Дана Стейбнау - Spoils of the Dead

Jo looked from one to the other and rolled her eyes. “Young love. Gag me.”

“We eating in or out tonight?” Liam said.

Wy finished off her glass and stood up. “In. I got a take-out lasagna and Jo tossed a salad.”

Did you check it for wolfsbane? Liam wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Look!” Jo said, pointing.

A moose cow and calf had wandered into the yard, stripping fireweed stalks of their flowers. They moseyed around the perimeter of the yard and vanished into the trees.

“It always amazes me how they disappear like that,” Jo said.

“I know, right? They’re so big.”

Wy handed Liam a big wooden bowl full of green. “Table’s set and the lasagna is ready to come out of the oven.”

“Great, I’m starved. I had the world’s most uninspired burger for lunch.”

They sat down at the dining room table and dished out. “What brings you to Blewestown, Jo?” Liam said.

“I’m on vacation,” Jo said blandly, and in spite of himself Liam laughed out loud.

Jo, amazingly, laughed, too. “Yeah, all right. I assume you saw the big rig parked up the Bay when you came into town.”

“It was hard to miss,” Liam said dryly.

“On lease to RPetCo. They want to do some exploratory drilling.”

“In the actual Bay?”

She nodded. “There’s oil and gas being produced in commercial quantities up and down the Inlet. Chungasqak Bay is the next geographical step, and it’s a hell of a lot more accessible than, say, the Kamishak. Easier to supply, too, with Blewestown right here and on the road. They’ve got a deepwater dock, too.”

“All the mod cons.” The lasagna wasn’t bad. He dished up a second slice. “I’d have to guess there are one or two people unhappy at the prospect.”

Jo snorted. “Good guess. Most of the tourism businesses in town and all the fishermen, just for starters. The Chamber of Commerce, run by a guy named Donohoe, is giddy at the prospect of overseeing the next Prudhoe Bay, but he has to keep it on the down low as half of the chamber members are fishermen and they all talk like they’re watching Deepwater Horizon on repeat. About a dozen small cruise ships a year dock here and their industry rep doesn’t sound thrilled, either, but is otherwise making no move.”

“Where is the local Native association on the issue?”

“There are a bunch of them, about one per community. One, the Kapilat Native Association, invested in bandwidth back in the day so they’ve got a lot of money and therefore the loudest voice. Generally speaking the others follow their lead. They haven’t stated their position on oil exploration and development on the Bay, but I’m trying to get an interview with their chief, Alexei Petroff. So far I’ve only talked with him on the phone. He sounds pretty savvy but he doesn’t want to go on the record unless it’s face to face.”

Wise man, Liam thought. Petroff would get the biggest bang for his association’s buck by announcing their stand in the state’s paper of record. He wondered if Petroff was any relation to She Who Must Be Obeyed in his front office.

“Lately, an archeologist has been making a fuss about the oil companies putting the human history of the Bay at risk.”

Liam perked up. “That be Erik Berglund?”

“You’ve met him?”

Liam nodded. “Yesterday, at the brewpub. He invited me up to take a look at his dig so I did.”

“What’s he like?”

“Six-two, blond, blue, fortyish. The dig’s a tiny little thing, more of a cave, and he hasn’t found much. He’s got a theory about a traditional trail that sounds pretty interesting, though.”

“Fanatic?”

Liam reflected. “I don’t think so. Just a true believer. I liked him. You don’t find that many people that excited about their work.” He looked at Jo. “So he’s against the drilling?”

She nodded. “RPetCo has their own pet archeologist, a guy who’s been pretty much a paid shill for resource extraction companies in Alaska for decades. No resource extraction company wants to be hindered by a lot of unnecessary restrictions that will only delay production.”

“What would the shareholders say,” Wy said.

“May you live in interesting times,” Liam said.

“Yes, and now here comes Alaska state trooper Sergeant Liam Campbell into the mix. Why are you here, Liam?”

Liam exchanged a fleeting look with Wy and said, “Barton wanted me here to give the new post a push.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I told you, Jo,” Wy said sternly. “It was time to leave Newenham.”

It didn’t satisfy the Torquemada wannabe but it did shut her up, and Liam tried not to look too grateful.

They finished dinner and Liam cleaned up and started the dishwasher. It ran at a low murmur. So far everything in this house was as advertised, and Liam decided it was high time he developed a palate for beer. For the moment he poured himself a finger of Glenmorangie and joined the women in the living room, where Wy had a fire going in the wood stove.

The glass was an inch away from his lips when his phone sang out with the first bars of “Need You Tonight.” He gave Wy a look. “Seriously, Wy? A boy band?”

He kept the grin off his face until he was out on the deck, facing away from the two women in the living room giggling like teenagers. “Liam Campbell.”

“Hey, Liam, it’s Gabe McGuire.” There was a sigh. “I know it’s late and I apologize, but I think I’d be in trouble if I waited until morning to call this in.”

“Did you try the local cops?” That might have come out a little more crankily than he’d meant it to.

“I’m outside the city limits. They won’t respond if I’m not paying property taxes in Blewestown.”

A twittering sound filled the air and he looked up to see a flock of cedar waxwings swirl past. There were several mountain ash in the yard and they assembled into a fluttering, quarreling mess to fight over the berries.

“Liam?”

Liam’s turn to sigh. “Tell me what’s up and I’ll decide if I want to wait until morning.”

Ten

Tuesday, September 3

GABE MCGUIRE DIDN’T LOOK ANY HAPPIER to be answering his door than Liam was to be knocking on it. The same could not be said of the two ten-year-olds in the living room. They sported one parent each, a mom and a pop. The kids looked wide awake and wired for sound. Their ’rents each held a phone like they had their attorneys on speed dial.

The house looked less massive from the inside than the roof had indicated from the road. The main feature was floor-to-ceiling windows that went from wall to wall, cathedral ceilings over a hardwood floor, and a lot of mix and match furniture that had only the maximum amount of stuffing in common, including the dining table, if wood could be stuffed. There wasn’t a screen in sight except for the phones everyone was holding, which Liam found mildly surprising. “Explain to me, please, preferably in words of one syllable, why I am here,” he said.

McGuire looked over his shoulder. “Who’s that?”

“This is Jo Dunaway, with the Anchorage News . She’s a friend of the family.” It had been impossible to keep her out of the pickup, and Wy had been no help.

“A cop and a reporter,” McGuire said. “If this isn’t just the cherry on my day. Could you wait right here while I leg it out the back door?”

“You called me,” Liam said. “I can go home any time.”

McGuire’s shoulders raised on a sigh. “Ms. Dunaway.”

“Mr. McGuire.”

“This isn’t a story.”

Jo gave him her best T-rex impersonation. “I’m just here with friends.”

When she moved McGuire saw Wy and brightened. “Ah, you brought the hot pilot, too. You’re forgiven. Good to see you again, Ms. Chouinard.” He smiled at Wy and Wy smiled right back.