The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (reading books for 4 year olds .txt) 📗

was the highlight of their year. They don’t have any respect for this town. That house where they’re slumming reminds me of a flophouse, something I’d see in the city. Whose house is that?”

“I can find out tomorrow. I’ll have a busy schedule, but I might be able to squeeze it in,” he said. Eric had an objective, substantive view on the events. She appreciated his friendship.

Finding a little humor in the darkest hours of the day made it easier to get through the day when night never ends.

***

By five on Monday morning, Meghan woke with a start when the phone rang on the desk in the office. It had a ringer wired throughout the building that amplified the bell.

On the second ring, when she struggled off the cot, Meghan grabbed the phone. The little desk light illuminated the rest of the office. Eric and Lester waited while she talked.

“Um, Noorvik Public Works,” she said.

“That’s funny,” Gregory Anderson said after chuckling. The Alaska State Trooper Detective was Meghan’s friend and connection to the real world of law enforcement for the state. “You decided to quit your day job and work for Noorvik instead?”

“Well, I added the number to the email I sent you because there’s no cellular service out here.”

“I see you guys are getting hammered with a storm,” he said. The line crackled as if testing the communication.

“We’re holding up.”

“Well, I got your email and the follow-up email from last night. You’ve got murder and arson. We’ll send the cavalry as soon as the snow breaks. I got to say, I’m a little worried for you.”

“Well, I’ve got my lieutenant with me, and the Borough coroner here. If something happens, at least you’ll have a medical professional to detail the events.”

“I got that information on Norman Fisher. He’s got an MCA, but not much else. A conservation officer contacted Fisher with a few friends on the Kobuk a few years ago. Trooper issued each of the kids in the boat citations for MCA and confiscated the bottle of booze. No one took responsibility for bootlegging,” Anderson explained. His voice sounded as if he gargled with sand and coffee before the phone call. “I’ll run it up the channels about the victim coming to Anchorage for an autopsy. You’ve proven your worth, and if push comes to shove, we can make arrangements as soon as the airstrip’s clear.”

“We’re trying to shake up his buddies. I don’t want to project too much, but I feel like the house fire was a message to me personally.”

“You know people got guns out there, right?” Anderson asked.

“I know. I’m sticking my head into rabbit holes now. Today, we’re going to conduct interviews. This isn’t going away like they think.”

“You’re using plurals. Is there more than one?”

“Right now, I don’t know what to think. I see a trend that I don’t like. But ultimately, I can’t say definitively what exactly is going on other than the idea of a lot of cash.

“I sent the warrant requests for the search of the property; can you get the DA to push it through?”

“That’s not easy right now because you don’t have enough for a search warrant. I talked to my partner about it. He thinks the DA will reject it. You’re looking for a murder weapon. I know you amended it with the search for cash. But it’s too broad, looks like you’re grasping at straws. By the way, sometimes, when you look in rabbit holes in Alaska, you’ll get badgers.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.”

Anderson sighed, added a grumble, and swore. “I don’t want to be the one to tell your daughter her mom got shot in a village in Alaska.”

“Greg, you’re being a little paranoid.” A few years ago, she wouldn’t talk to him like a friend. Now she knew how far she stretched their conversations. “I have to believe people in Noorvik are like everyone else. Yes, it feels isolated out here. But these are good people trying to live in a world that’s moving too fast around them. They live here because they want to, not because they have to,” she said. “Thanks for the call. I will send a list of contacts later today. We’re going to start shaking trees.”

“You have trees up there?” Anderson joked.

“Goodbye, Greg. Thank you.”

Chapter Sixteen

That Monday morning was a little awkward at public works because the rest of the city employees showed up, wedging Meghan’s crew out while city workers had a business to run.

The house was dark and quiet at seven in the morning. There was a fine line of etiquette when dealing with investigations, Meghan learned. People didn’t like answering the door first thing in the morning. While work continued in Noorvik, no such thing as ‘snow days’ in a village where most people walked, rode snowmobiles, or all-terrain vehicles. The school stayed open, even employees at the store worked to shovel the three-foot drifts that blocked the front doors.

“What do you want?” he asked. The young man wore boxer shorts and a t-shirt answering the front door. He dressed as if it was another sunny day instead of miserable winter and darkness.

“Good morning,” Meghan said with a smile. She didn’t wait to ask to enter the house; instead, she strode up the steps and walked inside. Lester followed her. “We’re here to talk to everyone, so this can either happen here and now, or we’ll have the troopers come help organize the interviews.”

“What do you want?” The speaker lay on the couch with another person. Both covered in a blanket.

The house smelled of cigarettes, marijuana, and a campfire. Exposed to the house fire, everyone who watched Hilma’s house burnt to the ground carried the scent with them.

“We’ll start with names,” Meghan said. She pulled off the ski cap, jammed