The Suspect Groom

Victor Stoddard was a strange and unpleasant man, but he was the least of her problems. Trina pushed him from her mind and concentrated on showering, washing and blow-drying her hair. Though she had already decided to wear her hair down for the wedding—if there was a wedding—she quickly wove a single braid down her back. This morning, she needed to get outside, to breathe the fresh air while she made her decision. If only she could spend some time with Ivan....

Trina dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to the kitchen where she met the housekeeper, Maybelle Ballou. She was a buxom, boisterous woman who immediately plied Trina with fresh-baked, chocolate chip muffins and coffee.

“You don’t look twenty-five,” Maybelle announced.

“I’ve had a rough life,” Trina countered.

“That’s a good thing, honey, because it’s about to get rougher. Alaska is no place for wimps.” Maybelle’s full mouth rolled down in a frown. “I hate to leave. Feels like I’m chickening out. But my kids are grown and gone and I want to spend some time seeing the rest of the world.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Six,” she said proudly. “And three different husbands. That’s another thing I’ll miss about Alaska. There aren’t many women up here, so even an old biddy like myself has her pick.”

Trina smiled into her coffee.

“Brace yourself, sweetie. Even when you’re married, they come sniffing around like tomcats.” She picked up a muffin and munched absently while she talked. “Now, let me tell you about the plans for today. The weather says we’re going to have a big storm, but we ought to be okay until late afternoon. Your guests are going to start arriving at about noontime.”

“Guests?”

“People from the town.”

“Juneau?”

“Lordy, no. Juneau’s nearly a hundred miles away. These are people from Osprey, which is only about twenty miles from here.” She winked. “It’s going to be fun. We’ll have a regular potlatch.”

“A what?”

“Potlatch. That’s what the Haida and Tlingit call it when everybody gets together to celebrate. In the old days, a good potlatch would go on for days, but I expect this is going to be a short party with the weather turning grim.”

“This seems like a lot of work for you,” Trina said. Perhaps futile work if she called off the wedding. “Can I help?”

“Certainly not. It’s your job today to be pretty and sweet.”

There was no point in arguing with Maybelle. This was a formidable woman who charged straight ahead, come hell or high water, like those rough-and-ready gold rush women from Alaskan legends. She was the type of woman who would thrive in Alaska. But what about Trina? Though she didn’t consider herself to be wimpish in the least, she wasn’t exactly rugged. Was she too citified to live in the backwoods? She’d definitely been frightened when she’d heard there’d been a murder. Ivan’s crude behavior affronted her. “I hope I’ll fit in.”

“Don’t worry, honey. You’ll do just fine.” Maybelle clapped her on the shoulder with bearlike strength. “Okay, so we got a crew from town coming and the people who are staying at the lodge. Only three of them. There’s that cute young couple, the Winkles. And Jacob Poynter.”

Maybelle dropped a pause. It was as if Trina should be impressed by Jacob Poynter, but she didn’t recognize the name.

“Jake Poynter,” Maybelle repeated. “He won a bronze medal in the Winter Olympics about ten years ago.”

“What event?”

“Biathlon. That’s the one where they cross-country ski and then shoot. Jake is quite the celebrity. And a great buddy of Ivan’s.” Her lips pursed. “That Ivan! Sometimes he annoys the heck out of me. He hasn’t even told me if he’s going to have a ceremony or what kind of ceremony. But if there’s a need for a best man, you can bet your bottom dollar that Jake’s got the job.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“And if you’re needing a matron of honor,” Maybelle said, “I’m free.”

“Thanks.” In spite of all her doubts, Trina brightened. She might actually be married today. There might be a ceremony where she would be the bride instead of the bridesmaid. “I have a dress,” she said. “Do you think I should wear it?”

“You betcha! A woman only gets married once for the first time.” Maybelle polished off her muffin. “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Smart girl! First time I got hitched, I was only eighteen. And I’ll tell you this, I never was a little slip of a girl, but I wasn’t big enough to carry all that responsibility. No, ma’am. Now the second one, well, he was my true love. Every woman should be married to a true love. At least once in her life. And he was mine....”

Maybelle’s words rolled on as she continued with her kitchen chores, and Trina allowed the woman’s voice to lull her into a sense of warm complacency while she forgot, for a moment, about the pressing decision she needed to make. To wed or not to wed.

