She gave as good as she got, a sultry once-over that made Liam glad it had passed him by because he was afraid of what would have happened if it hadn’t. “Erik.” She turned to the older man. “Leave it, Hilary. Erik’s, quote, findings, end quote, will never hold up. No point wasting your energy in a quarrel that will never go anywhere. RPetCo needs you in fighting form for when we get to court.”
Liam was standing a little behind and to the right of the group and he could see everyone’s expression but Jeff’s pretty well. He saw Erik’s lethal grin flash out at both opponents impartially, and there was a broad chuckle in his voice when he replied. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night, Dom.” He winked. “I’m always, ah, up, for that.”
Dom, or Domenica, was not one to be outfaced or even the least little bit embarrassed. She smiled back at Berglund. Jesus. Liam hadn’t seen such a blatant come-on since watching J.Lo strip on screen. “I seldom repeat myself, Erik.”
Erik’s beam edged into a knowing smirk. “More than three or four times, anyway.”
Dom slid her arm through Hilary’s and urged him past Erik and Jeff. “About opening time, isn’t it, Jeff?” She caught sight of Liam and paused, infinitesimally, but it was long enough for Liam to feel an interest that was as searing as it was brief. He found himself blowing out a breath after she had passed by and looked up to find Berglund’s knowing gaze on him. “Careful there, dude. She will eat you alive.”
“I’m a married man,” Liam said.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
It took a moment for his vision to clear completely and when it did he saw the old fart with the walker was a step behind the old fart with the cane. He glanced at Liam in passing and slammed to a halt. “Trooper.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Recognized you from your photo. Blue Jay Jefferson. I’m kind of a fixture in these parts.”
“Sergeant Liam Campbell. Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You were the cop who figured out the prop murder,” Jefferson said. “Tricky.” He held up his left hand. The middle finger had been broken between the first and second joints and healed crookedly. “Made that mistake once myself. Easy enough to do when you’re not paying attention.”
Liam wondered what Wy would say when he told her that.
“You’re out of uniform,” Jefferson said.
“It’s at the cleaners in Anchorage,” Liam said.
“Hey, Blue Jay.” Erik saluted Jefferson with the growler, hopped into a dusty Ford F-150 old enough to be carrying its own cane, and chugged out of the lot.
Blue Jay Jefferson stomped past with his walker to Backdraft, where the woman was holding the door open for him.
“Who the hell is that?” Liam said.
“I’m guessing you mean her,” Jeff said, heavy on the irony. “That’s Domenica Garland. President and CEO of RPetCo Alaska.”
“Oh.” It was a weak response and Liam knew it. Trying to recover some portion of the genitalia that had followed Domenica Garland into the brewpub, he said, “Who are the old farts?”
Jeff sighed. “The one who was foaming at the mouth is Hilary Houten. Also an archeologist. He and Erik have, ah, professional differences. Blue Jay Jefferson is so far as I know the oldest living inhabitant of the Bay who was born here, white or Native. He knows where all the bodies are buried, including the ones he buried himself.” He changed the subject, by chance or design Liam couldn’t tell. “What does your wife think of the house?”
Liam thought of the three-bedroom, four-bathroom house on the edge of a 600-foot bluff that overlooked even more of the Bay than the brewpub did. “She’ll see it today.”
“My wife would have killed me dead if I’d bought a house before she’d had a chance to look at it.”
Liam smiled. “If it’s clean and warm and there is hot water, Wy will be fine with it. She cares more about what she flies than where she sleeps.”
“That’s right, you said she was a pilot.” Jeff cocked his head. “Commercial?”
“Bush. Owned her own air taxi in Newenham. Sold up when this job came along.”
“When does she get here?”
Liam looked out the window at the clear skies beyond. The Bay was flat as a skating rink. “This afternoon, if the weather holds.”
And if Wy hadn’t changed her mind, again, and turned around halfway.
Three
Monday, September 2, Labor Day
SHE HADN’T.
She was taking her time, however. Leaving behind the place where she’d lived much of her life and owned and operated a successful business had not come easily. When Liam had been offered the job in Blewestown they had half-heartedly discussed the possibility of a long-distance marriage. She was a pilot, after all, with two paid-for airplanes with her name on the titles, one of which, if she pushed it, had a cruising speed of upwards of a hundred fifty mph. Liam’s new posting was only about two hundred fifty miles from Newenham, less than two hours in the air in the Cessna, wind and weather permitting.
Not that she would push it because of the wear and tear on the engine, but in the end, neither of them could face the time apart. Newenham had changed on them, too, and recent events made leaving sound more attractive than staying. Her adopted son, Tim Gosuk, was déjà vu, at AvTec in Seward, a town a hundred fifty miles from Blewestown with an actual paved and maintained highway connecting the two, a rarity in Alaska. His current proximity to Liam’s new post was another incentive.
She was still smarting from the sale of Nushugak Air Taxi, though. Fifty percent of small businesses failed by their fifth year. Hers had not failed, it had thrived, and she was leaving behind a decade of experience and goodwill to begin cold somewhere else. It was not an attractive prospect.
Housing in the Alaskan Bush was always at a premium and commanded what one might kindly term extortionate prices, but she wasn’t ready
