“By the way, you need to replace your batteries.”
“I hope you washed anything you used,” Meghan said.
Dana shrugged playfully.
They found a place in line to try some of the Native Alaska traditional foods. Meghan had her limits. She had a strong stomach, but events like the Memorial Celebration pitted rival cooks together, and sometimes desperate measures meant for desperate times because the deeply planted clay jars of kimchi came out for everyone to try a little.
It wasn’t exactly sanitary or wise to test a year-old canned fish buried in the ground. Meghan knew a lot of the elders swore by the storage method. Meghan liked her canned foods from a factory that didn’t include stewing it and dropping it in a hole. Dana had a broader palette and was on vacation. Meghan warned her friend to taste but not overdo it.
They found a place across the picnic table from Neil and a young woman who had some interest in flying and kept asking Neil about acquiring a pilot license.
It was a few minutes after nine when the boy Meghan recognized milling through the crowds earlier came up to her from behind. He tucked his hands in front of his stomach and addressed Meghan in an official capacity.
“Chief Sheppard,” he said. “I can’t find my sister.”
Chapter Five
Cecil Tuktu was thirteen years old. The impression Meghan got from the adolescent was his intuitiveness. He managed to articulate his concerns and got Meghan’s attention. Dana got involved immediately. A missing child was something that took priority over everything and halted the festivities.
They used the sound system to broadcast to everyone in the sports arena. They had a missing child. Her name was Christine Tuktu, and she was ten years old. It went sideways for Meghan when Cecil and Christine’s mother found her way to the front of the crowd, because the look on her face told Meghan everything she needed to know; the girl was missing.
“When did you see her last?” Meghan asked.
Joane Tuktu was a round woman with mild concern and long raven hair. “I saw her this morning.” It came out in the same way someone put in an order for fast food at the drive thru.
Her partner, a man named Earl Melton, shook his head. “I didn’t see her this morning. We left the house around noon.”
“How about you and I go back to the house,” Meghan said “We’ll take a look. We’ve got an Amber Alert broadcast through the radio.”
“I can take a look around the arena for you,” Dana said.
Meghan gave her friend a look with a nod. She wanted Dana to stay out of it, but a missing child took precedence over jurisdiction. As she walked out of the gymnasium with Joane, Meghan called Oliver.
“Hey, take a look around, Shore Avenue. See if any of the kids are playing around the ice floe,” Meghan said.
“I went by earlier before dark. I saw a couple of kids on four-wheelers. I didn’t see anyone on the ice.”
“That’s good.” Meghan wanted to talk more about the missing girl.
Having her mother riding in the passenger seat of the Suburban filtered her conversation with the sergeant. “We’re heading to Joane Tuktu’s house now. When you finish checking Shore Avenue, head back to the school. Ask around; see if anyone saw her leave the gym. I don’t want anyone to panic.” She glanced at Joane, who started fishing a cigarette from her purse. Meghan caught the woman looking at her before she lit the cigarette. Meghan shook her head before the lighter touched the tip.
“I’ll meet you at the gym when we get back from the house.” Meghan ended the call as the truck bounced over the potholes at the intersection of Friend’s Way and Ptarmigan Way. After a few minutes of travel, Meghan noticed the woman didn’t appear worried. The fact her daughter wasn’t around during the event suggested Joane experienced something similar.
“Does she take off sometimes?” Meghan asked. She wanted it causal. Keeping a level tone showed courtesy without appearing anxious, meant to show interest without suspicion.
Joane waited to get out of the truck to light the cigarette. Parking was easy at Mountain Manor. The thirty units, three-story apartment complex without an elevator, and was only ADA approved for base-level living. The rest of the tenants had to take one of the two stairwells inside the overcrowded building. She managed a few deep puffs before tossing the smoldering cigarette in a snow berm.
Every time Meghan walked into the place, it reminded her of Nancy McCormick. The former tenant of the apartment complex and late sister of Cheryl and Brian Snyder, owners of the Midnight Sun Café, Nancy died at the hands of a real estate property manager. Meghan almost lost her life to the same man. Had it not been for an allergy to peanuts, Meghan’s career as police chief for the city of three thousand people almost abruptly ended.
Meghan saw the various characters peeking from the doors as Meghan followed Joane to the third floor. The few people who didn’t attend the big event at the sports arena stayed home to monitor anyone returning early. Meghan closed her eyes for a few seconds as Joane turned down the hallway. If the woman turned left, Meghan didn’t have to look at Nancy McCormick’s apartment. Joane turned right, and Meghan sighed, following the woman down the corridor. Outside some of the doors, cluttering the hallways, snow boots, cleats, and a pair of snowshoes made natural tripping hazards.
“No one’s supposed to leave anything in the hall,” Joane said. “Rowland comes by about once a week telling everyone he’s going to issue tickets.”
“Okay,” Meghan said.
She stepped over a pair of wet snow pants.
