Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“They went to the old places, recovered the rotting totem poles, and copied them, down to the last detail. Many of the totems you see now are copies from that time. There’s a place I’ll show you, called Totem Bight, that has some of the best ones on display. Since then, the art of carving has been passed down from fathers to sons and grandsons. I always hoped that my son would help me finish my grandfather’s totem. . . .” His voice trailed off. “But my son is half-white, and that’s a story for another time.”

“Was your father a carver?”

“He might have become a great one. He had the talent. But it wasn’t to be.”

Now Emma recalled the story of how John’s father had killed a man in a protest over the Trans-Alaska pipeline and died in prison. John’s tragic family history was still painful. If she wanted a pleasant day, she would be wise to stop prying into his past.

* * *

They reached town in time for Emma’s appointment with Judge Falconi. John drove her up a winding road to the foot of a wooden stairway. At the top was a blue-gray frame home with a Prairie-style roof and a broad, covered porch overlooking the town and the water.

“I’m sure the judge won’t mind if you come with me,” Emma said.

John’s displeasure showed in his face. “I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Call when you’re done. I’ll pick you up right here.”

As Emma watched him drive away, she remembered yesterday’s reaction to the judge’s name. John Wolf was a man of raw nerves and dark secrets. Trying to understand him was like walking through a labyrinth, with something new and unexpected at every turn.

She climbed the stairs to the house, which was small but so pleasing to the eye that Emma had to pause near the top of the steps to study it. The side that faced the water was mostly glass. Sliding doors opened onto a sheltered porch, furnished with white Adirondack chairs, bright-colored cushions, and lush potted plants. At the top of the stairs, rhododendrons, past blooming but still green, framed the winding stone pathway that led to the front door.

She hesitated, her finger hovering over the doorbell. It was so early in the day. Maybe she should have called first to remind the judge that she was coming. But it was too late for that now.

Judge Vera Falconi answered the door on the first ring. Not much taller than Emma herself, she was in her sixties, with olive skin, hawkish features, striking black eyes, and a wealth of elegantly coiffed iron gray hair. The black pants ensemble that draped her lean body was accented with a Navajo-style turquoise necklace that looked like the real thing.

“Come in, dear. I was just making tea.” She ushered Emma indoors with a welcoming smile. “We can drink it in the kitchen.”

The inside of the house was immaculate and as elegant as its owner. Emma followed the judge to the kitchen. “Thank you so much for offering to help me, Judge Falconi,” she said, “especially since I’m not able to pay you right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help. And please call me Vera. I hope you like chai.” After seating Emma, she poured the spicy red tea into cups as delicate as eggshells, and passed Emma a plate of homemade hazelnut cookies. “Detective Traverton told me your story, so you won’t have to go through the ordeal of repeating it. My goodness, dear, what an awful time you’ve been through. Boone Swenson’s always had a lawless streak, but even I can’t believe he’d go this far.”

“You know Boone?”

“Ketchikan’s a small town. I was a judge here for almost twenty-five years.” Vera offered Emma cream and sugar for her tea, then added it to her own. “Sam mentioned that it was John Wolf who rescued you.”

The sound of John’s spoken name had touched off a surprising quiver beneath her ribs. She stirred her tea before answering. “Yes. He’s taken me under his wing, so to speak, until I decide what to do next. I think he’ll be glad to see the last of me.”

Vera smiled. “John’s a good-hearted man. But I suspect he’s never forgiven me for what happened fifteen years ago. Did he tell you about it?”

“No, but I’ve wondered.”

“You know about his divorce?” Vera nibbled a cookie. Her nails were neatly trimmed. She wore a plain gold band on the third finger of her right hand. Emma guessed that she must be a widow.

“I know he was married to Boone’s sister, and that they had a little boy,” she said.

“Yes. David.” Vera sipped her tea. “I was the family court judge who ruled in their custody hearing. It was a heartbreaking case. For John, the sun rose and set with that little boy. He adored David. But he was an alcoholic, and he’d gotten worse, to the point of recklessness, since the separation. He’d even been arrested for DUI. Marlena was about to get remarried to a stable man with a nice home. She’d asked for full custody with no visitation rights.”

“And that’s what you gave her?” Emma asked.

“I did what any responsible judge would do. I put the child’s welfare first. And I don’t think John will ever forgive me for that.”

“But he’s been sober for years—that’s what he told me. And I have no reason to doubt him.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Vera s

aid. “John’s done an admirable job of turning his life around. A few years ago, after he’d stopped drinking, he petitioned the court again for the right to see David. I might have ruled in his favor that time. But I’d moved on by then. Another judge heard the case.”

“And John lost again.”

“Marlena showed up. She convinced the judge that her son was at a vulnerable age, and being forced to spend time with a man he barely knew, a man known to act rashly, would cause the boy undue distress and possible harm. As far as I know, John hasn’t tried again.”