Northern Lights

by Nora Roberts

  Shine a light on it another way, Nate thought as he printed out the data, and you have a cleanup rather than a mugging. Pilot takes three, brings back two. Couple weeks later, the pilot's stabbed and stuffed in the garbage.

  Made a man stop and think.

  With the station quiet around him, Nate uncovered his case board. He brewed more coffee and dug up a can of processed ham from the storeroom to make himself what passed for a sandwich.

  Then he sat at his desk, studying the board, reading his notes, reading Patrick Galloway's last journal.

  And spent the long evening hours thinking.

  Nineteen

  He didn't tell her about the journal. When a woman ended the day tired and irritable, it seemed unwise to give her one more thing to add to the mix.

  He had to give Meg points for shoving up her sleeves and pitching in at The Lodge, and bonus points for rolling out of bed the next morning and handling the breakfast crowd. Especially since the tension between her and Charlene was thick enough to slice up and fry alongside the bacon.

  Still, when he took a table, she walked over, coffeepot at the ready. "Hi. I'm Meg, and I'll be your server this morning. Since I'm looking for a really big tip, I'm going to wait until after you eat to bash this pot over Charlene's head."

  "I appreciate that. How long before Rose comes back on?"

  "Another week or two anyway, and then Charlene's going to let her set her own schedule until she feels ready for full-time."

  "You gotta say, that's obliging."

  "Oh, she's plenty obliging with Rose." She shot a short and bitter look over her shoulder in Charlene's direction. "She loves her. It's me she can't tolerate. What'll it be, handsome?"

  "If I say the two of you are probably after the same things, in different ways, are you going to bash me over the head with that coffeepot?"

  "I might."

  "Then I'll have the oatmeal."

  "You eat oatmeal?" She wrinkled her sexily crooked nose. "Without somebody holding a knife to your throat?"

  "It sticks with you."

  "Yeah, for weeks."

  With a shrug, she walked off to take more orders, top off mugs of coffee.

  He liked watching her move. Quick, but not rushed, sexy, but not obvious. She wore the ubiquitous flannel shirt, open over a white thermal. A silver pendant bounced lightly from its chain between her breasts.

  She'd slapped some makeup on—he knew because he'd watched her and slapped was the operative word. Fast, efficient, absent, quick brushes of color on the cheeks, shadowy stuff on the eyes, then careless flicks of mascara on those long, dark lashes.

  And when a man noticed how a woman handled mascara, Nate mused, he was sunk.

  Charlene came out with an order; Meg went back with her pad. They didn't acknowledge each other, except for the sudden dip in temperature.

  He picked up his coffee, pulled out his notebook to use it as a shield when Charlene headed in his direction. Even a man who was sunk had enough self-preservation to stay out of the middle of two sniping women.

  "Want me to top that off for you? She get your order? I don't know why she can't be more pleasant to the customers."

  "No, thanks. Yes, she did. And she was pleasant."

  "To you, maybe, because you're balling her."

  "Charlene." He caught the unmuffled snickers from the booth where Hans and Dexter habitually sat. "God."

  "Well, it's no secret, is it?"

  "Not anymore," he muttered.

  "Spent the night in your room, didn't she?"

  He set his coffee down. "If that's a problem for you, I can take my things to her place."

  "Why should it be a problem for me?" Despite his no, thanks, she topped off his coffee in an automatic gesture. "Why should anything be a problem for me?"

  To his utter terror, her eyes filled with tears. Before he could think how to handle it, or her, she rushed out of the room, coffee sloshing in her pot.

  "Women," Bing said from the booth behind him. "Nothing but trouble."

  Nate shifted around. Bing was plowing through a plate of eggs, sausage and home fries. There was a sneaky grin on his face, but if Nate didn't mistake it, a little gleam of sympathy in his eyes.

  "You ever been married, Bing?"

  "Was once. Didn't stick."

  "Can't imagine why."

  "Thought about doing it again. Maybe I'll get myself one of those Russian mail-order women, like Johnny Trivani's doing."

  "He's going through with that?"

  "Sure. Got it down to two, last I heard. Thought I'd see how it works out for him, then look into it."

  "Uh-huh." Since they were having what passed as a conversation, Nate decided to probe. "Do you do any climbing, Bing?"

