with one hip on the edge of the crate, leaning toward her. "I don't think I've ever heard them raise their voices to each other before."
"Me neither. Could you tell over what?"
"Her giving money to Ginger and promising more. Since I'm playing Sherlock Holmes lately, I actually listened at their door."
"I didn't think he ever objected to her charity projects, large or small. I used to think it was because the firm's financial base--and his wealth--was really from her father, and that gave her a certain unspoken power over Graham."
"Agreed, but he may be worried Ginger's death will turn out to be more than an accident, and he doesn't want his wife--or any of his lawyers--to be even slightly involved or tainted."
"Why would he assume her death might be more than an accident? He should be thinking just the opposite."
"Because he's been a lawyer for years, and he's seen the worst in humanity. He's dealt with some really devious people who could swear up and down they were innocent when they weren't and then--I'm sorry to say--he'd defend some of them anyway."
She heaved a huge sigh. "I know you've always admired him."
"Haven't you?"
"Of course. But, if someone's clever, apparent accidents can actually be murder, which is what we could be up against here. On the other hand, I'm wondering if I should stop suspecting anyone of attempted murder for pushing me in the river."
"Second thoughts on if that really happened?"
She looked up at him. Maybe she should stop suspecting people she thought she knew and respected and just go on. Be very careful and aware, but just go on. No one had murdered her mother and Jani--no one but life's hardships and her mother's sick soul. But the denial of her being deliberately shoved into the river wouldn't come to her lips.
"I still think I was pushed," she whispered.
"Then we go with that. So have you thought any more about Vanessa setting you up to find Ginger's body?"
"As you said yesterday, it's all circumstantial. It's like, maybe Jonas cut his own towline on the sled, maybe Vanessa is out to cut me off from the competition...or from life...maybe, maybe...Mitch, it's driving me nuts."
"Though I don't want you to go, I'd send you home, but no one's going anywhere until the sheriff says so."
"Except to the Mountain Mother Festival. I think we'd all agree to cancel that, but we can't just sit around here and stare at each other while waiting for the coroner's report. And it is a good idea to sell the baked goods Ginger left to help Spike out."
"Ordinarily, he'd be taking festival visitors flight-seeing on short jaunts today, but he's not up for that. The sheriff told him he could have access to Ginger's cabin, so he wants to spend the day there. I told him I'd go with him, but he wanted to be alone, and I had to honor that."
"I'll bet Christine would like to be with him, but she's going with us, too. She said Ginger had a booth rented, so setup won't be too hard."
"I thought maybe you were learning more about what Christine's really like, one strong woman to another, who has risen above a personal tragedy."
"But it's still pulling me under," she muttered as she turned away. She started up the steps, careful not to look at the array of bottles lighted from behind again.
"What did you say?" he called after her.
"Onward and upward. See you at breakfast." She hurried up out of the green-gray depths of the little room.
Maybe, Lisa thought, as they carried Ginger's baked items into the Mountain Mother Festival grounds in Talkeetna, this would be good for all of them. She saw normal people everywhere--families, activities, laughter, noise. Reality that didn't threaten and endanger or drown one's rational thoughts.
As they set up their money box and neatly arranged the variety of muffins, breads, cookies and cakes with their price labels, Lisa looked around. In the next booth, a woman hung small, quilted wall hangings, now and then shouting at her two young boys to stop hitting each other. Across the way two women who looked like sisters put out painted tole wear in their booth; both had babies in carriers on their backs. Two men helped to tack up a sign reading Talkeetna Tole Wear Tells A Tale. What would it be like to live here, to raise a family here?
"Talkeetna certainly is the big city compared to Bear Bones," Vanessa said, interrupting Lisa's musings. Vanessa had