Dana Stabenow - So Sure Of Death

Liam just bet they did. “Tell me, Tanya, how long have you been doing this job?”

“Three years. I'll only have one more summer here, though. I'm putting myself through the University of Alaska, Fairbanks, and I'm in my senior year.”

It might have been Liam's imagination, but it seemed as if she raised her voice, not to any blatant pitch but just a little, just enough to be heard in her boss's office. “I see,” he said. “What's your major?”

“Business administration.”

Liam couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. “A natural choice.”

“I thought so,” she said, and referred back to the summary. “All the checkmarked names live on their boats. However, some of the guys on the crews have girlfriends in town, so they won't be every night on their boats.”

“Mr. Ballard mentioned that.”

“I've put the phone numbers of the skippers who maintain apartments in town next to their names. I don't often have to call them, because there is usually always at least one deckhand on board overnight. You know. Standing watch.”

“I understand,” Liam said gravely, and refolded the summary and pocketed it. “Have you met a deckhand called Max Bayless?”

“I have.”

“Do you know which boat he's on this summer?”

She thought. “Not on one of ours, not so far as I know. I think I heard he was working for someone out of Togiak.”

Liam looked at the map on the wall in back of her. “That's on the coast southwest of Kulukak, right?”

She rose to her feet in a smooth, economical movement and pointed first at Newenham, then Kulukak, then Togiak, tracing the coast between them with one slender forefinger, calling off the names one at a time.

Great. Yet another plane trip in his future. For some odd reason, the prospect did not terrify him as much as it once would have. Maybe bailing out in midair had burned out his nerve endings. “You sound like you know pretty much everything there is to know about the fishing fleet, Tanya.”

Her steady gaze met his, with the merest lift of an eyebrow to indicate acknowledgment. Not susceptible to flattery, Ms. Tanya Bernard. Liam plowed on. “Do you think you could find out which boat Max Bayless is on this summer, and where that boat is at the moment?”

“I think so.” She paused. “I could put it out on the schedule in the morning, if you like.”

“The schedule?”

“We keep a radio schedule with our tenders every morning at ten.”

“No.” His voice was abrupt and he saw her eyes widen. He moderated his tone. “I would prefer that my looking for him is not broadcast over the air. Is there another way you can find out?”

“Several, although it'll take longer.”

“That's fine. Thank you. Here's the number of the post.”

She inclined her head in the same gracious gesture as before, with all the dignity of the queen of England and none of the pretentiousness.

“Have you met Mr. Bayless?”

“A few times.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

The brown eyes regarded him steadily. “Such as?”

“Such as a report of a blowup he might have had with David Malone, after Malone fired him from his job on theMarybethialast summer.”

“I remember. He was angry. He made a lot of threats.”

“Such as?”

She hesitated. “Well, he said he was going to kill David. He also said he was going to blow up his boat.”

“Did you hear him say this?”

She shook her head. “No. One of the fishermen who was in the harbor was telling me about it when he came in to settle up at the end of the summer. Daniel, Daniel Walker.”

He jotted the name down, and the name of Walker's boat, theAndrea W.Notebook folded and restowed, he looked at Tanya, her sleek cap of hair, her steady gaze. An intelligent and composed young woman. “Did you know the Malones?”

Her face closed up again. “Yes. David Malone came often to the office, to draw an advance, to get copies of his tickets. And of course he came in every fall to settle up.” She swallowed, and said, steadily enough, “Is it true that he is dead?” She saw his look. “I knew something was wrong by the expression on your face. I made a couple of calls. Is he dead?”

“Yes. Along with his wife, his two children, his brother and both deckhands.”

She put a hand over her eyes in an involuntary gesture.

Liam took a chance. “Forgive me, Tanya, but did you know Mr. Malone on a personal basis?”

She dropped her hand. “No,” she said, with determined composure. “I knew Dave only from the office. Well…” She hesitated for a moment. “He did sit with me at Bill's once, when I was having dinner there one evening, he and his brother.” The curl of her lip told Liam that Tanya shared Ballard's opinion of Jonathan Malone.

“You liked him.”

She met his eyes without flinching. “Yes.”

“If he hadn't been married…?”

She took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “Does your investigation require that I answer that question?”

“No,” Liam said, conscious of a feeling of shame. “No, Tanya, it doesn't. I'm sorry.” He got up to leave.

Her voice stopped him at the door. “If he hadn't already been married when I met him, Mr. Campbell, he would have been shortly thereafter. But he was.”

“Did he feel that way, too?”

Again she hesitated. “I think so, yes.” Her smile was bleak. “I made sure we never had the opportunity to speak in private.”

He nodded. “You were both better people than I was,” he said, and went out the door before he had to face the surprise he knew would show on her face.

Wy had dogged Prince from the dig all the way into Newenham, unloaded McLynn and accepted a last-minute charter to Three Lake Lodge for two corn growers from Iowa. They were both blond and blue-eyed, short and stocky and pink-cheeked with excitement. They'd never been to Alaska before, they'd never fished for salmon and, as it turned out, they'd never flown in a small plane, either, as was made manifest when one of them had to throw up into his brand-new hip waders while they were going through Jackknife Pass.

The good news was that he did use the waders, without spattering so much as a drop on the brand-new carpet she'd just installed in the 180, and that they paid in advance in cash. She arranged to pick them up a week later and made the trip home a short one. It had been a long, long day, and she was weary to the bone.

“Tim?” she said, as she walked in the door of the white clapboard house on the bluff of the Nushagak River. “You home?”

“I'm in here.”

The kitchen. It figured. Tim spent half his life with his head in the refrigerator.

“What's for dinner?” She closed the door.

“I have to cook again?” he whined, but she heard the smile in his voice.

“It's your turn, I told you that this morning,” she said, and then halted in surprise in the kitchen doorway. “Jo!”

The short, stocky woman with the blond, frizzy hair came around the counter and enveloped Wy in a warm, solid hug. “Hey, girl.”

Wy returned the hug with as much energy and enthusiasm as she was capable of on this day, and Jo pulled back. “You're a wreck.”

“Gee, thanks, you look great, too.”

“I can go away, if you need me to.”

Wy made a rude noise. “Like hell. If I can't be mean to you, who can I be mean to?”

Jo's green eyes were shrewd. “Liam?”

Wy looked at Tim, leaning against the kitchen counter, dipping a plain hot dog into a jar of mustard. He was slight and dark, with flat cheekbones and compact frame. His dark eyes were wary and suspicious, and much older than the rest of him. No child of twelve should look out on the world with such distrust.