Mia drew back. “I’m not running away.”
“Right. Sure. Of course.” Marnie paused again. “Thing is, there’s already a photo of you at the funeral.” She held her screen Mia’s way. “They’re saying the ice princess didn’t cry.”
“Alastair didn’t want me to cry.”
“The social media trolls wanted you to cry.”
“Forget the social media trolls.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s worked for anybody . . . ever.”
* * *
Silas Burke shook the rainwater from his West Slope Aviation ball cap as he entered Galina Expediting’s cavernous warehouse in the small town of Paradise, Alaska. Lightning was muted in the storm clouds behind him, masked by the long summer daylight, while the thunder rolled from mountain to mountain across the massive sky.
He knew the storm was wreaking havoc on Galina’s delivery schedule, frustrating operations manager Raven Westberg. He guessed that was why his boss, Brodie Seaton, owner of West Slope Aviation, had reached out to him. A flash flood yesterday on the central Alaskan haul road meant supply trucks loaded for Galina Expediting were stuck fifty miles outside town.
Silas followed the marked pathway along the concrete wall toward the back of the warehouse and Raven’s office.
“I can’t keep a supply chain running under conditions like this,” Raven complained to Brodie.
The two were standing next to an empty shelving unit, and Brodie nodded to Silas, acknowledging his arrival. “Looks like we’ll have a weather window starting at sixteen-hundred.”
“What’s up?” Silas asked, halting as he came to them. He’d had a text from Brodie a few minutes ago, saw his truck in the Galina parking lot and swung in. He assumed he’d have some flying to do in the next few hours.
“Hey, Silas,” Raven said.
“How can I help?” he asked, looking around the warehouse to see what was under way.
Two aisles over, Kenneth Hines zipped past on a forklift, its electric motor whining through the cavernous building as he headed for the staging area in front of the loading dock. There, AJ and Leon were staging loads of groceries, separating bulk orders manifests and shrink-wrapping product into bricks. The orders would be loaded on a Galina transport truck and taken to the WSA airstrip outside town for final transport by bush plane.
“Viking Mine needs their new fire extinguishers by tomorrow or they’ll be out of safety compliance,” Raven said, as she scrolled through her tablet. “Mile High Research put a rush on a new backup generator. And the Wildflower Lake Lodge is running critical on Cabernet Sauvignon.”
“Priorities,” Brodie said with a slow grin.
Silas smiled too.
“You know the guests at Wildflower Lake,” Raven said.
“They have expectations,” Brodie said.
The two shared an amused look.
They might mock Wildflower Lake Lodge, but Silas knew it was an excellent customer for both Galina Expediting and West Slope Aviation. Owner Cornelia Rusk paid a premium price and expected premium service.
“Xavier and I can take an islander up as soon as the weather breaks,” Silas put in. As WSA’s chief pilot, he kept current on pilot scheduling and availability. “Viking, Mile High then Wildflower Lake will work. What’s the weight on the generator?”
The islander was a stalwart bush plane, with short takeoff and landing capability and plenty of room for cargo.
Raven checked the generator specs on her tablet. “Nine-hundred and twenty-two pounds.”
“How much wine did they order?”
“Twenty cases.”
Silas did a quick calculation inside his head. “All right . . . it’s doable.”
Raven turned and caught Kenneth’s eye, waving him down.
“Three-Zero-Alpha’s your best bet,” Brodie said. “Unless you know something I don’t. The seats are already out.”
“What’s up, boss?” Kenneth asked Raven.
“As soon as the weather breaks, we can take the generator, Viking’s safety stuff and the wine for Wildflower Lake.”
“I’ll truck it over to WSA.” He looked to Silas. “Can you unload okay at Mile High?”
“We’ll be fine,” Silas said. “Xavier’s my copilot.”
“Too bad,” Kenneth said with a regretful grin. Young, strong and capable, it was no secret he liked coming along on the flights as a swamper to load and unload cargo. He gave Silas a mock salute and hustled back to the forklift.
“I’d like to get the fresh produce out next,” Raven said to Brodie. “And the Three Rivers operation needs a fuel haul.”
“The fuel will have to wait until tomorrow. We can send the beavers out with the produce—do it in overlapping loops to save time, assuming the weather holds.”
The WSA fleet had two beaver airplanes. They took smaller payloads than the islanders, but they’d fly though anything and you could land them anywhere.
Raven’s hand-held radio crackled.
“Dixie for Raven,” the Galina Expediting bookkeeper’s voice came through the speaker.
Raven keyed her radio, looking up to the glassed-in mezzanine, where Dixie was looking down at them. “Raven here.”
“Going on a coffee run to the Bear and Bar. You want anything?”
Raven looked at Brodie and Silas, lifting her brow to see if they were in.
“Coffee and a cinnamon bun,” Brodie said.
Silas shook his head. He planned to go straight out to the airstrip and help load the islander.
“You share?” Raven asked Brodie.
Bear and Bar cinnamon buns were legendarily huge.
Brodie chuckled and shook his head as if she was being a wimp. “Sure.”
Raven keyed the radio again. “Two coffees and a cinnamon bun. Thanks.”
“You got it.” Dixie gave a thumbs up through the upstairs glass.
“Catch you later,” Silas said, turning away.
“Your Fairbanks run tomorrow?” Raven asked, stopping him.
Silas turned back. “I’ve got drillers going into Three Rivers, why?”
“Can you bring in an extra passenger?”
“To Three Rivers?”
“Here.”
He guessed it might be possible. “Is he big? Does he have a lot of cargo?”
The mining drillers knew to pack light, but there were already five of them going in the Navajo plane. There wasn’t a lot of extra capacity.
“Small,” Raven said. “It’s a woman. She’s lightweight, maybe with a few days of clothes and toiletries.”
“Sure,” Silas said, catching an odd expression from Brodie.
“What?” he asked his boss.
“Nothing,” Brodie said in a tone that said it was something.
Silas looked to Raven for more information.
“It’s my cousin. From LA.”
“Oh.” Silas was a little surprised to
