Loch shrugged. "I saw Miki earlier in the day. I shooed him off, and he went without complaint."

"Sounds like Miki is off the hook. This time." Chet eyed Tank. "We're starting to get more and more complaints about Miki though, Tank. Nosing through gardens, hitting the trash cans. I think I'm going to have to do something about him soon. Maybe take him deeper into the bush."

"I think you're right." Tank would do whatever it took to protect the bear, even if it meant having him moved far away. A hollow s.p.a.ce developed between his shoulder blades. Lately, it seemed like he was in danger of losing everything he loved.

"I'm exhausted." Augusta hung up the last of their clothes and shut the closet. "I'll be able to get some writing done tomorrow."

Haley grimaced. The bedspread had been washed so many times, the pattern was no longer visible. The threadbare carpet was the shade of vomit, and just looking at it made her feel queasy. The bathroom had pink tile from the fifties, and the enamel was chipped in the tub. At least it was clean. The only dirt she'd seen was the mud from her body swirling down the drain.

"We need to get you some real crutches," Augusta said, watching her make her way across the room with the makeshift set Tank had made her. "Those don't have rubber tips and don't look very stable."

"I'm hoping to get my leg pretty quickly. I'll call Savannah now." She didn't have to look up her friend's number. She and Savannah Phillips had become friends when Haley flew to Savannah to photograph a beauty pageant. Savannah was investigating pageant fraud at the time, and they'd immediately hit it off. They talked at least once a week.

The phone rang three times; then Savannah's cheery voice answered. "Savannah Phillips."

"Savannah, it's me."

"Oh my stars! I thought you'd dropped off the face of the earth for all eternity." Savannah's southern accent thickened with her excitement.

"I'm in Stalwart, Alaska. Can you stand it? Where are you? At the park?" Haley could see her in her mind's eye, one leg curled up under her, sitting on a park bench, slurping a c.o.ke from McDonald's as if it were the last one this side of heaven, all while twisting a strand of her sun-streaked brown hair.

"How'd you guess?" Savannah slurped into the phone, then giggled. "How's Oscar? Duke says hey."

"Give Duke a bone for me." Oscar and Savannah's golden retriever were best friends.

"Honey, I thought you'd be lost to me for the summer. I've been reduced to reading the old cards you sent me and laughing at them. How are you holding up in the wilds?"

"I was doing okay until someone stole my leg." She grinned at the explosion she knew was coming.

"Stole your leg? Lord have mercy, child! You're legless? How are you getting around?"

"On crutches made from tree limbs. Do you still have my old prosthesis? The one with the Velcro?"

"Of course. It's in my closet."

"Can you send it to me?"

"Shoot, honey child, I'll fly it to you if you need me to."

Though the thought of seeing her friend was tempting, Haley didn't want to subject her to that long flight. "I'll send you a check for postage."

"You will not! Vicky raised me better than that. I'll overnight it."

"That will cost the earth," Haley protested.

"No, it won't. Vicky is paying. Now give me the address."

Haley could hear her rummaging, no doubt for the Big Star notebook she was never without. "Ready?" When Savannah had her notebook ready, Haley rattled off the address on the hotel notepaper. "You're a doll, Savannah." She hung up after promising to call when the prosthesis arrived. "Savannah is overnighting it," she told Augusta.

"I knew she'd come through." Augusta stood. "I'm hungry," she announced. "Feed me, or I may turn into a grumpy old woman."

"We can't have that." Haley ran a lip gloss over her mouth. For the first time in days, she felt like herself-Haley Walsh, confident, sophisticated. Her gaze fell to the tied-up pant leg of her jeans. Almost herself. Not having her prosthesis was disconcerting.

Augusta was peering out the window. "There's a cafe beside the hotel your mother used to talk about. Hazel's. Let's eat there."

"I remember that place. Would you carry my backpack? I might want to change lenses." Propping herself on the crutches, Haley got herself balanced, then followed her grandmother out the door. They'd asked for and received a first-floor room near the lobby, a bonus, because they'd been told most of the rooms were taken by the search-and-rescue workers in town for a training session with their dogs. She'd stopped to admire a few dogs on her way to the room. She made her slow and laborious way down the tiled hall, no luxury like carpeted hallways in this motel.