During a pause, while Maybelle checked in the industrial-size oven, Trina made her excuse. “I wanted to take a look around outside before it snows.”

“Bundle up, honey. It’s colder than it looks.”

Trina ran up to her room to grab her jacket, mittens and a red knitted cap, then she went outside. Overhead, the clouds began to mass, but the sky was still blue, and the glare off the snow was brilliant.

Reaching into her parka pocket, she took out the case for her eyeglasses and stuck the prescription sunglasses on her nose. About a hundred yards down the road, she closed her eyes, then whipped around. Her eyelids lifted. With corrected vision, she took in the sharp details of the crazy-quilt house that had been built one room at a time. The building stood amid several tall spruce at the foot of a rising slope. The porch was up five steps from the snow-covered ground. The exterior of the first floor was of stripped, polished logs. The second was clapboard siding. Just below the high, peaked roof was an Alaskan decoration, carved and painted in red, black and greenish blue. The design showed two huge, unblinking eyes, elaborately outlined. In the corners of the eaves were smaller ravens, wolves and bears, peering down like Alaskan gargoyles. The cheerful trim around the windows glistened with bright red paint.

Trina felt herself smiling. It was a strange, exotic-looking house, but she liked it. Would this be her home?

She turned to her left and walked past the other large structure. The two-story lodge had obviously been constructed in a more planned, professional manner. The siding was all log, and the trim was also red. An eight-foot-tall totem pole, depicting a squatting bear, beavers and a soaring eagle, stood in front.

Back toward the house, past the garage and several mysterious outbuildings, she saw the barn. And David. He sat astride a chestnut mare, looking every inch the cowboy with his Levi’s and his down vest, his broad shoulders and his black Stetson hat.

The moment Trina recognized him, her heart leapt up in her throat. Immediately, she gulped hard. This response was not a good sign! She needed to think of Ivan—his letters, his sensitivity, his generosity. Instead, she felt like singing, like laughing and running toward David with her arms outstretched. Too easily, she imagined him pulling her onto the saddle and galloping off over the snow-covered fields into the primeval forests.

“Oh, damn.” This was all wrong. With her little red mittens, she covered the lower half of her face. What was she going to do? Go back to the kitchen. Forget you ever saw him. These outrageous yearnings couldn’t lead to anything but trouble. If she had an ounce of sense, she would run away while she still could.

Instead, she stepped forward and waved. “David!”

His chiseled features relaxed in a smile when he recognized her, and he eased his mount forward. “Do you like to ride, Trina?”

“I haven’t done much riding.”

“Today’s a good day to learn. Before the snowfall.” He swung off his horse and stood beside her. “Let’s go to the barn.”

He hitched his horse outside, and they entered a large structure with a high flat ceiling, several empty stalls and a tack room. The floor was wood, scattered with hay and very clean. The whole barn smelled pleasantly of leather and hay. “Six horses and two cows,” David said, “as I mentioned before, no more pigs or chickens.”

“Too succulent,” she remembered.

She followed him to the rear door that opened onto a large corralled area where the horses were kept. David whistled two low notes, and a dappled gray horse plodded toward them. In moments, the mare was saddled and David helped Trina swing her leg astride. He adjusted her stirrups. “How’s that?”

“Feels tall,” she said. She inhaled deeply, struggling to stifle the heart-pounding excitement that arose unbidden at David’s proximity.

He mounted his own horse. “Just stick with me.”

“What do I do with the reins? How do I make her turn?”

“Basically, you do nothing. This is Myrtle, the original old gray mare. She’ll follow the lead horse. But if you want to turn, pull in the direction you want to go. Pull back, like on a hand brake, to stop. We’ll just take a short jog.”

As they rode slowly away from the barn, the whole day took on a new, beautiful aspect. Despite her sunglasses, the world seemed rose-colored, soft and beautiful.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“I love it.” Why was the snow prettier here than in Denver? Only a week ago, she’d been dragging herself to work in an office in downtown Denver. Today, she was riding on horseback into the Alaskan landscape. She wanted this to be her life-style. How could she ever go back?

When they had gone a ways from the barn, David picked up the pace to a canter. Trina’s horse followed suit.

