he was calculating ounces by feel alone.
He stood at least six foot eight, broad enough to block most of the doorway.
Thick gray-white hair stuck out in uneven waves.
His eyebrows were legendary and bushy enough to qualify as wildlife, while his brown eyes missed nothing.
He was Inuit, full-blooded as far as Ace knew, and had lived in these mountains longer than anyone could remember.
“Come on in,” Smitty said, wearing his usual blue overalls over a red check shirt, thick wool socks padding silently against the wood floor.
“Thanks.” Ace stepped inside. The cabin always surprised people.
From the outside it looked compact, almost tight against the slope.
Inside, it opened up into a surprisingly spacious living area with exposed beams and a tiny kitchen tucked to one side.
The logs that formed the walls were thick and dark with age, packed tight and solid.
Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall near the kitchen, showcasing the jagged peaks of Knife’s Edge Mountain and the long mountain range stretching far. Sunlight poured in, catching dust motes in the air.
Smitty had a thick, battered blue leather couch facing two mismatched recliners, all gathered around a hand-carved pine coffee table scarred with knife marks and rings from too many mugs.
“You want a drink?” Smitty asked, already moving toward the kitchen.
“Smitty, it’s eight-thirty in the morning.”
Smitty kept moving. “Yeah. You want a nip in your coffee?”
Ace shrugged. What the hell. “Sure.”
“Have a seat.”
Ace looked at the quiet room. “Do I take the sofa or one of the chairs?”
“Couldn’t care less.” Smitty disappeared into the kitchen, which was more of an open space with a long counter that doubled as a bar.
Ace turned and dropped onto the sofa. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Minutes later, Smitty came back around the counter carrying a steaming mug. “I just put a little Bailey’s in it. Well, and a little Crown.”
“Thanks.” Ace took the mug and lifted it to take a drink. “Holy crap.” He lowered it slowly. That was more than a splash.
A stone fireplace built into the left wall threw steady heat into the room, flames snapping softly behind the iron grate. The wide windows did most of the lighting, though, bathing everything in clean morning sun.
Smitty lowered his bulk into the yellow-and-brown striped recliner on the right. It looked original to the seventies. “I heard you got pulled in for a murder case.”
Ace blinked and took another swallow of the coffee, which tasted like chocolate beneath the burn of alcohol. “Yeah. The tourist that died had gotten into an altercation with some guy the day before, and I stepped between them.”
“Is that it?” Smitty asked, both bushy eyebrows rising.
“Yeah, that’s it. I didn’t kill her.”
Smitty lifted one massive shoulder in a half shrug. “You’ve been pretty goofed up for a while.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a murderer.”
Smitty grinned, flashing the gold tooth in the front of his mouth. “I know. I’m just fucking with you.”
Ace frowned. “Are you supposed to do that?”
“I’m not a shrink. I don’t have any rules,” Smitty retorted. He reached over and tugged an old wooden lever on the side of the recliner, the mechanism groaning as the footrest kicked out. “Ah, there we go.” He settled back in, the chair protesting under his weight before giving up and accepting it.
Ace shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You comfortable?”
“I’m getting there. Another one of these drinks and I might take a nap.”
The fire snapped softly in the hearth, and sunlight poured through the tall windows, warming the worn wood floors.
“I figured you’d want to talk first,” Smitty said, folding his massive hands over his stomach.
“Yeah.”
“Well, start talking.”
Ace looked around the cabin instead of at him, noting the scarred coffee table and the stack of books near the hearth. A set of snowshoes hung by the door even though it was summer. “I’m not sure what to say.”
“Okay. Let’s start here. Why don’t you get your ass back in the air where it belongs?”
Ace sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor for a beat. The mountains outside caught his eye again. Open sky. Endless space. He used to crave it. “All right.”
He might as well tell Smitty everything, especially about his friend who’d died.
If Ace was going to find his way into the skies again, he needed to sack up and get it all off his chest. Maybe make it so his body didn’t betray him with panic every time he thought about flying again. “It’s like this.”