Death Takes a Honeymoon by DEBORAH DONNELLY Page B

tailored blouse and slacks, and knotted her hair in place, all in a few minutes. She was bitchy, but she was good.
    “Mr. Kane,” she said sternly. I’d never heard anyone call him that. “Mr. Kane, I was going to review some contractual details with you this afternoon, but as you can see, that will have to wait. However, I do need your approval to hire more waitstaff for the reception, now that the head count is increasing, and to hire a second truck to carry the sound system and dance floor up to White Pine.”
    “You do whatever you need to,” said Sam grandly. I suspected he was showing off for me. Sam Kane didn’t get rich by overlooking details. “With Carnegie here to keep you on track, this whole thing should go real slick.”
    I winced inwardly, and Shara bristled like a cat.
    “Things were going perfectly smoothly already,” she said in a tight, dangerous voice. “As I told Mrs. Kane, with the catering manager’s assistant at my disposal, it’s quite unnecessary to have a second coordinator here this week. I agreed to take her on as a favor to Tracy—”
    “Whoa, you’re doing
us
favors now?” Sam squared his bony shoulders and hitched his thumbs into his belt. “Seems to me we’re the ones who have to keep on accommodating you and your almighty checklists.”
    Shara backpedaled just a little. “You have to understand, an event of this scope takes a great deal of organization.”
    “That’s exactly why you need Carnegie.” He grinned and dropped his arm around my shoulders. “Ain’t it?”
    “I
don’t
need her.” The cat was hissing now. “Now that all the planning is in place, a single on-site coordinator is perfectly sufficient. I keep explaining that to your wife.”
    Her voice held just the faintest hint of disdain when she referred to Cissy. And that was Shara Mortimer’s undoing, because Sam Kane, who was utterly unemotional when it came to business, utterly adored his wife.
    “Well, I’ll explain something to you, missy,” he drawled. Sam only drawled when he meant to. “You are absolutely right. We only need one coordinator, and we got ’er.” He gave my shoulders a little shake. “So you can just pack up your bags and go back where you came from. Come on, Red, I’ll buy you a drink.”
    And with that he marched me out of the suite and kicked the door shut behind us.
    “Sam, wait—” I began. I followed him, protesting. “Let’s take a minute. You really need to talk with Tracy and Cissy before you make a change like this.”
    “Oh, she’s been rubbing them raw ever since she got here. It’s not just me.” The drawl was gone and the businessman was back, the man with his finger on the pulse of the Wood River Valley. “You run your own wedding business in Seattle, don’t you? You’re bonded and so forth?”
    “Well, yes, but—”
    “But nothing! You’re the only man for the job, pardon the expression, and that is that.” He paused on the step below me, and turned to look me straight in the eye. Unlike Tracy’s big blue eyes, Sam’s brown ones were small and watery, and rather tired. “Please, Red, as a favor to me and my womenfolk?”
    “Oh, all right.” As we continued down, a thought occurred to me. His finger on the pulse... I’d promised B.J. to ask around, but I’d felt like a ghoul grilling Danny about his dead crewmate. Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t traumatized by this death, and he might very well be able to help me. Or direct me to someone who could. “Sam, tell me something. Was there an investigation into Brian’s accident?”
    “Of course,” he said promptly. We were crossing the lobby, where guests relaxed and tourists wandered, checking out the famous lodge. None of them was within earshot, so Sam paused to answer me in a serious tone. “A smoke-jumper fatality is extremely rare, thank God. This is a BLM base, so they looked into it, plus the local police had to sign off, that kind of thing. It’s not a fire-management issue,