Out of breath by the time they reached the walk in front of the hotel, she paused to rest. Glancing around, she saw someone watching her with interest. When he saw his perusal had attracted her attention, he turned away and began to study the display in a shop window. Her face burned. She should be used to stares and jeers, but she'd had her prosthesis so long, she'd forgotten how awkward it felt to have people study her when they thought she wasn't looking.

Augusta led the way down the street to the cafe. The Z in the neon sign over the door was out. Augusta pushed the door open and held it for Haley, causing a bra.s.s bell to jingle. The threshold was a step up, and the door was a little narrow to negotiate easily with crutches, but Haley managed to get inside. The aroma of liver and onions struck her in the face, and she wrinkled her nose. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She had in mind a nice, juicy steak with steamed vegetables and a salad. Somehow, she didn't think this cafe could fulfill that fantasy. She vaguely remembered having ice cream sundaes here as a child.

Her stomach rumbled, and she decided she'd make do. Her arms ached from maneuvering the crutches, and she didn't think she could walk up and down the streets looking for something more palatable. The sign told them to seat themselves. She nodded toward the only free table, one for two in the back corner. Augusta nodded and murmured an apology as she asked people to step out of the way for Haley. At the stares, Haley wanted to hurry back to her room, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on to the table. Some of the faces looked familiar, but no names came to mind.

Out of breath again, she slid into the seat with her back to the rest of the room. The old Formica table was speckled gray and white with chrome trim. She picked up the menu and had started to open it when their waitress came to greet them.

About fifty, the woman had salt-and-pepper hair tied back with a red ribbon like a teenager. Her black slacks had flour handprints on the thighs, and she wore a white top with red hearts on it. A square white badge with the name MARGE in bold black letters was pinned near her left shoulder. She had a large frame that spoke of hard work.

"Welcome to Hazel's," she said. "What can I get you to drink?" Her gaze went from Augusta to Haley, and her mouth dropped open. "You have to be related to Maggie Walsh," she said. "Haley?"

Did she really look like her mother? Augusta often said so, and Marge was at least the second person to remark on the similarity since Haley had arrived. "She was my mother." Haley searched the recesses of her memory. "I'm trying to remember the name of my mother's best friend. I was thinking she used to work here."

Marge smiled. "That would be Fannie Coghill. She owns the cafe. She's back in her office doing paperwork. I'll take you back to meet her after your meal."

Haley nodded politely, not sure how much she wanted to learn about the woman who rejected her in spite of their apparent similarities.

"Vonnie Bird was ordered by the judge to do the home study. She'll go out tomorrow. We just might have a chance, Marley." Janine's voice radiated satisfaction.

The sun suddenly shone brighter through Marley's window. "Wonderful! How soon before we can get to court?"

"Be patient. Let's find out what Vonnie has to say. If her report comes back in our favor, we'll push for a quick court date."

Marley's glee ebbed. "I've leased an apartment in New York and enrolled Brooke in a private school. I need to be there by the middle of August."

Janine sighed. "I wish you'd talked to me before you did that. These things take time. I don't see any way you can have custody by then, Marley."

"We're going! You just make it happen, Janine." Marley punched off the phone with a vicious stab. She had promised Leigh, and she was going to keep her word. She stood and paced to the hotel window. Her view looked out Stalwart's poor excuse for a park. Brooke deserved to play with Marley in Central Park, to be dressed in Lilly Pulitzer, and to have her hair done by a fashionable salon on Fifth Avenue.

She'd paid an astronomical sum to get Brooke into this school. It was the first step in making sure her daughter was accepted by the highest quality people. Her daughter. She caught herself. Leigh's daughter. She knew the difference. Of course she did.

Eleven.

Tank crossed the street, avoiding the muddy potholes. The odor of sauerkraut hung in the air from the greasy spoon next to Chet's office, and he wrinkled his nose. He liked most food, but he drew the line at sauerkraut. Judging by the crowd, most others didn't share his prejudice against it. Chet hailed him through the open window of the trooper's office.

"I need to see you, Tank."

Tank switched direction and entered the office. His smile smug, Trooper Bixby leaned against a wall with his arms folded over his chest. Tank glanced at him warily, then stopped at his father-in-law's desk. "What's up?"

