“You asked him about it?”
“Of course. It was one of the first things we talked about.”
“And you believed him.”
She drew herself up and Liam saw a resurgence of the Ms. Petroff of old, and, truthfully, was glad of it. “Of course.”
Liam looked at Wy. Wy shrugged. “Okay, Ms. Petroff. I’ll be talking to your aunt and uncle to confirm your presence at the picnic, but that’s all for now.”
She raised her chin and met his eyes squarely. “Am I fired, sir?”
“Did you go through my desk, Ms. Petroff?”
Her shoulders slumped a little, and then straightened again. “I did, sir. I wanted to see what your thoughts were on Erik’s murder.”
He stared out the window for a long time with no appreciation for the view. Finally he looked back at her. “I’m a cop, Ms. Petroff. People lie to me all day long every day on the job. I expect the truth from the people I work with. I rely on it. I can’t do my job without it.” He stared at her.
There was a chin wobble, instantly repressed. “I understand, sir. I’ll clean out my desk in the morning.”
“You’ll show up for work at eight a.m. and do your job,” he said firmly, “and every day afterward.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Ms. Petroff.” He met her eyes with a hard stare. “Don’t let me down again.”
She stood up and held out her hand. “I won’t, sir.”
They shook on it. Ms. Petroff got in her Jeep and crept down the hill while Wy and Liam extinguished the lantern and made sure the door was on the latch. Liam had been right; there was no lock.
They stepped out into the soft fall evening and stood in the middle of the small, cleared area. “Gloriosky,” Wy said.
Liam, like her, surveying the view, couldn’t disagree. The sun was an hour away from setting but it was setting at their backs, so that the light was crawling up the Kenai Mountains and leaching away into the deepening blue of the sky. Termination dust encroached only on the very peaks so far. The light of a boat approached the head of the Spit, making for the boat harbor and home. If there was a swell on the water’s surface it was hidden by distance.
“The first time I met Sybilla I took her back to the post,” Liam said.
“Yes?”
“She asked Ms. Petroff how her father was. Ms. Petroff said he was fine, and Sybilla said, ‘Such a nice boy, Erik. So polite.’” He looked at Wy. “Sybilla knew Erik was Sally Petroff’s father.”
“She was a teacher. They always know everything. She said she warned him. I’ll bet it had something to do with not stirring up old trouble.”
“Yeah, and see how well that turned out,” he said. “I knew she reminded me of someone the first time I saw her. Erik had given me a tour of his dig the day before, and I didn’t put it together. Some detective, me.”
“You got me off the hook, not once but twice. Your detecting skills are okay by me.”
He put his arm around Wy and pulled her in, smiling into her upturned face. “I love you.”
She smiled back. “I love you, too. And the sooner we’re home the sooner I can demonstrate how much.”
“Motivation,” he said. “I fear for the springs on my Penis Extender.”
There was a rustle from the side of the clearing and they looked around to see a lynx with five kittens coalesce out of the undergrowth. They took no notice of Liam and Wy, and the two of them stood very still, watching the dappled cats with their enormous paws pad silently by, to melt into a copse of scrub spruce as if by magic.
Wy let out her breath in a long sigh. “That was worth moving here all by itself.”
“I know,” Liam said. “Basically all the wildlife I remember from Newenham is the fish.”
“And the raven.”
“Bite your tongue.”
Hand in hand they started walking toward the steep slide of pitted gravel that passed for a road.
There was a soft squawk from the top of a tree and Liam stopped so fast his heel skidded in the dirt. “What was that?”
They looked around but whatever it was made no further noise, and they were left to continue on their way in peace.
Twenty
Monday, September 9
MONDAY MORNING LIAM WALKED INTO the post to find Ms. Petroff at her desk. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning. All well here?”
“It’s only one minute after eight, sir.”
“Ms. Petroff, did you just make a joke?”
“I might have, sir, but I take no responsibility for how well your ears work.”
“Less of your sass, Ms. Petroff.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung his ball cap on the coatrack and sat behind his desk. The folder holding the square and his scribbled notes on each person of interest were exactly where he’d left them in the drawer on Friday. He pulled it out and spread everything across his desk once more.
On Saturday morning he had spoken with Ms. Petroff’s aunt and uncle, and they had confirmed that she was indeed at the picnic on the beach on Monday evening and gone home with them when it ended. Evidently everyone in Blewestown who wasn’t at Gabe McGuire’s party had spent the afternoon and evening on the beach in a last gasp of summer celebration—maybe the beach party was a reward for the morning march—and there were hundreds more witnesses who could attest as to her whereabouts. He added her name to the outer edge of the square, on the other side of her parents.
On Sunday afternoon Wy had flown him back to Kapilat for a second interview with Alexei and Kimberley Petroff. Kimberley had answered the door and very nearly slammed it in his face.
“Let him in, Kimberley,” Alexei said from behind her. He sounded tired.
They settled into the living room again in what was apparently now their assigned seating, although this