  "Used to some. Don't like it much. I got free time, I'd rather go hunting. You looking to recreate?"

  "Might be. Days are getting longer."

  "You got city all over you, and a skinny build. Stick with town, chief, that's my advice. Take up knitting or some shit."

  "I've always wanted to macrame." At Bing's blank look, Nate only smiled. "How come you don't have a plane, Bing? Guy like you, likes his independence, knows his machines. Seems like a natural."

  "Too much work. I'm gonna work, it's gonna be on the ground. Besides, you have to be half crazy to pilot."

  "So I hear. Somebody mentioned some pilot to me, funny name. Six-Toes something."

  "That'd be Two-Toes. Lost three of them on one foot to frostbite or some shit. Now that was one crazy bastard. Dead now."

  "That so? Crashed?"

  "Nah. Got himself beat up in a fight. Or no . . . " Bing's brow wrinkled. "Stabbed. City crime. Teach you to live with that many other people."

  "There you go. Did you ever go up with him?"

  "Once. Crazy bastard. Flew a bunch of us out to the bush for caribou. Didn't know he was higher than the frigging moon until he damn near killed us. Blackened his eye for it," Bing said with relish. "Crazy bastard."

  Nate started to respond, but Meg came out of the kitchen—and the front door opened.

  "Chief Nate!" Jesse flew in, steps ahead of David. "You're here."

  "You, too." Nate flicked a finger down the boy's nose. "David. How's Rose, and the baby?"

  "Good. Really good. We're giving her a break, having a man's breakfast here."

  "Can we sit with you?" Jesse asked. '"Cause we're all men."

  "You bet."

  "And the best-looking men in Lunacy." Meg slid the oatmeal, a plate of wheat toast and a bowl of mixed fruit in front of Nate. "You driving yet, Jesse?"

  He laughed and scooted into the booth beside Nate. "No." He bounced. "Can I fly your plane?"

  "When your feet reach the pedals. Coffee, David?"

  "Thanks. You sure this is all right?" he asked Nate.

  "Sure. I've missed my usual breakfast buddy here. How's it feel to be the big brother?"

  "I dunno. She cries. Loud. And then she sleeps. A lot. But she held my finger. She sucks on Mom's boobie to get milk."

  "Really," was all Nate could think to say.

  "Why don't I get you some milk, in a glass?" Meg poured coffee for David.

  "Rose heard you were pitching in for her." David added sugar to his coffee. "She wanted you to know she appreciates it. We all do."

  "No problem." Meg glanced over when Charlene came back in. "I'll get that milk while you decide what to have for your manly breakfast."

  Nate left his truck for Meg and walked to the station. The sunlight was weak, but it was light. The mountains were misted by clouds, the kind he now knew carried snow with them. But the bitter wind and the cold it whipped up had mellowed. The walk warmed his muscles, cleared his head.

  He passed familiar faces, exchanged greetings in the absent way people who saw each other almost every day were wont to do.

  And he thought, with some surprise, that he was making a place for himself. Not just an escape, a refuge or a stopgap, but a place.

  He couldn't re
member the last time he'd thought about leaving or just drifting to some other town, some other job. It had been days since he'd had to force himself out of bed in the morning or since he'd sat in the dark for hours, afraid to face sleep and the nightmares that ran with it.

  The weight could still come back, into his head, his shoulders, his gut, but it wasn't as heavy, wasn't as often.

  He looked to the mountains again and knew he owed Patrick Galloway. Owed him enough for cracking open that dark so that he couldn't and wouldn't give up trying to find him justice.

  He stopped when Hopp swung her four-wheel over. She rolled down her window. "I'm on my way to see Rose and the baby."

  "Give them my best."

  "You ought to pay a call yourself. Meanwhile, couple of things. Feds'll be setting off a controlled avalanche the day after tomorrow so the road between here and Anchorage is going to be blocked."

  "Say that again?"

  "Feds set off an avalanche from time to time, clear the mountain. Got one scheduled for about ten o'clock a.m., day after tomorrow. Peach just got the dispatch and told me when I stopped in. You'll need to get a bulletin out."

  "I'll take care of it."

  "And there's a damn bull moose wandering around the school yard, and when a couple of kids decided to chase it, it bashed into a couple of parked cars, then chased back. They've got the kids inside now, but that moose is pissed. What're you grinning at?" she demanded. "You ever see a pissed-off moose?"

