They went back into the kitchen and Susan sat down at the kitchen table. Peter watched her carefully. The new, short haircut suited her face, but the trough where the bullet had plowed through the top of her skull two weeks before was still scabbed and healing. He thought she looked too pale, her face thin. «You have another headache? Have you been taking your medicine?»

She waved this away. «Don't fuss, Peter. But I'll take a cup of tea.» She was pulling a bottle of Excedrin out of her pocket. «I've got some news. Double news, really.» «How does jasmine sound? Or I have some Constant Comment.»

«Jasmine, thanks. I went into Juneau, to the hospital to see Casper, and Mike was still there! He was sitting next to Casper's bed, going through some papers, very lawyerly with his reading glasses and tie. They were listening to an audiobook, that new one from Charles Frazier. I don't know, Peter. It was nice, very cozy and comfortable. Like they were comfortable together. Casper said he was better, that if physical therapy approved, he might be getting out of the hospital soon. I got the feeling they were talking about going home together. And they're both coming for the potlatch. Jesse and Phillip, too, right?»

«They sure are, cameras at the ready. Those papers weren't subpoenas, were they? They didn't have my name on them?»

«I don't know why you don't like Mike. He reminds me of you a little bit, the way he talks. He's just shaky, Peter. His breakup, it must have been rough.» Peter goggled at her, prepared to explain exactly the many ways he and Mike were totally different, but she ignored him and popped a couple of Excedrin, washed them down with the tea. «So what else is exciting in the world of law enforcement?»

«That pilot…» Susan tapped the edge of the table with her pen. «Those guys are up to something. I don't know what, yet, but whatever they're doing, it's illegal and I'm going to catch them. They picked the wrong island.» She reached for the cup again, a pretty golden brown pottery mug from Sebastian's workshop, and wrapped her hands around the warm clay. «Never mind. But I bet you dollars to doughnuts those guys are smuggling. Something, I don't know what.» She smiled, her eyes very chilly and dark. «Okay, I'll tell you. Furs. That's what I think. Endangered species furs, and there's Russia just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Seals, polar bears…»

She pulled a photograph out of her pocket and handed it to him. «I got this from that woman down in Monterey. It's a picture Jacob had on his volunteer desk at the rape crisis center.»

Peter studied the little photograph, a very young, smiling Jacob with his arm around the shoulder of a slender, fragile-looking girl with dark hair. Miriam. Susan took a sip of tea, closed her eyes wearily. «Listen. She sent me the mug shots too, Peter, from when Nelson was arrested. Monterey sent them along with the photo of Jacob and Miriam. I didn't recognize him. I mean, I could see that it was him, but I had to look for it. I wouldn't have known him with just a casual glance. I don't know if Jacob recognized him, but Nelson must have thought he did, or would have. I think Jacob called him on the phone from upstairs to make sure he had a ride out to the airport, and Nelson got him to come down to the kitchen on some pretext, then just pulled him outside. Nelson probably had been freaking out for

days, getting more and more paranoid. He meant to get rid of him, and to tell you that Jacob left while you were gone, but Travis came out to check on their voices too quickly. Nelson had a chance, like everyone does, Peter. And he used his life to hurt people.»

«I wouldn't have believed that Jacob left unless Nelson remembered the cello. If I had come home, and the cello was still in my bedroom, then I would have known something had happened. Maybe that's what he was looking for when he went through Jacob's bedroom the next night. The cello, not the journal.»

«Well, if there was a journal, he must have destroyed it or something. We never found a trace.»

«Susan, can I have this picture of Jacob and Miriam? For the potlatch? We can make the potlatch for both of them.»

«Yeah, that's why I brought it. Everybody is really excited down at Tiny's. He's got a huge pot of moose stew on the stove, and I must have seen twenty salmon sitting on ice. I think he's gonna put them on the grill outdoors. This is the first time we've had a combination potlatch and Elvis contest! Oh, the people from the Women's Crisis Center in Juneau called me, too. They said you can decide how you want to use the money we raise. Like, you can donate money in Jacob's name to fund scholarships, or treatment programs, send it to their general fund for emergencies, or we can keep the money here, use it for local programs.»

Peter shook his head. «Susan, I don't know. What do you think? Maybe we should call Monterey? See what they recommend?»

«I think an alcohol and drug education program, Peter. For the elementary school.» «Really? The kids need something that early?»

«Yes, absolutely. I know it's not anything flashy, Peter. I mean, you can't put a brass plaque up with his name on it for something like this, but it's a quiet sort of gift, like a stone thrown into a pond, and the ripples may go on forever. Ripples from Jacob's life, and his

death here with us, reaching out to how many people. Who knows?» She shrugged as if it didn't matter, but Peter could see on her face how much this meant to her. «Maybe with this program, we could change… Peter, we could change everything.» * * * * *

Peter didn't know how to bring up the lost fishing shack to Sebastian. Cabin, not shack, he reminded himself. Don't call it a shack.

Sebastian turned him into the shower spray with soapy, slick hands. «Peter, stay with me. Stay in the moment. You're thinking too much again. I think you're developing that adult ADD.»

Stay in the moment, okay. The moment was wrapping his brawny arms around Peter's chest, pulling him back against a gorgeous body slick and dripping with sandalwood soap bubbles. Peter's head was spinning.

«Sebastian, listen. I've been thinking. If you want, why don't we take some time, go up the Yukon this summer. See about rebuilding the fishing shack.» He closed his eyes. «Cabin, I mean. Your cabin.»

Sebastian looked down at him, his dark face sardonic. «My fishing shack.» He shook his head, and when Peter started to speak, he reached up and put his fingers over Peter's mouth. «Hush, baby. Just let it go, Peter. You concentrate on learning to let things go. I'm gonna concentrate on staying. You and me? We'll try from here. From here with the warm towels and the heated towel racks.»

Peter laughed. «Okay, Sebastian. But if you start getting…you know, the way you get, just let me go with you, okay? Take me with you, if you need to go. I'm not prepared to lose you.»

Sebastian stepped out of the shower, put a warm towel over Peter's head, then pulled another off the rack and rubbed it across his back.

When he was dry he wrapped the towel around his waist. «Peter, listen to this.» He was putting a CD in the player, and Eric Clapton's heartbreaking guitar filled the bedroom. Sebastian pulled him into his arms. «This is it, right? This is the music he played?»

«'River of Tears,' yeah.» Peter closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around Sebastian's waist. He was still warm from the shower, and the music washed over him, tragic, and just for a moment it felt like he and Sebastian were holding Jacob's slender young body between them. Sebastian's hands were tender on his back. «Thanks, Sebastian.» Sebastian was looking over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. «Peter…»

Jacob's cello was sitting quietly in the corner, where it had been all along. Sebastian moved over to it, opened the case. When he lifted the cello out, a small brown leather journal was tucked inside.