Bouncing up and down in the saddle, Trina said, “What are you doing?”

“Giving the horses some exercise. If we have a blizzard, they’ll be inside for a couple of days.”

David glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned. He almost laughed out loud. Trina was pretty damn cute, he thought. She was hanging on tight, jostling up and down in the saddle like a yo-yo. Her little red cap bobbled wildly.

“We’re going faster,” he warned. “You’ll like this better. Not so much bouncing.”

“G-g-good.”

He guided his chestnut mare in a slow gallop across the snowfields. There was another set of tracks in front of them, from that couple who were staying at the lodge, the Winkles, and David purposely turned in another direction. At the edge of the forest, he halted so Trina could catch her breath. Trina’s mount pulled up beside him.

“Isn’t this where they found the body?” she asked.

“No, it’s farther toward the road. North of here.” The new pace he set was slow and comfortable.

“David? When we were talking by the fireplace, you said you had a solution to my problems.”

“Did I?”

“I’d like to hear it. I’m really confused and maybe you have an idea I haven’t considered.”

He scrunched down his eyebrows, made a pretense of thinking, then shook his head. “Mustn’t have been very useful,” he said, “because I already forgot what it was.”

But he hadn’t. Yesterday, he had almost proposed to her himself. Almost asked her to make Alaska her home, and to make him her husband. But that moment had passed, and David was damn glad he’d not mentioned that idea. He’d been married once already and hadn’t been too good at it.

Besides, he thought, he couldn’t give Trina all she deserved. David wasn’t a rich man. Sure, he had a little nest egg. But no land. Ivan had seen to that.

In spite of his precautions in turning the opposite direction, he spied the Winkles, Phyllis and Bradley, threading through the forest and coming right toward them.

“Hold it right there,” Bradley called. He raised the lens of his .35 millimeter camera to his eye, aimed and shot their picture. “Wow! Great shot! This is incredible country.”

David performed the introductions. He wasn’t impressed with these two environmentalists from Boulder, Colorado, who worked for some kind of weirdo magazine. Bradley was the photographer, and Phyllis was the writer. They’d supposedly come to do a piece on the hunting preserve, but David suspected they were looking for violations of hunting restrictions regarding endangered species.

“That’s so Gothic,” Phyllis said to Trina. “You’re a mail-order bride? How could you give up everything for a man?”

“There wasn’t much to give up,” Trina murmured.

“But how did you know it was right? Did you have a special feeling? Maybe you knew him in another life....”

“Another life?”

“You know, like karma.”

“Don’t tell her anything,” David warned. “She’s a writer.”

“Stop it, David! I’m also a human being, and I’m totally sympathetic to Trina.” While she spoke, she stroked her horse’s neck. “Bradley and I have only been married for six months, so I’m familiar with the problems of newlyweds.”

“What problems?” Bradley said.

“You know.”

“No, Phyllis, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Phyllis leaned toward Trina. “Sometimes, Bradley is a regular green-eyed monster. Jealous, you know.”

“Really,” Trina said, glancing at Phyllis who was blond and extremely thin. “Maybe he had a reason to be jealous. In another life.”

“We did know each other in past lives,” Phyllis said with a completely straight face. “In Atlantis.”

“Did you?” Trina nodded. What a wacko! “How did you two happen to come way up here from Boulder?”

“A friend told us about this place. He lives in Juneau.”

“A very dear friend of Phyllis’s,” Bradley said. “A former lover, in fact. You see, I can say that kind of thing because I’m not at all jealous. I’m secure in our relationship of mutual respect and—”

“Nobody wants to hear it,” Phyllis interrupted. “Come on, I’ll race you back to the barn. And don’t worry, David, we’ll put the saddles away and curry the horses.”

She took off in a graceful canter, riding as if she were part of the horse, and Bradley followed. He was far less competent in his riding and his camera banged against his chest.

As Trina watched them ride away, she couldn’t help but comment, “There go a couple of new-age neurotics.”

“Radical envirionmentalists,” he said. “We call them greenies.”

“Now, David. Their goals are for the good.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in favor of conservation and nonpollution and saving the rain forests, but if those greenies had their way, we’d all be wearing loincloths and eating berries. Meat is what people live on up here. It’s always been that way. The natural way.” He nudged his heels against his mare. “We should be getting back.”