  "No, ma'am, but I guess I'm going to."

  "If you can't head it out of town, you're going to have to take it down." She nodded when he stopped grinning. "Somebody's going to get hurt."

  "I'll take care of it."

  He quickened his pace. Damn if he was going to shoot some stupid moose, especially on school grounds. Maybe that labeled him an Outsider, but that's the way it was.

  He pushed into the station and saw his staff, and Ed Woolcott. Otto's face was flushed with temper, and his nose and Ed's were all but bumping.

  Avalanches, a pissed-off moose, pissed-off deputy, pissed-off banker. A well-rounded morning.

  "It's about damn time," Ed began. "I need a word with you, chief. In your office."

  "You'll have to wait. Peach, get the information on the scheduled avalanche to KLUN. I want it announced every half hour through the day. And make up some fliers, get them posted around town. Peter, I want you to ride out, personally inform anyone residing south of Wolverine Cut that this is coming and they'll be cut off until the roads are cleared."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Chief Burke."

  "Just a minute," he said to Ed. "Otto, we've got an angry moose down at the school. Already some vehicular damage." He strode to the weapon cabinet as he spoke. "I need you to come with me, see if we can herd it out."

  He unlocked the cabinet, chose a shotgun with the sincere prayer he wasn't going to have to use it.

  "I've been waiting ten minutes," Ed complained. "Your deputies are capable of handling a simple wildlife situation."

  "You can wait here, or I'll come by the bank as soon as this situation is under control."

  "As deputy mayor—"

  "You're being a real pain in the ass," Nate finished. "Otto, we'll need your car. Mine's back at The Lodge. Let's go."

  "Looked like a landed trout, gulping," Otto said when they were outside. "He's going to want to fry you for that, Nate, sure as God made little green apples. Ed doesn't take to being stonewalled."

  "He's outranked. The mayor told me to deal with the moose; I'm dealing with the moose." He climbed in Otto's car. "We're not shooting it." "Why do you have the shotgun?" "I plan to intimidate him."

  The town's schools were a connected trio of small, low-slung buildings with a pretty grove of trees on one side and a little squared-off field ,, on the other. He knew the younger kids were allowed out into the field '' twice a day for a kind of recess—weather permitting.

  Since most of the kids had been born there, it took some pretty serious weather to cancel recess.

  The high schoolers liked to use the grove to hang out—maybe smoke or fool around—before and after classes.

  There was a flagpole, and at this time of day both the U.S. and the Alaskan flag should have been up and waving. Instead, they were a little under half-staff and flicking fitfully in the disinterested wind.

  "Kids must've been hoisting the flags when they spotted it," Nate muttered. "Decided to chase after it." "Just going to irritate it doing that."

  Nate glanced at the two smashed-up cars in the tiny lot. "Looks like." He spotted the moose now, at the edge of the grove, rubbing his antlers on bark. He also saw a light trail of blood. Since no one had reported an injury, he assumed it was moose blood. "Doesn't look like he's causing any trouble now." "Looks like he cut himself up bashing those cars, so he's not going to be in a good mood. If he decides to stay around, he'll be trouble, especially if some idiot kid slips by a teacher and decides to chase it again or runs home to get a gun and shoots at it."

  "Well, shit. Get as close as you can, and maybe it'll move off."

  "Charge, more likely."

  "I'm not shooting some moose while it's scratching itself on a tree, Otto."

  "Somebody else will, if he sticks close to town. Moose meat's a good meal."

  "It's not going to be me, and it's not going to be within town limits, damn it."

  He saw the moose turn as they edged closer and saw to his consternation a look more fierce than dumb in those dark eyes. "Hell. Shit, damn, fuck. Blast the horn."

  Moose weren't slow. Where had he gotten the idea they were? It galloped toward them, apparently more challenged by the sound of the engine and horn than intimidated. Still cursing, Nate hitched himself out of the window, aimed the gun toward the sky and fired. The moose kept coming, and adding his own oaths to the mix, Otto swerved to avoid collision.

  Nate pumped, fired into the air again.

  "Shoot the son of a bitch," Otto demanded as he whipped the wheel and nearly dumped Nate out of the window.

  "I'm not doing it." Pumping the shotgun again, Nate fired into the snowy ground, a foot in front of the moose.