North Woods Law (The Great North Woods Pack Book 5) Read online

  The new girl gets the worst jobs.

  In the end she had roughly half of a human skeleton. No skull. It was either buried beneath the snow or else had been carried off by a porcupine or some other hording scavenger. Nothing unusual there. In fact, the skeleton was more complete than she’d expected.

  It wasn’t the mere sight of human remains that bothered Kerry so much. It wasn’t only death. The viciousness of the murder is what got to her. The proud display. The unspoken boast of it all. That, and the knowledge that this was not the first blatant killing she’d heard of since joining the wardens, and the killer, or killers, were somewhere out there, way off the grid, roaming unchecked among millions of remote acres.

  This bothered her beyond the level of theory and imagination. The facts were, though small compared to states like Texas and California, Maine was nearly ninety percent uninhabited forest, the acreage of which far exceeded the space of all the well-known national parks in the lower forty-eight. Police in big cities struggled to cover their territory with the benefit of paved roads and strength of numbers. Maine had far less pavement, fewer wardens, and many more trees to hide behind.

  She shivered.

  A moment later, as she packed her empty thermos into her backpack, at last she gave in to the eerie sensation that had been haunting her for hours. That feeling of being … watched. Tailed. Not peacefully alone. Isolated. All at once a shiver went up her spine. It felt like she was rising up out of her boots. Her right hand moved to the handle of her sidearm under her parka. A second later her left hand came up to her heart. She had to catch her breath.

  And it was all for nothing.

  A nearby squirrel had suddenly started chattering fitfully. Probably, she assumed, because she’d come too close to its nest. This was no suburban squirrel accustomed to humans. But still, it seemed exceptionally edgy and tense.

  She took her hand from her gun and zipped her backpack and then took a long look around. Other than the complaining squirrel, which was easy to spot, she was completely alone. Miles from nowhere.

  “Calm down,” she muttered, half to herself and half to the rodent. “I’m leaving.”

  The squirrel kept on chattering.

  By then the sound of the plane had faded. With it went any warm notion of camaraderie. Now she was left with the nervous squirrel and her own unsettled thoughts.

  After another deep breath she attempted to take control of the situation by reminding herself that she was a trained professional. An armed professional. She didn’t believe in ghosts and didn’t buy into backwoods superstition. Not since she was a kid. Why allow herself to feel spooked? Least of all by a high-strung rodent.

  In a few moments she was convinced. The close proximity to death coupled with the distance between herself and home had no impact on her mood whatsoever. Fear was not a factor. Outrage was her only emotion. Outrage and empathy. Nothing more. After all, the murdered hermit had lived in these woods more years than she’d been alive. How could she feel nothing?

  She slid her backpack on and cinched the sternum strap. After pulling on her helmet and lowering the windscreen, she lost all peripheral vision. Straight ahead, trees lined the white line of the trail leading home. She snapped the top button of her parka under her chin and then pulled her heavy gloves over the liner gloves.

  She laughed at herself. Picturing herself looking like the Michelin Man, dressed in warden green. She felt about as clumsy and defenseless as a child stuffed into a one-piece snowsuit.

  She was.

  Not far behind her, something sleek and dark crouched low under the shadows of evergreens. Free of any need for hindering attire, the watcher was perfectly at ease in its element. It regarded the fading plane one last time and then looked back to the freezing woman. The latest meddler.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Chapter 3

  “There it is,” Joseph Snow announced. “Lonesome Lake.”

  The frozen lake was a near perfect oval spread out across a plateau. Dense forest surrounded it for miles on all sides, with the exception of occasional roads and trails, clearings for scattered homesteads, and the central portion of the old eastern village of the Snows.

  It was so well hidden, Evie realized, she might have overlooked the rural settlement from that bird’s eye view, had her grandfather not pointed it out.

  “About how many lakes are there in this state?” she asked, feeling ever the tourist.

  “A couple thousand,” he answered. “But this lake is all by itself on this little plateau. Its nearest neighbor is a few miles southwest. That last big one we passed over.”

  As the plane dropped in elevation toward the lake, Evie noticed a line of blaze orange flags staked into the ice that were blowing steadily in the wind. The stakes were spaced evenly, maybe fifty yards apart. The flags served loosely as landing guides but more so as indicators of the wind for pilots.

  The wind being steady rather than gusty, they touched down smoothly without issue, and as they slowed they taxied by a handful of bob houses, little ice fishing shanties from which men poked their heads out of. Nearer to the shore there were boys fishing through drilled holes and groups of girls skating on the ice. All began running after the plane.

  Joseph Snow stopped the plane near a large building made of rough timber planks along the shore. Snowplows had packed the powder firmly at the shoreline, making for a smooth transition from the icy lake to the gradual rise of the land. The big bay door of the timber building was rolled open, and a summer pontoon plane and many rowboats were visible inside by the daylight spilling in.

  “Look,” Joseph said in the sudden silence after cutting the Piper’s motor. “I know you don’t like a lot of fuss and attention, but be patient with them. Please. Pack pride runs very deep around these parts.”