Chet heaved a sigh and rubbed his temple. "Got a question for you, Tank. Why didn't you tell me you were taking sleeping pills?"

"What?" Tank glanced at Bixby, whose smile had widened into a triumphant grin. "I've never taken sleeping pills in my life. I hate drugs."

Bixby straightened. "I did some investigation at the doctor's office. He wrote you a prescription for Seconal a week before Leigh died. How did you slip them to her? In her favorite tea?" He spat the last word as his eyes narrowed.

Tank took an involuntary step back. "That's impossible." He tried to marshal his thoughts.

"I don't know what to think." Chet's eyes reddened, and he looked away. "You've been like a son to me."

Tank knew he was only seconds away from being arrested for his wife's murder. "Think, both of you. Chet, you talked to Dr. Wooten when we found that packet of sleeping pills. He didn't say anything about having written me a prescription, did he?"

Chet looked up and shook his head. "Maybe he forgot."

"You know Joe better than that. He had a memory like an elephant. Someone is trying to set me up." He narrowed his eyes and glared at Bixby. "You're the one who found this so-called evidence, Bixby. Are you sure you're not out to prove my guilt any way you can?"

"It was right there in black and white." Bixby grabbed the file and shook it in Tank's face. "I'm placing you under arrest."

Chet put his hand on Bixby's arm. "Hold on there, Bixby. He's right about Joe. We'd better investigate this some more before we make any a.s.sumptions."

Bixby jerked away from Chet. "You're not getting away with this, La.s.siter. I'm going to nail your hide to the wall. Don't be leaving town."

Tank exited the office without answering Bixby. The cloud of suspicion over him seemed as black as an Alaskan winter. He had to figure out a way to prove his innocence. His cell phone rang. He looked at the screen. Finally, the lawyer was calling him back. He punched it on. "La.s.siter here."

The man's voice reminded him of a frog with a cold. "Mr. La.s.siter, this is Garth Jagger. I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I've been out of town. My secretary says you need some counsel on a custody case?"

Tank stepped onto the sidewalk and found a bench by a bait shop. "My sister-in-law is suing me for custody of my daughter. She can't get Brooke, can she?"

"Depends on if she can prove you're an unfit parent. And the judge's decision, of course. What's going on?"

"My wife died a year ago. Her twin sister doesn't think Brooke should be brought up in the bush. She wants to get custody and take her to the Lower Forty-eight."

The lawyer's voice sharpened. "Is the child in danger where you live? You work with bears, don't you? I've heard your name. Is Brooke around the bears at all?"

Tank flinched at the barrage of questions. "I'm a biologist. It's my work. She's not around them, though. Other than the cub I raised a few summers ago. I let Brooke help me give him his bottle sometimes, but he was just a cub. Once he grew, I never let her around him. He's been released into the wild now and is no longer an issue."

"Does he come around at all now?"

"Once in a while, but I drive him off. I've told her to stay in the house. She knows she's not to be around him."

"Let me see what your sister-in-law is claiming and get the full story." He quoted his retainer. Tank winced but agreed to it. What other choice did he have? Marley couldn't be allowed to take his daughter. He thought about telling the lawyer about the ongoing investigation into Leigh's death but decided to wait until there was something more to report. Keeping Brooke was more pressing right now.

He clicked off his phone and dropped it in his pocket. He glanced down the street, then bolted to his feet. Was that Marley? Chet had said she wouldn't be back from Seattle until next week. He squinted in the bright sunlight, then took off after her. There was no mistaking the bleached-blond cap of hair or the walk that invited every man in sight to look his fill. Dressed in snug jeans and an even tighter blue top, she was attracting more than the usual attention given to women in town.

"Marley!" he called. She stopped in front of the Moose Nuggets shop and looked back. Her smile faded, and she crossed her arms over her chest. She and Leigh were as identical as two salmon in a stream, or they would have been if Marley had her natural honey hair color. He'd avoided her since Leigh died. Seeing her hurt too much. He forced a smile and a hearty tone to his voice. "I need to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk." Her green eyes looked haunted, and faint shadows smudged the skin under her eyes. "I don't want to hurt you, Tank, but I have to think about what Leigh would want. My sister isn't here to fight for her daughter, so I have to do it for her."

