“Spectacular,” Wy said. “Is this the judge’s house?”
“Yeah. Long commute.”
“Worth it.”
There was a turnout before the judge’s driveway and Liam pulled around and headed back up the dirt road. The weenie wagger had disappeared, lucky for them.
“You can see why she’s annoyed.”
“I checked,” Liam said. “There are no covenants in this subdivision. They can do what they want on their own property. The road, however, is maintained by the borough, and by ordinance they can’t impede the right of way.”
Wy chuckled. “I can hear you getting your ticket book out.”
They pulled up at the stop sign. “Heavenly View Drive,” Liam said.
“Trite but true,” Wy said. “And we live right on it.” She leaned over to kiss him. “This might just work out, Campbell.”
He grinned all the way home.
Fifteen
Thursday, September 5
THE BLEWESTOWN CHAMBER OF COMMERCE opened at nine and Liam walked in the door at nine-oh-one and was still late to the party. Someone was giving a speech in front of a crowd of about fifty people. Liam remained beside the door to watch over everyone’s heads. It was a large room with a desk in front of a door leading to offices in the back. The floor had a tiled representation of Chungasqak Bay on it with a Disney orca frolicking in the water. As appeared to be chronic with Blewestown construction, a wall of windows overlooked the Bay, with an adjacent wall covered in acrylic holders filled with brochures advertising halibut fishing, flightseeing, hotels and B&Bs, restaurants, art galleries and gift shops. Beneath it a newspaper dispenser made out of shellacked plywood held a stack of that year’s Visitor’s Guide.
The speaker was a man, early fifties, brown/brown, medium height, thickening around the middle. His scalp gleamed through a thin combover in the overhead lights. He wore a sports jacket that was one size too small over a button-down and jeans. Like at least half of the people in the room he wore Xtratufs. They appeared to be part of the civic uniform.
He was speaking with enthusiasm, so much so that an already high voice threatened to reach Mickey Mouse territory, but most of the time he managed to rein it in to a level audible to the human ear. “So, ladies and gentlemen, join me in thanking our very own Blue Jay Jefferson for making this incredible donation of $50,000 to the Blewestown Chamber of Commerce!”
There was a round of applause, although the man in front of Liam said to the woman standing next to him, “Blue Jay didn’t even let Berglund get cold in his grave.”
“He’s going to piss off everyone on the south side of the Bay for sure.”
“Been doing that for years.”
“Why has he got such a hard-on for drilling in the Bay, anyway?”
“Who the hell knows? Maybe he owns stock in RPetCo.”
Liam wondered why a big donation to the Blewestown Chamber of Commerce should piss off everyone on the Bay who didn’t live in Blewestown.
An informal sort of receiving line formed as the applause died and as it did Liam could see the object of all the attention. He recognized him immediately as the old fart with the walker he’d seen on the street on Monday, trying to kill the protesters with laser beams from his eyes. He’d also been at Backdraft. Liam watched as he shook everyone’s hand and called them by their first names and asked after their children and grandchildren and brushed off any attempt to compliment him on his generosity. “Aw hell, come on now. It ain’t much but it’s what I can do.”
The room began to empty out and Liam saw another man standing next to Jefferson, and he recognized him, too. It was the old man who had accompanied Domenica Garland to Jeff’s pub. Hilary Houten, that was it. Houten looked a lot like Blue Jay Jefferson but that might have been because both men were in a similar state of decay. Old people always stood out in Alaska because there were so few of them. Alaskan winters weren’t kind to old bones and retirement turned a lot of them into snowbirds. They’d come back just long enough to not lie on their Permanent Fund Dividend applications and head Outside again, for Oceanside or Sun City or Tampa, where it never snowed and sunrise and sunset stayed the same damn time year round, or near enough as not to keep you up all the damn night. Those who had managed not to blow everything they’d earned during the years of big oil spent their winters in Kona, which along about January seemed like a good idea to Liam, too.
All three men had been present at McGuire’s party on Monday night.
The door closed behind the last person who wasn’t Liam and he walked forward. “I’m guessing you are Aiden Donohoe,” he said. “Sergeant Liam Campbell, Alaska State Troopers. I’m in charge of the new post.”
“Of course, of course,” Donohoe said heartily, grabbing Liam’s hand. His was damp and a little slippery and Liam was able to slide right out of it. He looked at the old man on Donohoe’s left. “Mr. Jefferson.”
“Sergeant. We howdied at Jeff’s but we ain’t shook. Call me Blue Jay. Everyone does.” The bony hand was covered in papery skin and had a surprisingly strong grip, and his voice was surprisingly deep. “This here’s a buddy of mine, Hilary Houten. He’s got some fancy dan degree in old bones. For forty years I been telling him to get a real job but he’s even better at ignoring me than he is looking at bones.”
“Everybody’s good at ignoring you, Blue Jay, and a good thing, too.”
Hilary Houten’s hand felt papery and fragile. Liam kept his grip gentle and released Houten’s hand as soon as he
