Cards on the Table - lanyon Josh. Страница 29

Sebastian nodded. «I know, Peter. Susan told me. Sorry about the puppies. I had to bring them with me.» «Whose pups?» «Queenie.» «What happened?» Queenie was his lead dog, and she was young, only five or six.

«I don't know, Peter. Something fast. I found her in the morning. I've lost all the pups but these two.» «Any other dogs sick? Who's staying with them?»

«I've got a young couple – teenagers, but the girl's pregnant. They want to try, you know, to make it together, so I let them have the cabin for the summer. I'll stay up here. I don't have any other puppies.» «You're staying here with me, aren't you, Sebastian?»

«I will if you want me to, Peter.» Sebastian looked at him carefully. «I don't want to crowd you. I thought I might scout out some land. Maybe…I don't know. We'll see how it goes.»

«Crowd me? Since when? You've been up the Yukon for months! Do the puppies need formula replacement still?»

«I've been giving them evaporated milk and tiny bits of fish. They seem to be doing okay.»

After Sebastian went upstairs Peter went back to the living room to collect his gear and check on the puppies. Travis had found a cardboard box with low sides, lined it with some of the rags they kept for boot cleaning. The puppies were playing, wrestling, two tiny balls of black and white fur, and Travis, Jesse, and Phillip were on their knees next to the box, watching them. Crowd me? I could have used some crowding this winter. Being eight hundred miles apart is not exactly… Phillip looked up. «These are those sled dogs, right? That guy, he's a musher?»

«Yeah. He came in fourth in the Yukon Quest this year. That's a big long-distance dog sled race.» «I've only heard of the Iditarod,» Jesse said.

«We have dog races all winter long. Some are short, some really long, a thousand miles or more. Mostly in the interior of Alaska. That's dog country up there.» «So that guy,» Phillip continued. «He's…» «Sebastian.» «Yeah, Sebastian. He's Eskimo?»

«No. Athabascan. Listen, don't ask him if he's Eskimo. Not unless you want to have your ears chewed off about the native peoples of Alaska.» «But he's yours, Peter?»

A lifetime of memories together, like family, some really irritating, some full of love. Someone who would drop everything and come if you were in trouble. Someone who still loved you, even when you broke their heart. «Yeah,» he said, kneeling for a closer look at the puppies. «He's mine.» * * * * *

A row of apple-walnut pies was cooling on the counter, and Susan had had enough. She snatched Peter's oven mitt off his hand and pushed him roughly into a kitchen chair. «I ought to lock you up as a danger to the public, before the entire population keels over with heart disease. I think you've used every stick of butter on the island.»

Sebastian sprawled in a kitchen chair. He already had his fork in his hand. «Susan, leave him alone. Let him cook.» «Susan, can't you see Sebastian is hungry?»

She clutched her head with both hands. «If you two don't shut up and let me think…» She looked up when Casper came into the kitchen. «Casper was Military Police. He won't say anything if I duct tape your…»

«Those pies done yet? I'm feeling weak. That apple pie smell is all over the hotel. It's getting to me.» Peter crossed his arms over his chest. «See?»

Susan put her head down on the table. «I'm tired, Peter. I'm really tired. And what I need to do is hear about Jacob. So maybe you and I should go talk in private.»

Sebastian sat up. «You're not dragging him off for some sort of private interrogation, Susan.»

Susan raised her middle finger in his direction. Casper took the other chair. «Susan, how about some coffee and pie? You've been up since last night? You need to rest soon.»

She hesitated, but Peter was up before she could speak. He brought forks, set a hot pie in the middle of the table, and brought Susan a cup of coffee. Sebastian and Casper leaned forward toward the pie, but neither one seemed to want to be the first to put a fork into the perfect crust. Peter stuck a fork into the middle, made a hole, and a billow of cinnamon and spice-scented steam came out. «Dig in.»

Peter sat down and pulled up a chair. «Okay, Jacob. I don't know much, Susan. The credit card he used for his room was in his name only, Jacob Klein. He had been living in California, in one of the small towns outside San Francisco. He was moving to Montreal. I mean, he was leaving here for Canada. He wasn't going back. I know he was a cellist, but I don't know with whom. And I know he had bruises on his back.» Sebastian looked up at this, his eyes narrowing. «Older bruises, maybe a week or more. I don't really know about bruises, how they look when they're older. Nobody's ever…» Sebastian reached for him under the table, held his knee. «They looked like the marks of a fist. On his back, mostly, but also on his arms, like the forearms, and a large one on his thigh. That one…I thought somebody had kicked him.»

Susan nodded, making notes in her memo book. The way Sebastian and Casper were digging into the pie, it was a good thing he'd made four.

«He studied music in San Francisco, at that conservatory. The San Francisco Conservatory of Music. I think I heard him tell somebody, Travis, maybe. They were talking

about college.» Casper put his fork down and pushed away from the table. «If I stay in Alaska, I'm gonna get as fat as Tiny. Peter, you need to put in a treadmill and some weights. An exercise room for when the weather is bad.»

Susan studied him, then put down her pen and reached for a fork. She ate a big bite, then broke off a chunk of crust to nibble on. «That is good.» Peter stared at the pie. «My God, it looks like a wolverine's been at it.»

Susan tapped her pen on the table. «What I also need to know, Casper, is why you cancelled your reservations for June and made new reservations for April the day Jacob made his reservations to come here. Did you know him before?» The kitchen was quiet, except for the ticking of the oven as it cooled. «No, Susan. I didn't know him.»

Peter pushed away from the table, picked up the coffeepot. «Casper changed his reservations because I asked him to come early, Susan. I was worried about Travis. He seemed…stressed. I knew Casper was retired Marine Corps. I asked him to come make sure…»

«Make sure I wasn't some crazy fucking war vet? Casper was supposed to stop me if I started to climb a tree with a long-range scope on my M-16, started taking out the hotel guests?» Travis was in the doorway, his face pale as buttermilk, fists clenched against his thighs. «You think I could have put a rope around Jacob's neck and pulled on it until he was dead, Peter? Do you? Were you gonna throw me a mercy fuck, too, Casper? Or would that be above and beyond, Gunny?»

Travis wiped the tears off his cheeks with his fists, shaking with fury, then shoved his hands down in the pockets of his jeans. Casper stood slowly and turned around, and Travis stuck his chin out, tried to look tough. It didn't work. Casper picked him up, lifted him off the ground, and slammed him back against the kitchen wall. «Who the fuck are you talking to like that? You tell me right now, did you hurt that boy?» «No, Sir! I did not!»

«Why should I believe you? What do you believe in, Marine?» Casper bellowed the question, his voice as loud and deep as a foghorn, his face inches from Travis's. Peter had never heard him sound like this. Was this some bizarro Marine thing? He reached for Sebastian, held on to the fabric of his T-shirt. «Tell me what you believe in!» «Honor, Sir! Courage! Commitment!»

«Don't give me that Parris Island bullshit! Tell me the truth! Tell me what you believe!» «Honor, Sir! Courage and Commitment. The core values of a Marine.»

Travis was shouting back, his nose touching Casper's. «I'm a Marine! I'm a Marine!»