“Mockery will get you nowhere.” She squeezed out the sponge with an extra-vicious twist of her hands. “Good luck with your homework. I’ll knock on your door when the shower’s ready.”
“I don’t need lu—“
She waved him out of the bathroom and closed the door before he could finish. If he wanted to believe he had all the answers, so be it. All she had to do was wait patiently for her chance to say “I told you so.”
Oh, how she’d enjoy that moment when it came.
Chapter Five
Ethan changed out of his wet clothes and draped them near the open window to dry. Maybe later he’d ask Jessica if there was a clothes dryer in the building. But he wasn’t ready for any more conversation with her. Even though she was right about his assessment of her, she’d left out one thing. He also found her appealing. Too appealing.
Best to put the entire bathroom episode behind him as he concentrated on Maya’s notes about S.G. It wasn’t easy. Jessica had made some good points, damn it all. And she’d done it while competently fixing a pipe and wading through a flood.
Disturbingly sexy.
Focus. Focus.
He spread the notes out on the antique desk under the window. A sweet summer breeze filtered through the screen. The scent of salt air and wild roses filled the room, along with a touch of cinnamon and melted butter from the bakery below.
Were they making more of those incredible scones?
Charley rarely ate pastries. She was very disciplined when it came to her diet so she could provide a good example to her clients. He admired that about her, along with so many other things. What would she say about Jessica’s butter-laden cherry scone? She’d be kind about it, but firm. It’s okay to cheat sometimes, she’d say, just make sure you get back on your plan as soon as possible.
Instead of lectures, Charley relied on a kind of subtle disapproval, like a disappointed mother. It set his teeth on edge, to be honest.
Focus, damn it.
He forced his gaze away from the hazy blue horizon and the dazzling diamond-spangled surface of the bay to the pages Maya had printed out.
Facts: Spruce Grouse chose her own name because the trapper who had raised her called her only “Girl.” Nate Prudhoe, the firefighter who had first found her hiding out in the firehouse, had shortened it to S.G. That was the name everyone called her now.
More facts: S.G. was an expert with a hunting knife, but had never learned to read or write. She had no memory of other people, just the trapper, who she called King because that’s what he told her to call him. She didn’t know how old she was, but Dr. Bethany Morrison estimated her to be about fifteen. There were huge gaps in her vocabulary and knowledge because of how she’d grown up. She was resourceful, ingenious, and independent, but also traumatized. She had no interest in leaving Lost Harbor for any reason. It was the only place she felt safe.
She was currently being fostered by a woman named Denaina Hopkins, a Native Alaskan woman. She’d made friends there, including Dylan, the newly discovered sixteen-year-old son of Darius Boone, the fire chief.
Another oddity: She believed that she could communicate with animals.
Which brought his thoughts back to Jessica. That seemed like something she would believe too, along with intuition and people-reading and soul mates.
He flipped over to the pages about the trapper. His name was Edgar Murchison, and he’d been a fugitive for twenty years. He’d fled Texas, where he was wanted on armed robbery and murder charges, and made his way to Alaska and then into Lost Souls Wilderness. He’d lived alone in a cabin there, trapping and dog mushing and trading furs for supplies, until the day he’d found a baby in the forest.
Was that really possible? Was there more to that story?
For fifteen years, S.G. had lived as a virtual servant until one day Murchison hadn’t come back from his usual trapping run, but the dogs had. She’d taken the dog sled team and set off across the wilderness without any idea of what she would find. Somehow she’d ended up in Lost Harbor and hidden out in the firehouse, spying on the firefighters and eating out of the refrigerator.
Truly fascinating story. It felt like something out of another time. In a world ruled by the Internet and connectivity, it was hard to imagine living completely cut off from civilization.
He couldn’t wait to interview S.G. for himself.
Maya had gathered all her theories about the case into one document. He was just starting to scan it when his phone rang.
Charley, checking up on him. It would be rude to ignore her.
“Hi sweetheart.”
“Ethan, I’ve told you that we don’t have to say that kind of thing.” Her no-nonsense tone felt like a splash of cold water on his face. Bracing.
“Right. Slip of the tongue. How’s LA?”
“I got a new client. A celebrity client.”
“Anyone I would know?”
“Probably not. She’s a YouTuber. I didn’t know her either until I looked her up. She’s an influencer, which means that if I do a good job for her, I could reach a whole new client base.”
“Wonderful. Congratulations.”
“You sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Relatively speaking, no. At least I’m not in jail or being attacked by a broken water valve.”
“What?”
“Just another day in the life of a P.I.”
“See, this is exactly why I wanted you to quit. You were in jail? I hope none of my clients find out about that.”
Why should they care about something that had nothing to do with them?
Best not to argue that point. He didn’t want to argue with Charley because whenever he did, doubts snuck into his mind. They hadn’t yet mastered the art of arguing successfully.
“It was really more of a misunderstanding. Now I’m at a lovely bed and breakfast with a view of wild roses and glaciers and mountains. I may even score a hot shower. Things are looking up.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable because I have an amazing surprise for you.”
“Oh yeah?”
He scanned the “Theories” section as she talked.
Theory One: S.G. was on a small plane that had crashed on its way back from Aurora Lodge, in Lost Souls Wilderness, killing all aboard except her.
Pros: The timing fits, and the geography fits.
Cons: The only passengers were Anthony and Carole Berenson. No babies listed.
“Dr. McGee has offered to marry us. He’s a licensed minister along with all his other skills.”
Dr. McGee was Charley’s own life coach, the one who’d gotten her into the field. She often referred to him as her “mentor,” in a tone of awe.
Did he want to be married by Dr. McGee? He didn’t really trust the guy, but did it really matter who performed the ceremony? Not to him.
“That’s good news,” he murmured as he scribbled a note in the margins of Theory One.
Expand the timeframe for plane crash searches. Younger or older?
“There’s a catch, though,” Charley continued. “A big catch.”
“Whatever it is, we’ll work with it.”
“He can only do it this weekend.”
That got his attention. “Why? I’m working up here, Charley. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”