Previously appeared in the fanzine See No Evil – The Three Monkeys Vol. 2 – Blackfly Presses

The story was betaed by Nightowl – thanks.

Search & Rescue

By Sealie and Shelly

*sealie@trickster.org -- who will forward any lovely LOCs to Shelly*

The day spread out, violet at the edges, blue at the heart. It was quiet. Very quiet. Jim Ellison sat on the bank of the river, dangling his bare feet in the cool water, smiling to himself. He held a fishing rod in his hands and idly played with the line, watching the ripples and listening to the water music and leaf-edged undertones.

He leaned back onto his elbows, feeling the moving hush of the warm summer air, and sighed happily. Now this was a holiday!

Closing his eyes, he began a tentative migration of his senses. He could hear the soft simmer of insects; the sibilance of leaves falling from the canopy overhead. At his feet, the water washed gently against the shore, in a dim, mindless cadence, monotonous, quiet and as old as the world. And underpinning all this, the steady drumming of his partner’s heart.

Jim turned to look at Blair. Further along the Noolsack River, the young anthropologist had found a tree that he had claimed as his own. He’d set himself up with a book and refreshments close at hand. He need not have bothered. Blair had fallen asleep within five minutes.

Smiling to himself, Jim cast another lure into the stream. Blair needed the sleep. The student was always burning the candle at both ends. If he was not working with the sentinel, he was at the University—if he was not at the University he was out playing—hard. The holiday was a good idea, Jim reflected. Their last case had been, for want of a better word, nasty. There was something inherently repulsive about dismemberment. Jim shuddered and pushed the memories away, concentrating instead on the pristine beauty of their surroundings.

Beneath the surface of the water, silver light played over a fish’s scales. Jim willed the salmon to swim to his lure. He was, however, not particularly bothered if he caught the fish. The whole point of fishing was to relax and kick back. But, always the sentinel, he extended his senses and made a sweep of the immediate area. A myriad of sounds tickled his ears—small humming insects and the dancing of feeding birds in the foliage. Behind the sounds of the breathing world, he could hear the rapid heartbeat of a small animal. Curious, Jim strove to identify the scuffling beast. He snorted at his lack of wit—a child was tromping through the woods. Judging from the echoes, the kid was approaching.

Downstream of the sleeping guide, a small girl stepped out from between the tall Douglas firs. The little blond was dressed in a frilly skirt and t-shirt—not ideal clothes for exploring the woods. She laughed and stomped down to the water’s edge, stopping and peering into the water. Slowly, Jim began to reel in his fishing line; if she jumped into the water, he wanted to be ready to fish her out. Heavy footsteps, further into the wood, caught his attention. The footsteps probably belonged to her father.

Evidently bored by the water, the small girl began to pick her way through the stones edging the riverside, heading upstream. As he debated whether or not to call out to her, the girl stopped dead and stared at Blair. Curled up around a book, his glasses hanging on the end of his nose, Blair was about as threatening as a teddy bear. Intrigued, the girl crept forwards, cocking her head to the side as she studied the guide.

“Grace, don’t go too far ahead!” a voice called from the woods.

From the same point where the girl had emerged, a tall man appeared. The park ranger, judging from his clothes, spotted the child immediately. He also saw Blair. He started and ran forward, reaching automatically for the first aid kit on his belt.

“Shush!” Grace said dramatically, putting a finger to her lips. “He’s sleeping.”

The ranger stopped dead, only then seeing Jim sitting on the bank. The sentinel nodded as he finally secured his line and began to stand. Grace took one glance of him and then glued herself to the ranger’s side. Sentinel ears could hear her whispering that the man hadn’t been there a minute ago. It was an old trick, Jim mused. Keep still and it was amazing how even a man-mountain could merge with the environment.

Moving slowly, he picked his way barefoot along the shore, stopping a good distance from the little girl.

He smiled as reassuringly as possible. “Jim Ellison, Detective.” Prepared, he pulled out his gold badge, showing the twosome.