  “I’m great with meeting everyone,” she said. “There’s just no way I’ll remember all their names. Super memory didn’t come along with the fur and four legs.”

  With a small laugh he said, “All in good time.”

  They opened the doors and the cheerful greetings and introductions began the moment they stepped from the plane. People seemed to be appearing out of thin air. As expected, each new name Evie heard seemed to erase the preceding name. Faces would stick with her, but the names came too rapidly to be retained.

  But one name did stand out from the rest, as a boy appearing to be early in his teens ran up and offered to carry the luggage.

  “Miss Snow,” he said with more of a bow than a nod, before turning to her grandfather. “I hope you remember me, sir. My parents call me James, in honor of your great father.”

  “Of course I remember you,” Joseph said, firmly patting his shoulder. “You’re sprouting like a corn stalk, boy. I’d say they’re feeding you well.”

  Through a huge smile James said, “Oh, yes. You’ll want these bags delivered to your cabin, sir? I’ve already started the stove.”

  “Wonderful,” Joseph said. “Yes. Thank you, young James.”

  The boy nodded again, smiling and blushing, as if the moment was one of the greatest in his short life. Then he shot off running into the village, head low, his shoulders swaying with the weight of the bag in each hand.

  Evie tried her best to take it all in. The contrast of this isolated village and its inhabitants were striking, even after living months now in Ludlow, which itself seemed cut off from the outside world. If the Ludlow branch of the pack had little concern for lifestyles beyond its borders, the eastern pack had none whatsoever. They may not have even known the definition of concern. Aside from the planes and automobiles parked here and there, the place looked like she’d gone back in time during the flight.

  First impressions aside, it was the villagers themselves that stood out most. There was nothing cool or casual about their mannerisms. They were almost awkwardly polite and respectful, eager and sincere. Warm smiles framed with cold pink cheeks. Greetings were not fake or mechanical. They had no interest in businessli
ke handshakes but preferred a soft touch or pat to the shoulder. Simple, genuine folks, thrilled by the mere arrival of two extended family members.

  It was with a little hint of sadness that she realized an unfortunate truth. This welcoming reception that felt to her like a warm homecoming to people she’d never laid eyes on would be mocked by many in the wider world. These fine, caring people might be sneered at, dismissed as undeveloped simpletons, doomed hopelessly by their isolated location of birth and rustic upbringings.

  Wolves, she thought, and instantly perked up again. They’re not just family oriented, they’re obsessed. And they’re not interested in fitting in with the current century.

  As for their attire, no one was dressed to impress. All wore simple clothing and plain leather shoes over fluffy socks. Many men wore fitted boots tied just below the knee. Nearly all wore caps and coats of wool, like in very old news clips or vintage clothing ads. Some of the elders wore flowing capes or cloaks draped around their shoulders. Red woolen mittens and red scarves were all the rage, young and old. And some of the women wore dresses and aprons under their long coats.

  Joseph Snow, wearing his heavy wool mackinaw coat and woodsman cap, fit in easily with the locals. Evie, however, in her bright green synthetic jacket and trendy boots, felt like an oddity just touched down from outer space.

  In a way she was.

  Not a full minute elapsed before comments on Evie’s hair began. One third of her flaming red hair had been overtaken by white. She bore the mark of the Snowe men of old. Rare for a female. And as with her relatives in Ludlow, these villagers seemed endlessly proud and fascinated with this phenomenon. Some of the women congratulated her as if she’d been plucked from obscurity to be engaged to a prince.

  Pack pride.

  The swelling crowd grew to a party and moved gradually away from the open lake. Wooden buildings and hedges of perfectly trimmed spruce trees broke the biting wind. Walking up a slight grade, they reached the center square with its ornament tree, a massive blue spruce.

  One main road ran straight through the heart of the village. Lined with tall posts bearing rustic streetlamps, the road was frozen solid and flanked with snowbanks standing twice Evie’s height. The question forming in her mind regarding the height of the posts was instantly answered by the height of the snowbanks.

  Progress halted in the dooryard of a massive longhouse made of pine logs, a town hall out of the distant past. The logs were old and dark and they appeared to have been halved from tall trees. They were lined vertically rather than being stacked in typical log cabin fashion, which reminded her of a fence pattern. Leaning on these outer walls were many pairs of snowshoes and steel runner sleds and wooden toboggans. The trim adorning the hall’s broad entryway was painstakingly carved with patterns of roots and maple leaves and of various native trees, the center being topped with a pair of crossed wooden oars.

  Unlike a typical longhouse, the ends of this great hall featured entire walls of mortared fieldstone and tall Colonial-style chimneys. Rather than turf, the broad roof was topped with overlapping layers of hand-hewn shingles.

  “Welcome, welcome!” boomed a jovial voice over all the banter.

  Following the voice, Evie saw that a burly old man had appeared in the open doorway of the longhouse. His hair and eyebrows and beard were perfectly white, and the beard at the center fell halfway down his bright red chamois shirt. His trousers were dark wool and held by dark leather suspenders. The long stem of a churchwarden’s pipe protruded from one breast pocket, a rolled up pouch of tobacco from the other. The pocket bearing the pipe had been patched over and the red patch itself was charred and stained with soot.