“I guess so.” The ride hadn’t brought Trina any closer to making her decision. All she knew was that she didn’t want to leave this place. She intended to make every effort to understand Ivan, to find the sensitive man who had written those letters within the gruff old bear.

* * *

STILL EXHILIARATED from her ride, Trina peeled off her parka, hat and mittens and left them in the mudroom behind the kitchen. Though it was only eleven o’clock and Maybelle had said that the guests wouldn’t arrive until noon, there were several voices coming from the kitchen.

Feeling like an outsider, Trina could hear them laughing, talking, sharing gossip. She caught a couple of phrases about the dead man who had been found on Ivan’s property, then Maybelle’s voice drowned out the others. “None of that. I won’t have my potlatch ruined by a murder.”

“But it’s so exciting” came a high-pitched rejoinder. “They say he was shot in the back. In cold blood.”

“And I say, no more.” Maybelle was firm. “Now, who brought these pickled mushrooms?”

Trina slipped through the kitchen as unobtrusively as possible and went down the hall to Ivan’s office. She raised her hand to knock, though the study door was slightly ajar. Hearing an angry voice from within, she hesitated.

“What kind of a sheriff are you, Reuben?” That was Ivan. “The kids who found the dead man were on my land, and I call that trespassing. If you won’t prosecute, I’ll take the law into my own hands and sue their parents.”

“Take the law into your hands?” She could hear Sheriff Rueben Kittridge sputtering. “Listen here, Ivan. We’re not talking about the kids. We’re talking about the dead man. We haven’t even identified this guy.”

“I don’t know him.” In contrast with Reuben, Ivan sounded smooth and in control.

“How do you know? Dammit, Ivan, are you going to let me see your guest book for people who are booked at the lodge?”

“No, sir, I am not. None of your business.”

“Were you expecting anybody?”

“Maybe I was, and maybe I wasn’t.”

“We’re not playing games, Ivan. This is murder.”

“Are you accusing me of doing it? Just because the guy got himself killed on my property? Probably a damn poacher.” Ivan’s voice lowered dangerously. “Like you, Reuben.”

“What are you saying?”

Trina knocked. She didn’t want to hear any more of these angry accusations.

“What?” Ivan shouted.

Trying not to appear timid, she peeked inside. Without her glasses, she couldn’t discern the details of their expressions, but both men appeared dark and glowering.

Reuben nodded. “Good morning, ma’am.” Beneath his bushy eyebrows and mustache, his face was bright scarlet. Even the whites of his eyes were bloodshot. “I was just leaving.”

“Thanks, Reuben, don’t go far.” Ivan rose from behind his desk and watched the sheriff lumber out the door. Then he looked at her. His expression was arch and slightly disapproving. “You’re not dressed to be married, Trina.”

“I’m not sure that a wedding is in order.” She studied his face, trying to discern his response, but it was like trying to read a wall of ice. “It might be best if we wait, you know, to find out if we’re compatible.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He came toward her and held out his hand, waiting until she reached out. Then he captured her hand and held it. “You’ve deceived me.”

The flick of her eyes betrayed her guilt. He must be talking about David, about her uncontrollable attraction to him. How did Ivan know? Had he seen them riding? Was her attraction so obvious? Ashamed, she looked down at her boots. “I’m sorry, Ivan. I’ve been so unfair to you.”

“You’re not twenty-five,” he said.

Startled, she looked up. He was talking about her age! That was nothing compared to her inappropriate feelings for David. Quickly, she said, “I meant to tell you, but then you started writing to me, and I—”

“My heart was in those letters, Trina. My heart and soul. And, all that time, you were lying. I’m hurt.”

“Oh, come on, Ivan. We’re not living in the eighteen hundreds. I’m healthy and strong enough to bear children, if that’s what you’re worried about. Is it really so important that I be in my twenties?”

“It’s the lying,” he said, releasing her hand. “And now, this refusal to go through with the wedding. Still, I can forgive you. I still want you to be my bride. But can I trust you?”

“Give me a chance. We’ll get to know each other.” What was she saying? How had the conversation turned in this direction? “But, Ivan, I need some time to think about this.”

