He turned and surprised Ms. Petroff with an almost human expression on her face. “Do you know her?” he said.
“Of course,” she said, with what sounded like genuine affection. “That’s Mrs. Karlsen.”
Mrs. Karlsen heard her name and waved. “So nice to see you again, dear. How is your father these days?”
“He’s fine, Mrs. Karlsen.”
“Such a nice boy, Erik, so polite, and my goodness, so very handsome. You look very much like him, my dear.”
Ms. Petroff seemed to stiffen. “I’ll tell him you said so, Mrs. Karlsen.”
“You do that, dear. And you’ll see about my ride, won’t you?”
“Of course, Mrs. Karlsen.”
The old woman fussed with the lapel of Liam’s jacket and looked at him with a frown. “Who are you again?”
“Sergeant Liam Campbell, Alaska State Troopers, Mrs. Karlsen.”
“If you are in the troopers, Sergeant, why aren’t you in uniform?”
“It’s at the cleaners, ma’am.” In a lower voice he said to Ms. Petroff, “Who is Mrs. Karlsen?”
“Sybilla Karlsen, sir,” she said in an equally low voice. “She lives at Sunset Heights, up the hill and across Sourdough Street.”
Liam could feel the beginnings of a slow burn, and reminded himself that he was a stranger in town. “And she made it this far without someone stopping to help her?”
“This would probably be the sixth or seventh time she’s done this this summer, sir.”
“What?” He cast an involuntary look over his shoulder and Mrs. Karlsen beamed at him.
“She’s very wily, sir.”
He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What is done, generally, when she, ah, goes out for a stroll?”
“Generally, Sunset Heights is informed and they fetch her, sir.”
Sunset Heights was informed and Mrs. Karlsen was duly fetched. Liam and Ms. Petroff stood on the porch, waving goodbye. “What was she talking about, late for her set at Barney’s?”
“Barney’s was a nightclub, sir, which Mrs. Karlsen owned and where she sang.”
“In Blewestown?”
“Oh, no, in Anchorage. She was quite well known all over Alaska.”
Liam regarded Ms. Petroff with fascination. “When was this, exactly?”
“In the sixties and seventies, I believe. During pipeline construction.”
Liam had heard stories of the pipeline years and wondered what else went on inside Barney’s besides singing. An unworthy thought. “How did she end up in Blewestown?”
“Her husband built the highway in 1960. They had a cabin here. When he died she sold her club in Anchorage and moved down.”
“So she’s alone now?”
“Her brother, Hilary, is still alive,” she said with exactitude, by which inference Liam guessed Ms. Petroff thought Mrs. Karlsen might as well be alone in the world.
He moved the conversation to a more profitable topic. “I need a map, Ms. Petroff.”
“Your laptop has access to Google Maps, sir. I installed it myself.”
“And thank you for that, but I want a paper map of the entire lower Kenai Peninsula, one that includes the south side of the Bay as well. I want every little nook and cranny at as high a resolution as you can find. If it fit one entire wall of my office, I would not complain.”
Ms. Petroff readjusted her ideas. “I’ll see to it, sir.”
He smiled at her. “I know you will.” She was unaffected by either the smile or the approval. It wasn’t the reaction he was accustomed to receiving from the fairer sex, and he might have pouted if he’d been that guy. He sternly repressed a grin. He looked at the clock on the wall and fortuitously, it was five minutes to three. “I’ll go home after my audience with Her Honor.”
“Yes, sir.”
Eight
Tuesday, September 3
“DO YOU SEE HIM ANYWHERE?”
“Nah. Told you. The movie star had that big party last night and they all went.”
“Erik, too?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m still pissed they didn’t let us go.”
“R-rated.”
“Like we couldn’t dial up anything we wanted to online anyway.” High-pitched middle school giggles. “Kinda cool, though.”
“What?”
“Gabe inviting all the neighbors.”
“Gabe?”
“He said to call him by his first name. That’s kinda cool, too, right?”
“Eh. He just wants them all to help him get that ornament thing passed.”
“Ornament? You mean like you put on the Christmas tree?”
Impatient with pedantry. “It’s a word that sounds like that, I can’t remember. He doesn’t want the tourists knocking on his door.”
“Who does?”
“At least they don’t come down here. Mostly.” A scrape of sneaker heel loosening a cascade of pebbles. “Watch out!”
“Here, grab on! Kyle, grab my hand!”
A yelp, a smack of butt, a crunch of grass, a tear of fabric, and a cross between a scream of panic and a whoop of delight, all ending in a soft thud.
“Kyle! Dude, are you okay? Kyle?” A clumsy, hurried scramble slightly more controlled than the first. Two feet solidly hit beach rock. “Kyle?”
“Get off! I’m fine. Except I think I got sand down my pants.”
Another high-pitched giggle, this one tinged with relief. “Man, you should have seen yourself. You looked like you were coming down Mount Marathon on the Fourth of July.” A pause. “You kinda look like you did, too. You’re elbow’s a mess.”
“Shut up.”
“Dude, what are you doing? Ew!”
“Shut up! I’m just trying to shake the sand out of my underwear.”
“I sure hope none of those people out on boats have their binocs on you. Wow, that’s like a sand wedgie in there.”
“Shut up. Is anybody around?”
“I think we’d know by now.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up. Want to look in the tent?”
“I didn’t slide down that mountain just to poke around in the tide pools.”
“It’s not a mountain. Okay, then, come on.”
Not-so-stealthy footsteps, a rasp of canvas.
“It’s just a bunch of junk.”
“I don’t know. The arrowheads are kind of cool. We could make a bow and—”
“Come on, Kyle. Erik would kill us dead if he knew we’d been messing with his stuff.”
“He should lock it up when he goes home, then.”
“Come on, Kyle. Erik’s a good guy.”
“You just want him to teach you how to be a—a anusologist.”
“It’s archeologist and you know it.”
“Hey, look, a cave! Grab that flashlight, Logan. Man, it’s dark in here.”
“Duh. It’s