  He was Old Man Winter, or Father Christmas. She liked him instantly.

  Everyone hushed and regarded him.

  “The fires are roaring and the feast awaits,” he boomed. “Family and friends, come and make merry this fine evening!”

  Chapter 4

  The sleek black wolf trailing the warden was Erica Snow.

  Unlike the woman, she was neither cold nor afraid, jumpy nor troubled by the dead man’s bones. The forest was not threatening, the isolation not intimidating. Just the opposite. It made her feel more alive than anything. Every inch felt like home.

  For months now, since she had partaken in the killing of the hermit, she had found herself obsessed with the death scene. Obsessed with both the memory and the outcome, the compelling fixation of a territorial animal. The act of justice had been a bold unuttered statement. Lucas Merton had violated the laws of the land. Since his demise, the charred remains of his dwelling and his picked-over bones spoke plainly to all other living things. Here justice had been served.

  Days and sometimes weeks would pass. She would roam near and far, in the manner of her mentor, and still find herself compelled to return to that place.

  So she would.

  She was free.

  The woman on the snowmobile was a bad omen. The second human in two days to visit the death scene. Little good came of human meddling, in Erica’s experience. Little good came of them at all. They thought themselves superior because of their weapons and technology, when really they were among the feeblest creatures to crawl upon the earth.

  Weak.

  Meddlesome.

  Clueless.

  Their brainpower was said to exceed all other terrestrial creatures. And yet casual observance argued daily against that theory. Chipmunks were often better planners and homemakers. Grazing animals with tiny brains, lumbering oafs, exhibited greater demonstrations of community. They were certainly physically stronger. And much harder to kill. Bears didn’t even bother about the winters. They just slept.

  But humans were potentially capable beings, Erica knew. Which meant they could not be underestimated. To do so would only play into their hands. But the fact remained that very few ever reached anywhere near their true capacities. That glaring point could not be ignored. A little squirrel had just offered a kind warning to the woman, and she hadn’t the basic sense to heed it crying Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!

  A low growl rose up from the pit of her belly. Fools should never be allotted power. Power of stewardship and especially power to dominate other living things. Abel had taught her that. He had taught her more than anyone else ever had, in far less time. The very history of humans was a sordid list of failures and blunders. He reminded her often. It was proof that testified against both their judgment and their faculties. Even apart from his teachings and her own instincts and slanted view, experience and memories served her well. All the proof she needed in her case against them was on display every day in the wider world via news outlets.

  They had never been trustworthy.

  They never would be.

  Now, the present issue. Should she punish this woman for meddling in affairs beyond her understanding?

  She didn’t know.

  Not yet.

  Crimes justified penalties. That was beyond dispute. Yet even in the harsh wilderness, murder was still murder. She did not wish to be guilty of that which she despised. Experience had hardened her. Her heart pumped the savage blood of her proud ancestry. But she did not wish to be unjust. Death was to be allocated only to those deserving of such punishment.

  It occurred to her that perhaps the female warden intended no harm. Nothing more than a proper burial for the bones. That was no blatant offense.

  But Erica knew better. Humans never let sleeping dogs lie. There would be more to it. The hermit was murdered, as far as the wardens were concerned. Now there would be an investigation. Which would only lead to more wardens and more meddling in the wilderness.

  It was their job, they would say, speaking from their shortsightedness. Abel had made that very clear to her. Job or not, they were sadly ill equipped for their task. Most accurately, they had as much business roaming the backcountry as in the dark depths of the seas.

  In times gone by Erica had been mildly interested in human dramas. Many cases were alike. Somewhere,
somehow, a human would be killed in some shocking manner. Once their story got out, people from all over would take interest in the case. They would read articles and books, and spend hours parked before a TV or computer screen. Not because they knew the person or really cared about the loss of life, but because they simply couldn’t handle not knowing every last detail.

  A strange offshoot of pride and self-centeredness.

  A chilly twinge in her spine took hold of her attention. It was the instinctual sensation of knowing while not completely knowing all details. Now the feeling was telling her something of her family. She sensed them to the north and east, at the village, taking part in Yule. For certain it had been her grandfather in the plane. Possibly her cousin.

  Now she felt suddenly at the center of a bitter struggle. Tug of war. One compulsion urged her to continue after this woman, to keep an eye on her and so learn her full intent. But another compulsion urged her to swing north and run to join her family.

  The sun was sinking low. It would be easy to trail the female warden into her little town and observe her actions from the darkness. From there she could better determine the woman’s fate.

  But also it would be joyous to meet with the pack and share company.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Chapter 5

  Within the great longhouse Evie felt like a gawker. Impressive as the structure was from the outside, it was even greater within. The interior woodwork was nothing short of marvelous. It made even her grandfather’s oak house seem ordinary.

  The high ceilings of the hall were supported with beams of whole trees, the bark still intact and preserved by some method she hadn’t the chance to query. Every inch of plank between the beams was adorned with intricately carved animals and woodland scenes.