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

because she’d watched him nap during the flight and let her mind wander. He woke during one of her many ogling sessions. It was impossible to fake-looking out the port windows. With the shades drawn, it was only him to see.

He had silver, close-cropped hair, a trimmed beard, and toasty topaz colored eyes. He had wire-rimmed glasses in the pocket of his button-down flannel shirt. During the flight, he removed the prescription glasses while he napped. He dozed with his forehead against the fuselage, arms over his chest.

Meghan liked sitting beside him, not just because he was attractive and wore oaky cologne. He immediately closed the shade over the window when he sat down. That helped for the two-hour flight from Anchorage.

He caught her watching once, opening his eyes to Meghan, unable to avert her eyes in time. His serine expression and dancing Adam’s apple in his sleep distracted Meghan from her files and the rumbling flight.

“I appreciate what you do,” he said.

“Do you live in town?” she asked.

Someone without a wedding band, features of a rugged male, these were things Meghan noticed. He wasn’t familiar, but she hadn’t met all of the three thousand city residents.

Meghan didn’t troll for relationships. Her marriage fell apart years ago. She had a job that occupied much of her time, and never left much for a personal life. And nothing at all for dating. Still, Meghan liked to look. Looking didn’t hurt, liking was natural. And it was healthy to maintain an open mind.

“I’m visiting,” he said. “I have some business at the post office.”

“Oh?” Meghan cocked an eyebrow.

He smiled and offered his hand. “Myles Campbell.”

“Should you follow up that name with a title?” she asked, continuing to hold his hand. “Meghan Sheppard.”

“I know who you are, Sheriff Sheppard.”

Meghan bit her tongue the moment Myles winked at her.

“I’m not sure if I like the notoriety.”

“Sometimes, it can work in your favor.” He had a disarming smile for Meghan.

The plane shuttered again as if the tail fin snapped off. Meghan looked around, expecting to see a collection of frightened faces. No one noticed or cared about the bumpy flight. Even Myles seemed indifferent to the turbulence. It was too much for her to ignore and impossible to concentrate. Meghan stacked together the documents and slipped them into the manila folder on the tray table.

Meghan wasn’t one to start small talk. She didn’t mind when it didn’t hinge around on her career or cases. Mostly, people found out what she did for work and when on to share their negative experiences with law enforcement.

Myles acknowledged he knew Meghan was police chief. The files were evident in her profession. But something told her he knew before he saw the letterhead or the KPD stamp on the file folder.

While Myles napped, Meghan multitasked. She learned the art of paying attention without looking obvious in the Bureau. She knew listening worked best when people didn’t know their conversation was available to others. It also helped they were in a smaller, older plane that sat two people per row on each side with a generous opening between the seats. It gave Meghan a view and opportunity to overhear the conversation that happened in the positions ahead of her.

Two young men sat in the seats ahead of her. The divide in the bucket seats allowed her access to the conspiring between the two young men. They traveled to Kinguyakkii during Christmas break from the University of Alaska.

They were visiting a former classmate, Meghan, learned. She paid closer attention the moment she heard them mention Nathaniel Warren, Duane’s son.

She didn’t judge the mayor’s son. The little contact she had with him wasn’t because Nathaniel got into trouble around town. She wasn’t out looking or out to track him down. However, Meghan had reservations about Nathaniel. In a way that sometimes wild animals were unpredictable. He wasn’t afraid to show defiance and used his creditability as the mayor’s kid to receive favors around Kinguyakkii.

Nathaniel didn’t have a steady job. Living with Duane and his mother, Ulva, allowed him free room and board. As far as Meghan knew, Nathaniel wasn’t into illegal activity even though it felt like he skirted the law.

When it came to snowmobiles or snowmachines, as the Native Alaskans called them, Nathaniel was one of the top racers in town and the surrounding villages. That made him a prime suspect in the theft of aviation fuel from the local airport bush pilot hangers. It was a trend that tapered off during the summer months.

The commercial airlines had secure facilities. However, the bush pilots had open hangers and a lot of opportunities for anyone to siphon fuel from unsecured tanks.

Some pilots took Meghan’s advice about cameras around the storage tanks. Others like Neil Holt, the professional guide and all-round great guy, added cameras and motion lights.

The culprits avoided Neil’s planes, but still, other pilots lost fuel. With the fresh snow and promise of a cold winter, snowmachines were out in force, and the races started after December. With snow covering the city, the lakes, and edges of the bay freezing, more people had snowmobiles out. Frozen bodies of water became racetracks. Aviation fuel made snowmobiles faster. At the risk of damaging engines, professional racers modified engines and parts of the sled, instead of stealing fuel to get the edge on the ice.

Ahead of her, Meghan leaned on the tray table as she listened to the college students.

“I still don’t know why we’re going out to Kinguyakkii when Nate can stay with us in Anchorage. There’s nothing to do up there.” He had the window seat. He had Alaskan features with large black headphones over his ears. It made it easier for Meghan to hear him because he raised his voice to talk.

“Nate got a new snowmachine. His dad helped him buy the top of