Дана Стейбнау - Spoils of the Dead

“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 a cave.”

“How far back does it go?”

“I have a bad feeling about this, Kyle. We should go.”

“Man, this goes back pretty far. I thought this side of the Bay was all sand.”

“Silt. From the glaciers.”

“Whatever. Hey, there’s a little crack here. I think I can reach through it.”

“Careful, there might be something waiting to munch you on the other side.”

“Shut up. I think I can—”

“Kyle, wait, what are you doing?”

“Hand me the flashlight. Hey. I think there’s another cave.”

“Kyle, I don’t think you should—”

“I think I can—”

“Where are you going? Kyle—”

A high, excited giggle. “Man, you think it’s dark out there!” Scrabbling sounds. “Oh shit!” A trip, a startled cry, a thunk, some more swearing.

“Kyle! What happened? Are you okay?”

Kyle screamed.

Nine

Tuesday, September 3

“NICE PLACE.”

“Nice, my ass, it’s gorgeous.”

Jo laughed. “You win, it’s gorgeous. How big?”

“About fifteen hundred square feet, I think Liam said.”

“Not necessarily a McMansion.”

“Don’t need one. Let’s check out the garden.” They went through the door that opened onto the deck and perambulated around the yard that stretched to the edge of the bluff. Someone had been ruthless in keeping the brush trimmed pretty close to the ground between the deck and the edge of the bluff, and Wy glanced back at the house. Of course, to protect the view.

The yard was edged with flowers, almost all of them bloomed out by now but there were a few Shasta daisies left. “I think these are mostly Alaska wildflowers,” Wy said when they came to the end of the circuit. “Cranesbill, Arctic iris, sedum, starflowers. Is that a daylily?”

“Since when are you an authority on Alaska wildflowers?”

“I know a forget-me-not when I see one.”

Jo came to a stop at the front of the yard and looked out at the view. The airport was front and center, with the Spit pushing out into the Bay in back of it. “What’s the elevation here?”

“About a thousand feet, Liam said.”

“Spring is gonna be late and winter will be early.” Jo turned to survey the house and grounds. “How much land comes with the house?”

“Twenty acres, ten more or less on each side of the road.”

Jo smiled. “Enough room to mow your own strip.”

Wy smiled. “Liam said there was one put in by the original homesteader. It wasn’t maintained and the fireweed overran it. We’ll have to buy a mower or hire somebody with one.”

Jo turned to face Wy directly. “What’s next?”

Impossible to pretend to Jo. “I don’t know, exactly.”

Jo gestured at the airport and at the lake that hosted the seaplane base. “Plenty of flying available here, it looks like.”

“There are already two air taxis and half a dozen flightseeing operations in business on the Bay.”

“Yes, and an FBO with a G-2 parked out in front of it. You built up a good business in Newenham, Wy. Had to hurt to leave it behind.”

Wy shook her head once with a finality Jo had to recognize. “It was time to move on.”

“The relatives in Icky getting to be too much of a pain?”

Wy shrugged.

Jo knew that obstinate look. “You’re a little too young to retire.”

“I imagine I’ll pick up some jobs here and there while I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

As if on cue, Wy’s cell rang, and Jo laughed when she heard the ringtone.

Wy, a little flustered, turned her back. “Hey. We’re both here at the house. You? Okay, that sounds good.” She looked over her shoulder at Jo. “You, too.” She hung up.

Jo, still laughing, said, “Your ringtone for Liam is ‘I Want Your Sex’?”

“No,” Wy said, pink staining her cheeks, “my ringtone for everyone is ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ but Liam thinks it’s funny to change my ringtone to whatever he wants when I’m not looking.”

Jo’s laughter faded and her voice was gentle when she spoke again. “You thinking of adopting again?”

“Because the last attempt went so well?”

“She had family.”

“Yeah, and my relatives in Icky helped so much.” Wy sighed. “I’m thirty-eight, Jo, and Liam says he doesn’t care one way or the other.”

Prudently, Jo kept her own counsel on the matter. With determined lightness she said, “And Tim could provide you with some grandchildren. I dropped into Seward on the way down, took him out for a burger. He looks good. He coming down here when he’s got his A and P license?”

“We’d like that, of course, but he’ll need to go where the jobs are.”

Jo hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m seeing plenty of airplanes at the Blewestown airport.”

“What about you?” Wy said. “You and Mason still making the beast with two backs?”

Jo grinned. “When we feel so moved.”

Wy flung up a hand. “Spare me the details, please.”

“You asked. How long can I stay?”

“Long as you want. Plenty of room.”

Jo gave her the side-eye. “I expect Liam will be overjoyed to hear that.”

“Liam has a bedroom door with a lock on it and me on the right side of the lock. Liam won’t care.”

Jo laughed out loud. “So that answers any questions I might have about how things are with you and Liam.”

“I’m not flying today,” Wy said. “Let’s break open a bottle of wine.”

The courthouse was a sprawling, one-floor building with gray siding and a lot of spruce trees crowding up like they wanted to personally hear testimony in all the cases. The grass beneath one of them rustled and he saw a pair of spruce grouse pecking busily away at the pine cones scattered on the ground. Not ravens, which was good.

Judge DeWinter was in her fifties, five-five, untidy blonde hair going to gray, brown eyes, and a chin like Ben Affleck before the beard. She produced a bottle of Glenlivet and motioned for him to bring two paper cups from the coffee setup on the credenza across the room. “Sit,” she said, pouring.

He and Judge DeWinter were going to get along just fine. He traded her coffee for his Scotch. The smell of eighteen-year-old single malt hit his nostrils and he froze in place with the cup just inches from his lips. But not for long. “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said with feeling.

“Long day?”

“Just getting used to the territory. And the help. Takes some concentration.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “And you’re in mufti.”

“What does that even mean, Judge?”

“Means you’re not in uniform, and so might not be experiencing that deference your office might otherwise expect.”

“I’ve had some issues with my uniforms in the past.” He looked down at his Pendleton shirt and jeans, worn at elbows and knees but otherwise clean and neat. “And I’m not officially on duty until next Monday.” She snorted. “Ah,” he said. “You know Colonel Barton then.”

“We’ve met.”

“In court?”

She toasted him and sipped. “Indeed.”

A battle of the Titans, he thought. Or maybe just the immovable object meeting the irresistible force. Would have been nice to have had a front row seat to that. So long as he wasn’t testifying.