Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,129

obviously impressed. She took the chunk of meat and returned it to her pile. “So you know what caused the blood circle. But what happened to the meat?”

“Sorry.” Cutter grinned. “I got nothin’.”

Birdie wiped her hands on an old rag that was hanging on a peg by the window, then pointed at the carving with her chin.

“Looks sorta like Smudge,” she said.

Cutter held the piece of cottonwood out at arm’s length. “You think?”

“Is that what you were going for?”

He stuffed the carving back in his pocket and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I go for whatever the wood gives me.”

“You sure you’re not Yup’ik?”

Cutter folded the little Barlow.

“This belonged to my grandfather,” he said, pushing the knife toward her. “I’d like you to have it.”

“I . . . I couldn’t.”

“It’s something we do,” Cutter said, “give something of value to our family and loved ones—like your nose kisses.”

“Kunik,” Birdie said. She took the pocketknife and touched it to her nose. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Cutter said. “I’m carrying around a few secrets of my own. Getting to know you taught me that people can get past some truly horrible events—”

“Ha,” Birdie scoffed. “I’m not past anything.”

“But you’re moving in that direction.” He winked at her again, like Grumpy would have. “You’re fighting on . . .”

The storm didn’t calm enough to see the sky until a little after noon. Birdie fed the woodstove a steady diet of green spruce boughs along with the dry wood, giving any trooper pilots plenty of smoke to home in on with their search.

Five and a half hours after they’d arrived at the cabin, Cutter heard a plane fly overhead. An hour later the brap of snow machine engines echoed through the trees. Three Alaska State Troopers and one very worried Polynesian deputy US Marshal approached the house slowly on foot, bringing their machines in only when Cutter went outside and waved, letting them know it was safe.

Lola stayed behind with Cutter and Birdie while the troopers used sleds to transport both the Meads and Morgan Kilgore to an airstrip a quarter mile away for pickup.

Cutter was glad to hear that the judge had gone back to Bethel on the return flight with Ned Jasper and a traveling doctor.

“Jolene?” Birdie asked, twisting the dirty red cloth in her hands.

“She’s great,” Lola said. “Sascha Green won’t be giving you any more trouble for at least ten years, probably a lot longer since he qualifies for career criminal status now. He’s had his three strikes, so he could very well go away for good.”

Lola recounted the arrest like she was calling play-by-play at a ball game. Birdie Pingayak hung on every word.

CHAPTER 47

Lieutenant Warr allowed Birdie and her daughter to accompany the deputies and remaining attorneys on the troopers’ Caravan back to Bethel. They arrived in time to catch the evening Alaska Airlines flight back to Anchorage. There would be statements to be given, but those could wait until the following day, when everyone had had a hot shower and a good meal.

Aften Brooks was at the airport too, having gotten permission from Birdie to miss a couple days of school so she could fly to Anchorage and visit Sarah Mead in the hospital.

Judge Markham shook hands with Lieutenant Warr at the airport before going through security, thanking him for the most interesting trip he’d had in . . . well, ever. The arbitration was rescheduled for mid-January so as not to interfere with Eastern Orthodox Christmas. Lola about spewed Diet Coke out her nose when the judge promised Jolene that he was going to request Deputies Teariki and Cutter as his security team on his next visit.

Birdie and Cutter had said most of their goodbyes at the cabin, both knowing things would be moving a million miles an hour once they returned to civilization.

She waved as Cutter and Lola were ushered past security and out a side door, since they were both armed. Jolene stood close, hand on Birdie’s shoulder, the way she used to do before she’d grown too cool to hang out with her mom.

“Lola told me all about Sascha,” Jolene said out of the blue.

Birdie swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry,” she managed to say.

Jolene scoffed. “You got nothing to be sorry for, Mom. She didn’t tell me exactly what happened. Just that it was really bad, and it wasn’t your fault.”

Birdie released a slow breath, bracing herself. “Do you want to know what happened?”

“I can guess,” Jolene said. “I mean, I’m here, right. And I