The ranger had the same tousled blond hair and brown eyes as the little girl; he was obviously her father.

“Dan Moore. This is my daughter, Grace.”

The object of their attention hid her face in her father’s trouser leg.

“The sleeping beauty is my partner, Blair Sandburg.”

Hearing his name, Blair muttered and roused.

“Sleeping Beauty? I’m Morpheus—God of peaceful dreams and tired grad students. I’m also responsible for creating hot milky chocolate; I’m pretty good at marshmallows too.”

Yawning mightily, Blair struggled onto his back, propping himself on his elbows.

“Oh, hello?” Blair said quietly, seeing their visitors for the first time.

“Weally?” Intrigued, the girl lifted her head from the protection of her father’s legs and smiled tentatively at the student.

Blair echoed the smile. “I make a wicked hot chocolate and I know the perfect way to toast marshmallows, but I have to admit that I am not Morpheus, God of Dreams. My name is Blair.”

“Bear?” she lisped.

Jim shook his head at Blair’s ability to transfix women of all ages. Charmed, the little girl sidled forwards, stopping just before the guide. Blair smiled with his open, guileless quality, and two friends were made. Evidently Dan had also fallen under the guide’s spell, as he seemed quite happy to let the younger man talk to his daughter.

“So you’re on holiday?” he asked, although it was obviously an opening.

Jim accepted it as such. “Yeah, we just finished up a big case and we managed a week off.”

Dan gave him a frankly piercing look. “I spent five years with the L.A. police department before I took a career change and became a park ranger.”

Jim took an appreciative glance at his surroundings. “I’m tempted myself.”

He felt a degree of comradeship with the ranger, an ease that was probably aided by their shared experiences. He cast a glance over his shoulder—Blair was weaving a tale for the child, twisting a piece of cord in his hands to describe some long forgotten mythical adventure. Jim padded down to the water’s edge, Dan walking easily at his side. Yes, Jim reflected, he could like being a park ranger—patrolling this natural beauty, finding bumbling tourists lost with the back woods, no more perverts and psychopaths, no more horror.

“Hard case?” Dan said knowingly.

Jim started, surprised by the degree of empathy he felt with this man. Evidently, knowing Blair was mellowing him out.

“Yeah,” Jim said slowly, as he bent and picked up a stone. He played with the smooth surface before casting it into the water. The stone skipped twice and sank with the slightest of ripples.

“It’s a good place to decompress,” Dan offered.

Jim cast a sideways glance at the man. “How long have you been ‘decompressing’?”

“About three years. Grace’s mother, my wife, died three and a half years ago. I moved up here. I didn’t want Grace to become an orphan. I’ve family nearby.”

Jim nodded, knowing instinctively that Dan Moore didn’t need a verbal expression of sympathy. He understood. If he and Caroline had had kids, he would have remained on the force, but he would have bucked for promotion—taking him away from the streets. And the call of family would be difficult for a widower to resist.

A peal of laughter echoed along the riverbank. Blair’s eyes crinkled with merriment as the little girl clapped her hands. Then he flashed Jim a wide smile, the first true smile Jim had seen since Simon had literally kicked them out of the precinct and told them not to darken the doors of Major Crime for a whole week.

~*~

Blair was enjoying himself immensely. He felt the fist of tension that had been gripping him inside slowly uncurl as he chatted to the bright-eyed little girl. Jim and Grace’s father were further along the river, obviously deep in conversation… but right now he preferred the lighter conversation of the young lady in front of him.

Grace was totally at ease with Blair. Her shyness had disappeared and she now sat facing him, enchanted with her new friend.

“Bear, I know a poem.” Her voice was laden with invitation.

Blair grinned. “Do you now?” He waited.

Grace sat silently, bent forward with her chin cupped in her hands. “Well… do you want me to say it?”

Her friend chuckled and nodded his head emphatically.

The little girl held her small hands in front of her as if she were to begin a lengthy recitation. “It’s about a goldfish. My Grampy taught it to me.” She cleared her throat importantly and then began to speak in a clear, ringing voice.

