Down River by Karen Harper Page A

know about something they did?”
    “Or didn’t do. I don’t know. I’m just fishing here again and not even with a corkscrew.”
    “Maybe Jonas or Vanessa thought I could sway you to tell the Bonners I’d be their best bet for senior partner. But is that enough motive to try to kill me?”
    “I’ve been trying to reason it out, but I’m too exhausted to think straight right now,” he said.
    “But you have thought straight. I’ve been agonizing over the who and why, too, and if I just say I slipped on that ridge above the river it would give us at least a couple of days to investigate what really happened.”
    “One drawback here is that the perp would know you’re lying about falling in.”
    “We could say I hit my head and couldn’t really recall what happened. We could intimate my memory might come back, then set a trap. But we can’t let him or her get wind that we’re investigating. Once we get back, he or she will be nervous enough we’ve had some time to talk, to reason things out. Mitch,” she said, turning more toward him, “you really do believe that someone pushed me?”
    “Despite your love-hate relationship with churning water, I believe you would not jump in. And, even under duress and in pain, you’ve been sure-footed and brave on this trek, so I don’t think you fell.”
    “Thank you. Even though we’re not going to belife partners, I appreciate your advice and your offer,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.
    “So do we have a deal? After I test our tram, you will let me send you over to the other side before I join you there?”
    She stared into his dark eyes, sharp and steady—stern but sweet. Yes, Mitchell Andrew Braxton had always shown a tenderness, a gentleness beneath his go-for-the-jugular instincts. But that foaming water would be under her, and she was terrified of falling in just like—
    “Yes,” she said. “I thought I’d never trust you again after we broke up, but yes. That much is a deal, and I am grateful for your help when we get back.”
    She stuck out her trembling hand to shake his. He took it, pulled her close and kissed her cheek. His beard stubble burned her sore skin, and his words and touch seared deep into her heart.

8
    C hristine knew she didn’t need a key to get into Mitch’s suite, because, so far at least, he’d never locked it. She ducked inside and quietly closed the door. It was a long shot, but perhaps she’d find something here that hinted at what had happened, such as a note from Lisa Vaughn. She was getting desperate. She could not lose Mitch.
    She scanned his small sitting area—ever neat and tidy—and moved quickly to the big rolltop desk that had been his uncle’s. She saw stacks of bills to pay, future reservations, some from Tokyo. Those guests would start arriving late next month. Though darkest winter was the best time for viewing the aurora borealis, it was possible to catch pale, wispy glimpses of its grandeur anytime soon.
    Without going through his entire in and out baskets and desk drawers, she didn’t see anything unusual, such as a personal note. If she had time for a more thorough search, she’d go through all that later.
    But there was a wadded up, printed e-mail in theotherwise empty wastebasket. She picked it up, unwrinkled its violently twisted form and scanned it. She was sure it must be from Lisa and whatever it said had angered him.
    But it was from his brother saying he was too busy to come this summer, and the kids would be in school in the fall, but he wished him the best in his “frontier adventure.” Then a final line that revealed so much. “After all, Uncle John left that place to you, not me.”
    Christine sighed. Another family with damaged relationships as sad and bad as her marriage had been, as icy as the whiteout fogs in Fairbanks.
    Mitch hardly ever talked about his brother, but he had his family’s photograph prominently displayed on the desktop. She saw it was now lying on its face as