"Leigh wouldn't want you to rip Brooke from me. I love her," he countered, barely holding onto his temper. He told himself not to give her any more ammunition for her suit.

"Move from the bush, and there would be no problem. You let the wilderness kill my sister. I can't let the same thing happen to Brooke. Leigh won't allow me to let it go."

He dropped his smile. "What do you mean, she won't let you? Leigh is dead, Marley. I'd bring her back if I could, but I can't. If you want to blame someone, blame your sister. She knew better than to go swimming at night."

She flushed, then grew pale. "How like you to pa.s.s the buck. If you'd been a better husband and had been around more, she wouldn't be dead. I've already heard the autopsy report. She took sleeping pills. I knew she hated it out there. This is your fault, Tank. And you're going to pay."

He flinched and drew back. "So this is about revenge, and not about what's best for Brooke?" He wished he had a witness to their conversation. He might need it.

"Of course not. You didn't exercise good judgment about your family, and my sister is dead as a result of it. I can't let you kill Brooke with your neglect too. Someone will be out to do a home study tomorrow. She'll see how unsuitable you are as a father."

A home study. The whole thing was surreal. He'd never imagined he'd end up in court fighting to keep his own daughter. "I never neglected your sister, Marley," he said quietly. "I loved her. And I love Brooke. I'm a good dad."

"You only love your bears." She spat the words. "Leigh and Brooke were always second. She knew it, and I know it. I couldn't save Leigh, but I'll save Brooke." Marley wheeled and marched off toward the jail, her small heels flinging mud as she walked.

Tank started to go after her but knew it would do no good. Could her mental state be suspect? She'd never liked him, but now she seemed almost psychotic in her hatred. Leigh had killed herself. Pressure built in his head, and he wanted to hide somewhere like a wounded animal. He didn't want to admit it could be true. He headed toward the little weathered-wood church that he and his family attended. Pastor Steve would help him pray through this.

Haley sipped her tepid tea and grimaced. She glanced at her watch. Marge had promised to take them back to meet Fannie, but they'd been waiting nearly an hour. She was ready to go. She drummed her fingers on the Formica. The men in this town seemed disposed to stare, and she wanted to bolt back to her room.

"Quit fidgeting," Augusta commanded. "You're making me nervous."

Before Haley could answer, Marge finally made her appearance. She'd discarded the stained ap.r.o.n, but she still wore the red bow in her hair. Haley's gaze went past her to the woman behind her. About five feet two, the woman's short hair lay in a chic cap that curled behind her ears. Strands of gray dulled the sheen, and her green eyes darted in a wary dance from Haley to Augusta.

"It's Haley all grown up. I'm Fannie Coghill." Fannie extended her small hand. "I'm sorry you had to wait. We had an influx of customers, and I had to pitch in to help in the kitchen."

"I remember you," Haley said, standing as gracefully as she could. "You used to come and drink coffee with my mother."

Fannie smiled and pulled out a chair. "That was a lifetime ago."

The cafe had begun to clear out, but the remaining men still regarded Haley with interest. Haley sat down hastily. "Why do the men have to stare?" she asked softly.

Marge patted Haley's hand as she turned to leave. "Honey, when a starving man sees food, of course he's going to want his fill. To them you're a caribou roast with potatoes and a huge slice of chocolate cake all rolled into one. Get used to it. It's that way all over the state. Men outnumber women five to one in most remote areas. You're going to attract attention wherever you go, but here you're not just a ten, you're a fifteen at least, and we don't get many of them up here."

Haley kept her eyes averted from the handsome man eying her from the next table. "It makes me uncomfortable. It's as if he doesn't even notice I have a leg missing."

"He hasn't looked lower than your hips." Fannie grinned, then lowered her voice. "You sure do look like your mother. I'm still amazed. I didn't know you were in town."

"I'm here with the bear researcher. I'm also trying to doc.u.ment things about my childhood."

Fannie picked up a napkin and began to tear it into strips. "My memory isn't much good anymore."

"Did you see my mother the day of the fire?"

Fannie's fingers stilled, then she began to shred the napkin faster. "We had coffee the day before. After Bundle left."