“Ode to a Goldfish… Oh wet pet.”

She stopped and put her hands out in an exasperated gesture. “Did ya like it, Bear?”

Blair’s eyes widened. “That’s it?”

Grace nodded, her blond curls dancing, and giggled, “It’s a bit of a trick.”

Delighted, Blair threw his head back and laughed loud and long. His sides ached, and it seemed as though he hadn’t laughed this much in months. It felt good.

They sat companionably watching the run of the river, small leaf-netted suns tattooing them. Blair sighed happily. He could do this all day.

“Your turn.” The brown eyes smiled up at him.

“My turn? Ummmm, I don’t have a poem. But how about a story? I could tell you about my pet dragon.”

Grace’s eyes widened. “You’ve got a pet dragon? For true?”

“Well… not anymore… but when I was five….”

“That’s me!” interrupted Grace, holding up five little fingers to reinforce her claim. “I’m five!”

Blair touched one finger to each of hers, and counted. “One, two, three, four, five. Well… so you are!” He shook her hand. “Congratulations, Grace. That’s a great age to be!”

“The dragon, Bear! Tell about the dragon.”

Blair settled back against the trunk of the tree and Grace wriggled as close to him as she could get.

“Uhm… let’s see. When I was five—” he smiled down at his wide-eyed little friend, “—my mother gave me an egg. She said it was a rock… but I knew that it was a dragon’s egg. I put it in a box and taped it all up so that it would be nice and dark for it to hatch.”

“Everyone at school wanted to see, but I wouldn’t let them. The dragon needed to be warm and quiet until it hatched. I waited and waited. One morning I peeped in and there he was. A little baby boy dragon. He was pink.”

“Ohhhhh.” Grace clasped her hands together in positive rapture at the thought of seeing such a creature.

“Everybody still wanted to look at the dragon. But I knew that he wanted to be alone. He was just beautiful. His wings were still soft, of course, because he was very young. They had gold edges that lit up the box just a little bit….”

“Ooohhhhh, Bear.” Grace’s imagination tiptoed her into the box. “He’s so pretty.”

Blair paused for effect. “And then…”

“Well… well… well. What do we have here? Why… it’s Papa Blair and Goldilocks.” Jim’s amused voice startled the storyteller and his small, but very devoted, audience. Blair wrinkled his nose at Jim and Grace giggled.

Inwardly, Jim was cheering. The clinging miasma which had weighed his guide down had dissipated. Blair’s heart rate was slower, the white, drawn cheeks were filling out and the dark ageing circles under his eyes were fading. All it took was a laugh.

“Come on, Dan’s invited us to dinner.” Jim stretched out a hand that Blair took eagerly.

In a smooth movement he hauled the young guide to his feet, scattering books and half-eaten sandwiches. Dancing like a golden whirlwind, Grace skipped around them. She grabbed Blair’s free hand and pulled him out of Jim’s grasp and began to tow him along the riverbank.

“I can make macaroni,” she announced.

Bent over at the waist, Blair trotted happily along in her excited wake. Shaking his head in bemused amusement, Jim set down his tackle box and rod and began to collect Blair’s clutter. Dan crouched down to help.

“They certainly made friends fast.”

“Common ground,” Jim pointed out, “emotionally they’re both five years old.”

Dan looked at him, shocked for a moment, and then burst out laughing. The ranger collected up the five books that Blair had needed so very badly and couldn’t do without—even on a camping trip, and rose to his feet. Jim grabbed Blair’s backpack and slung it over his shoulder.

Bright, happy voices chimed from around the bend in the river. By common, unspoken consent, both men started to follow. Jim knew that he would be able to track that sound to the ends of the earth.

“Legends of the Cree? God of the Witches? Anthropology 101? Strange books for a cop to carry around with him. What’s he doing? A part time degree?” Dan flicked through the other books: they were equally diverse.

