looked up at Hilda. ‘‘Yeah.’’
Hilda prodded the flesh around the wound. ‘‘This is quite a bruise. Almost looks like somebody kicked you.’’
‘‘Somebody did,’’ he returned, glancing at Rosie. He’d been expecting…hoping for…Marco. When he realized the person beneath him was a woman, surprise had frozen him. ‘‘She did a neat scissor kick, getting me right there.’’ He pointed at the wound.
‘‘That musta hurt,’’ Mama Sarah said.
‘‘It did.’’ He figured he didn’t need to add that the kick to his shoulder was the lesser of the two injuries Rosie had given him.
‘‘The man with the scar arrived yesterday…ate his meals at the Tin Cup,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘He was meeting friends here, he said, so they could hike up the glacier.’’ She shook her head. ‘‘Everybody’s been laughing at him about that.’’
‘‘Why?’’ Ian asked.
‘‘There aren’t any glaciers on the islands this far south—only on the continent side of the fjords.’’
‘‘Ah.’’ A chill crawled down Ian’s spine.
‘‘Plus,’’ Mama Sarah added, ‘‘he wears city-slicker shoes.’’
Like ones that could have left the footprints up on the hill. The shoe that had left the print had a smooth sole.
Chapter 4
‘‘Keep the wound clean, and you’ll live to be shot at again.’’ Hilda squeezed an antibacterial ointment onto some gauze, which she laid over the wound.
‘‘Enough talk about getting shot,’’ Rosie said sharply.
‘‘Does anyone work for you who likes to have lunch up on the hill?’’ Ian asked. ‘‘Someone with a foot about the size of mine?’’
‘‘No one works for me right now.’’ Rosie rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she were suddenly cold.
Ian had seen fear often enough to recognize the gesture for what it was.
‘‘That guy is plumb crazy about bologna and cheese sandwiches. That’s what Jane down at the diner told me.’’ Mama Sarah said. ‘‘Keeps ordering them to go.’’
That was confirmation Ian could have done without. Regrets never brought you anything but more regret, but he still wished he had followed his first instinct—to disappear with Annmarie until the trial was finished and Lily had her life back. Despite himself, he yawned.
‘‘Let me see if I’ve got this straight,’’ Hilda said, pinning him with a long glance. ‘‘The whole idea of coming here was to get Annmarie out of sight until after her mama has testified.’’
He nodded, in agreement that the plan was as flawed as Hilda made it sound.
‘‘And you’ve already been found out.’’
‘‘You can’t stay here, then,’’ Mama Sarah said. ‘‘I think you should take little Annmarie to the village.’’
Rosie shook her head.
‘‘What village?’’ Ian asked, immediately catching that she hadn’t referred to Lynx Point.
‘‘We’d stick out like sore thumbs,’’ Rosie said. ‘‘We need someplace we can blend in with the scenery for two or three weeks. Lily thought she would be called to testify next week, two weeks from now at the latest.’’
‘‘What village?’’ Ian asked again.
Rosie glanced at him. ‘‘A Tlingit village—’’
‘‘Where your uncle Raymond lives?’’ Ian’s gaze rested on Rosie’s blond head. She was right. She would be as conspicuous as a nun on Sunset Strip.
Rosie nodded.
During one of her melancholy periods, Lily had shown him pictures of the village, and he had been fascinated with her stories of family. She had given him a glimpse of the kind of family he had always dreamed about, who stood up for one another and cared for one another. Despite being one of six children, he’d never had that.
Ian’s oldest brother, Eric, had looked after Cara, both children from his mom’s first marriage. Eric had taken his anger and his frustration of losing his father out on Ian, an unwanted baby who was the result of a fling his mom had after Eric and Cara’s dad was killed. The twins, Adam and Aaron were the result of a short-lived marriage that ended soon after they were born. Ian always figured he was the most like Micah, the youngest and also the result of an affair. But ten years separated them. Hard to imagine the scrawny nine-year-old brother he remembered was now twenty-three.
Lily’s stories of her eccentric aunts and rowdy cousins seemed to help her through the grieving for her husband, and they’d been a balm to Ian—that not all families self-destructed in times of crisis.
He looked from Rosie to Hilda and realized the conversation had gone on without him. They were back to making plans that didn’t include him.
If anybody thought he was leaving, they were in for a surprise. The morning that Lily had shown up on his doorstep with Annmarie and a bag that she had already packed, she poured out the whole story. The murder, the secrecy that had surrounded her and then the threats she hadn’t wanted to believe were real. In that moment Ian felt as though he’d fallen backward into an abyss that held his darkest secrets. Fifteen years earlier he had run with a gang, and one night rivals came to his street looking for him. When they hadn’t found him, they had taken their revenge out on his sister and one of the twins. His sister had survived, but his brother hadn’t. It was the final straw in his tenuous relationship with his mother and his older brother. Fifteen years between then and now.
Aware that his thoughts had wandered once again—a sure sign he needed sleep, he went to the counter and poured himself another cup of coffee.
‘‘I think Annmarie and I should visit my folks,’’ Rosie said. ‘‘And, since we know I’m being watched, I could use some help with a little subterfuge.’’ She met Ian’s glance briefly, then turned her attention to Hilda and Mama Sarah. ‘‘Let’s assume for the moment that nobody knows Ian and Annmarie are here. With a little chaos and confusion, I think we could sneak them out without them being noticed.’’
Ian watched the kids play in the yard, utter tiredness washing over him, as Rosie laid out a plan where she would hide Annmarie with a shipment of seedlings scheduled for the following day, then leave with her. Adjustments were made as either Mama Sarah or Hilda offered a suggestion. Rosie altogether ignored Ian. Not that she needed his advice. Her idea to surround herself with enough people that she would be hard to keep track of made sense. She had the resources to pull it off and the bases covered. Except for one. She hadn’t included him in her plans. Regardless of what she thought, she wasn’t taking Annmarie anywhere without him.
As if anticipating the direction of his thoughts, she caught his gaze. ‘‘You’ll go with Hilda’s husband who will take you to Wrangall. From there you can catch the ferry back to Seattle.’’
‘‘And just when is all this supposed to happen?’’ he asked, deciding for the moment to let her think he was in agreement with her.
‘‘I’d like today, but all the likely boats we could take are long gone. First thing tomorrow morning. We’ll follow the usual schedule of the fishing boats pulling out. I’m down at the docks a lot this time of year—shipping seedlings out, so nothing would seem out of the ordinary.’’ She paused, her gaze searching his face. ‘‘Assuming nobody saw you and Annmarie come here with me, there’s no reason for anyone to think you’re here.’’
He nodded, and fought back a yawn. Except that he’d been outside scouting around. Except that somebody had been watching the place.