“No, Trina. It would be too humiliating to postpone the wedding. Today, my friends and family have gathered to meet my new bride. It must be today. Or never.”

“But I don’t know...”

“I meant every word I wrote to you in those letters. Every syllable. When you are my bride, you will be taken care of. Well taken care of, financially.”

“And emotionally?”

“Of course. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

His voice was as smooth as velvet. His eyes shone with the sincerity she’d come to respect in his letters. How could she say no?

“Please,” he said. “If it doesn’t work out, you can have the marriage annulled. And I guarantee I’ll be fair with you.”

Her emotions forbade her agreement. It wasn’t right. She couldn’t marry one man when she was attracted to another. She shook her head.

Before she could speak, he said, “Don’t answer too quickly. This will work out between us, Trina. I promise.” His voice was gentle and as seductive as his letters. “I promise your long nights in Alaska will never be lonely.”

She remembered his letters, the sensations she had when she read them. The feelings came from deep in her heart. The man who had written those letters was a man she could love.

“All right, Ivan, I will marry you. Today.”

Chapter Three

The ceremony took less than three minutes. Ivan stepped outside his office and called to Reuben who, in addition to being sheriff, was also a justice of the peace. Apparently, the guests would only be present at the party.

Before Trina had time to reconsider, she’d signed the marriage license and said, “I do.”

“And now,” Reuben said, “following the time-honored tradition, Ivan, you may kiss the bride.”

Ivan caught her in his arms. He pulled her hard against his chest, crushing her breasts. He barely looked at her, then his mouth pressed down so hard that her lip was pinched against her teeth. His physical strength overwhelmed her for a moment. Then, instinctively, she fought him, twisting her head to one side. The more she struggled, the tighter his grasp. Where was the tenderness he’d spoken of? Where was the love? She wrenched away from him, staring in shock. All his lovely promises were erased by the rough brutality of his kiss. “What are you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine. You’re mine now, Trina.”

“No!” She was breathing hard. Her lips were bruised. What had she done? “Don’t you remember, Ivan, in your letters. You talked about a partnership.”

“Partners?” He considered. “In a way, that’s true. You be sure to tell Jake Poynter about that.”

“Who? About what?”

“Run upstairs and get changed.” He turned away from her dismissively. “I don’t want my bride wearing blue jeans.”

“In your letters,” she insisted. “You talked about the lifetime partnership of a man and a woman.”

“Did I? Well, get that notion out of your pretty little head, my bride. You’ll take what I give you and be glad for it. But the only way you’ll ever own anything around here is when I’m dead and gone.”

“Why? Why did you marry me?”

“The usual reasons, I suppose. Plus, my bride, I’ll call you my special little insurance policy.”

“What does that mean?”

“Change your clothes, Trina. You look like hell, and I don’t want you to embarrass me in front of my friends.”

Appalled at his coarseness, she ran from the room, fled upstairs into her pink chamber where her simple wedding gown lay spread across the bed. The dress was a mockery. This marriage was a sham. She’d been manipulated into a hateful, loveless relationship. Why? Why would Ivan Stoddard want that? Why did he mention Jake Poynter? What did he mean when he said she was an insurance policy?

There was a knock at the door, and Maybelle entered uninvited. “Trina, honey, it’s eleven-thirty and you’re still not ready. Let’s get you into that pretty little frock of yours.”

“Did he send you? Did Ivan send you?”

“Yes, he did. Said you might need some help. And, honey, I’ve never seen him looking so happy. He announced to that whole room of women in the kitchen that he was now a married man.”

“Happy?” If his kiss was a display of happiness, Trina would hate to see him in a vindictive mood.

“I’m sure you’re nervous,” Maybelle said. “Perfectly natural for a new bride. Now, let’s get you changed into your wedding gown. Relax, Trina. Enjoy yourself. Everybody’s dying to meet you.”

Numbly, she allowed Maybelle to cajole her into the plain white dress with a touch of lace at the neck and wrists. But Trina felt like she was dressing for an execution instead of a wedding reception. There was only one hope she could cling to. David. She needed to talk with him, to have him soothe her fears. She’d made the wrong decision, she was sure of that. And she needed to get away. She wanted David to take her away from here, to ride off beside her into the magnificent Alaskan snow vistas.