“Nah.” Jim smiled, wondering how many times was he going to have to explain this one. “Blair’s a consultant with the Police Department. He’s a teaching assistant at Rainier University as an anthropologist. At the moment he’s writing some lecture notes for next semester’s freshman students. Well, in-between naps.”

“What the hell does Cascade PD need with an anthropologist?”

Jim snorted, “I sometimes ask myself the same thing. Writing a heck of a lot of papers for journals—I tried reading them; but he uses big words where he could get away with five small ones, so I don’t bother.”

Dan laughed at Jim’s kidding expression, and as Jim hoped, didn’t pursue the subject further. The two ‘children’, Jim grinned to himself, had managed to put seventy yards or so between the two adults. Jim blinked and his eyes flicked into sentinel mode, automatically keeping track of them. Blair clambered over a large rock and then reached up and lifted Grace down to his side.

“Why didn’t they walk up the bank and skirt around the boulder?” Dan shook his head and then answered his own question. “Because it wouldn’t be as much fun.”

“Got it in one, Partner.”

They didn’t skirt the boulder either.

~*~

“Oh, nice house,” Blair enthused.

He turned on the veranda. The two-storey wood lodge had been built at the turn of the century as a hideaway for a mining tycoon. Said tycoon had not skimped on the construction, with hardwood surrounds and old bevelled windows.

The house was certainly well situated, on the edge of an old forest which had only been logged intermittently before becoming a nature reserve. The grounds had been turned into a well-equipped campsite. Jim had chosen it supposedly for its impressive record of fishing catches, but mainly for its facilities since neither guide nor sentinel were up to a backwoods, man-against-the-elements camping trip.

“Show you my coolection!” Grace squealed.

“Okay, okay, okay.”

Once again Blair was dragged away by the whirlwind into the house.

“Daddy,” Grace called from inside the house, “the light’s beeping on the machine.”

Dan smiled. “That will be the Ranger Service. Better get it.”

The ranger slipped through the double doors. There was an answer machine just inside the foyer on an old mahogany table.

“Hi, Dan,” a serious voice started at the push of a button, “we’ve got two hikers in here saying that they found two dead bodies out by Old Dick Pass! They’re practically incoherent. It took them about two hours to walk down from the hill and they’re not changing their story. You better get up there. Gramps is out at the coast and won’t be back until later. Can you take the ‘copter?”

A high-pitched squeak heralded the end of the message. Dan hit the re-dial. The person on the other end of the line picked up the phone immediately.

“Dan, where the Hell have you been?”

“Chacopee, calm the heck down. I’ve been out with Grace. Where are these bodies? Have you called Sheriff Arbuckle?”

“Arbuckle’s driven down to Lyndham. His wife said that he’d be back late this evening.”

“Okay, I’ll…”

Jim reached forwards and tapped Dan on the shoulder. Dan’s brown eyes gleamed as he read Jim’s body language.

“…I’ve got a camper on site who’s a detective with Cascade PD—I’ll take him with me to Old Dick. Where exactly did these two hikers say they found the bodies?”

“They mentioned a lighting-struck tree. As near as I can guess, it’s on the lower west side by the split oak by Old Dick Pass. I think they ran all the way to the Ranger station—they got quite a fright.”

“I’ll radio you when we get there.”

“Okay.”

Dan put the phone down, appearing deep in thought about his next step. Jim waited, debating whether or not to take control. He was somewhat out of his jurisdiction. He’d give the guy two minutes and then he would take over.

“Daddy, what’s the matter?”

Jim turned with Dan a heartbeat behind him. Grace stood silhouetted in the hall doorway, her hand clutching Blair’s larger one.

“Nothing, sweetie.” Dan moved forward, crouching down onto his haunches.

“I just have to go sort out something for Chacopee.”

“No dinner?” Grace stuck her bottom lip out.

“No dinner,” Dan affirmed.

“What’s happening?” Blair whispered solely for the sentinel’s benefit.

Jim held up two fingers and mouthed, “Hikers found two dead bodies nearby.”

“Oh, man.” Blair’s expressive face fell.

The grad student needed to see another dead body like he needed a hole in the head. Jim’s gut churned as he remembered Blair’s expression when the student had stumbled over the final victim of the psychopath in their last case—a case which, when over, had resulted in the departmental psychologist advising the Captain of Major Crime that his top Detective and the tagalong observer needed to get away for a few days.

“Baby, I’ll call Mrs. Buchanan to come over and look after you,” Dan said soothingly.

“Auntie Nellie went to Auntie Sunny,” Grace announced brightly.

Dan’s shoulders tensed—Jim could feel the indecision rolling off him waves. Jim flicked a look at his watch. Thirty seconds and he would start issuing orders.

“Blair,” Dan began.

Jim blanked his expression; he didn’t want Blair to guess his elation at what he suspected the ranger was going to ask. He guessed that the ranger trusted them—based solely on their shared experiences in the police force. Jim did not want Blair near a dead body and this was a damn good reason. Over protective, Jim mused. Maybe, but he didn’t care. Essentially pointless, he knew that Blair would see bodies on the future… but he could be protected from seeing these two husks.

“Blair, can you stay with Grace? I know it’s a lot to ask, but without Auntie Nellie… And Gramps won’t be back until later.”

“Hey, man, it’s okay,” Blair said easily. “Grace said that she wanted to make Cheesy Macaroni—I know a great recipe with grilled bacon.”

Grace pulled her hand out of Blair’s and bounced with glee. The guide locked eyes with the sentinel’s. The message was plain and unadulterated by false machismo. Jim nodded once—he would be careful.

~*~

It was quiet in the high, sun-steeped kitchen, so warm and still. Blair looked down at his little kitchenhand, amusement dancing across his face.

Grace had pulled a sturdy chair over to the bench so that she could reach the burners, and was now industriously stirring the cheese sauce. Her tongue emerged from between her lips as she used every ounce of concentration to co-ordinate the movement of the wooden spoon clutched in her chubby fist. She murmured a self-composed song to her creation: “And you stir you up… and you mix you round… and you stir and stir and stir.” She chuckled infectiously. “Look at the bubbles, Bear.”

Blair reached over her shoulder and put his large hand over her much smaller one.

“Right. Five more stirs… because you’re five… then we’re done.”

With great ceremony, the sauce was poured over the macaroni, and Blair placed the dish into the oven. Grace stood beside him, beaming at their achievement.

Suddenly, she clasped his hand in both her tiny ones and looked up at him trustingly. He was mirrored in those dark pools.

“Do you want to see a secret, Bear?”

He nodded down at her.

She pulled him to the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen and settled him into it, patting his shoulder solicitously.

“Wait here. It’s something veeeerrrrrrrrryy special.” She bustled off to find the treasure to show her new friend.

Blair leaned against the hard back of the rocking chair and used the toe of one boot to push against the floor till he was gently rocking back and forth. He closed his eyes. The only sound was the quiet percussion of the Grandfather clock in the hallway. The last remnants of tension washed away like something breaking up on invisible shoals. He sighed contentedly and could almost have drifted off to sleep were it not for the soft voice piping in his ear.

“Bear?”

He opened his eyes and studied the serious, little figure standing in front of him.

She took his hand and turned it palm upward. With a sense of ritual, she delivered her much beloved treasure into his care. It was a small music box, no bigger than the palm of her own little hand. Delicately scrolled with filigree silver, it had the initials DM entwined in the centre.

“Grace, it’s so beautiful!” Blair’s voice held all the warmth and encouragement that the child needed.

She reached out one finger and traced the initials.

“It’s my special-est thing, Bear. It was Mommy’s and now it’s mine to look after. The ‘D’ is for Donna… that’s her name. Daddy called her Darling… so it’s ‘D’ for Donna and Darling as well.”

Blair’s mouth softened into the gentlest of smiles for this little one who was clinging so hard to the few memories that she had of her mother.

“I bet your Mom was beautiful… just like you.”

Grace beamed with pleasure. “She was very pretty. She had curly hair like me. Shhhhh… listen.”

She opened the lid of the music box and the tune tinkled out like far-off wind chimes. Amazing Grace.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound…” the little girl’s voice warbled along with the tune. “It’s my song, Bear. It was Mommy’s favourite.”

She lifted her arms up into the air and spun slowly around the room in a ballet of her own. Blair stood up and moved towards her. He tapped her on the shoulder.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” Taking her hand, he bowed low and kissed her hand. Grace was enchanted.

Through the fluted afternoon light, Blair and Grace waltzed in endless circles, laughing and spinning till they both collapsed in a heap on the couch, out of breath, grinning from ear to ear.

“And who is this dancing with my favourite girl?” a cheerful voice boomed from the front door.

Grace leapt up and threw herself at the owner of the voice in a frenzy of delight. “Grampy!!!” She peppered his face with kisses.

Standing up, Blair watched as the older man tossed his granddaughter into the air to her squeals of excitement. He was not much taller than Blair, but strongly built. White hair and even whiter teeth contrasted with his tanned, weathered skin. He had a kind, humorous face. He was, Blair decided, someone who could be trusted.

Smiling broadly, the man swung his granddaughter onto his hip and walked towards Blair.

“Now, Grace, introduce me to your young friend.”

“Bear, this is my Grampy.” Grace leaned out and put one hand on Blair’s shoulder. “And Grampy… this is My Bear.”

“Ahh… That’s Blair, sir. Blair Sandburg. Pleased to meet you.”

The older man stretched out and encompassed Blair’s hand in a firm handshake.

“Jackson MacLeod. Grace’s grandfather, in case you hadn’t already guessed. Call me Jack…. Papa Blair.” His grey-blue eyes twinkled.

The younger man rolled his eyes in mock indignation. “Guess you’ve already talked with Dan and Jim! There goes my image!” His good-natured grin belied his words. “Goldilocks and I have had fun while waiting for you. Haven’t we, my lady?”

Grace nodded, totally smitten with him.

Jack smiled, and then dropped his voice. “Dan radioed me on my plane. Bad business. He told me that someone was keeping an eye on our girl. Appreciate it.”

“It’s been an absolute pleasure,” Blair responded sincerely.

Grace wriggled in her grandfather’s arms, signalling her wish to be set down. She gathered up her precious music box and turned to the two men who were watching her with shared amusement.

“I’m going to get changed. I’ve got macaroni on the front of me!!!!” She shook her head and trotted off in the direction of her bedroom, talking to herself all the way.

~*~

Joseph Ellison entertained himself seeing how white his knuckles could turn each time the helicopter took an unintentional little dip. There was no focus of a hunt to distract him from the flight; and his thoughts inevitably turned to his fateful crash in Peru. Blair would have kept him distracted with his incessant chatter. A nice little meditation mantra would be very welcome at this point in time—it was a pity he couldn’t think of any. The change of air pressure as they dropped impinged violently on his sentinel senses.

“Hey, Ellison, are you feeling a bit air sick?”

Jim turned glassy eyes on the ranger. He managed a nod.

“We’re almost there,” Dan said reassuringly and matched actions for words, pushing the joystick forwards.

The muscle in Jim’s jaw was working overtime, pulsating with the beat of his heart. It wasn’t so much nausea but the ever-present memories of another helicopter and a crash which had robbed him of his tightly knit crew. Losing himself in memories, he missed the descent of the helicopter. His eyes snapped open as the helicopter joined the earth. While his fingers were twitching to put as much distance between himself and the helicopter as possible, he waited until Dan had stopped the rotating blades and the engine had droned to a halt. Only then did he remove the masking ear mufflers and open the cockpit door.

He took a deep breath of air filled with the fragrance of evergreen pines, summer flowers and the faintest breath of sea air. Blair would be proud of him as he selectively concentrated on the scents that would relax him. As the intrusive smells of leather upholstery and engine oil intruded, he visualised his dials and turned down his sense of smell.

“The split oak’s up there.” Dan was pointing up a low rolling hill towards an ancient tree that had thrived for two-three hundred years before Mother Nature had seen fit to split it straight down the middle with a phenomenal lightening bolt. Automatically, Jim honed his sight, looking at the oak as if he were standing next to it rather than being a good five hundred yards away.

“The tourist said that the bodies were by the oak.”

“Can’t see any,” Jim said absently.

Dan snorted and picked up a backpack filled with an assortment of useful equipment an ex-police officer now ranger deemed necessary on any outing. The ex-ranger now policeman approved of his careful attitude as he hefted his own well packed knapsack.

“I guess we’ll start at the oak and work systematically,” Dan said easily.

Jim nodded tersely, and strode towards the oak.

As the sentinel approached the tree, he smelled the odour of freshly charred wood. The question was, would Dan be able to smell the wood? Jim shrugged his shoulders fatalistically. He had to follow his senses. He wasn’t going to catfoot around when there were possibly injured victims or a murderer lurking near-by. He checked his gun and arrowed towards the smoke.

Beside a raised bank of grassy earth a fire still smouldered. The campers had been careful, digging a wide firepit around their fire. A bucket of soil had been dumped on the sticks and twigs, then the campers had left. There were other signs of a rapid departure: a couple of tent pegs lying on the grass, a cup, food wrappers and a book of matches.

Dan picked up the matches and pocketed them.

“So where are the bodies?” Dan asked.

“Don’t know.” Jim’s nostrils flared. He couldn’t detect the sickeningly sweet smell of decaying flesh. He cast around on the grass looking for any trails. A series of measured footsteps led to the campsite and another set moved off towards the mound. Another set of footprints, widely spaced, ran back from the mound. Jim crouched down and pretended to examine the grass and mosses underfoot.

“Two sets of feet walked up this bank—then they ran back very fast.”

“You’re good.” Dan peered at the earth. “It’s been so dry recently that I can’t see a thing.”

“Ex-Army Ranger,” Jim said, by way of explanation, “I’ve tracked people in harder terrain than this.”

He jogged up the bank and came to a dead stop at the top. The side of the mound had been torn open. There was evidence of digging. Judging by the spoors, either a beaver or a larger animal had been responsible. Strewn on the ground were bones. The remains of a rib cage poked up from the hole.

“I think we’ve found our murder victims,” Jim said lightly.

“No way!” Dan said eagerly and bounced down the slight slope. “Do you know what this is?”

Jim sauntered down next to the ranger, who was scrutinising the remains. The man’s face shone with enthusiasm, similar to a certain anthropology student. Jim stood back, gingerly expanding his senses. There was no scent of death; these bodies had been dead a long time. He had no real basis for comparison, but he was inextricably reminded of the bowels of Rainier University.

“I think it’s a burial mound,” Dan said. “This area had two principal tribes—the Snohomish who inhabited parts of Skagit and Island counties, and the Snoqualmie kind of spread out from Puget Sound and up the coast. I wonder how old it is? Jack is going to be absolutely head over heels about this find.”

“Jack?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, my father-in-law. He’s a historian and bit of an archaeologist. We’ll tell Chakopee too, he’ll be concerned.”

“Whatever. But we have to report this,” Jim said sensibly.

“Yes, of course.” Dan stood, and brushed off his hands despite the fact that he hadn't touched anything. “I’ll get on the radio.”

~*~

Blair and Jack sat at the scrubbed, pine kitchen table, clasping steaming cups of coffee and chatting easily, like old friends.

“She’s a delight,” Blair said, nodding towards the little voice chortling to herself in her bedroom.

“We think so,” replied Jack. “But then, we are totally biased.”

Blair cupped his hands around the comfortable shape of his mug, and took a sip, sighing happily. “I needed this. So, Jack… how long have you been living here?”

Jack’s brow furrowed slightly. “Since my daughter died. Dan needed help with Grace. I was retired. It just seemed to make sense. It’s worked out really well. Dan doesn’t work regular hours, so he gets