A Cold Day for Murder

by Leigh Mayberry

  Meghan made it as far as the couch. Put down her head, pulled her knees up to her chest, and pulled the blanket that hung over the back of the sofa. She slept there throughout the better part of Sunday.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Monday arrived without surprises. Oliver had a smile on his face, sitting at the front counter when Meghan arrived promptly at eight. The Chevy Suburban complained when she tried starting it, gurgling and sputtering from the house to the police department.

  Next door Shelley’s car parked parallel to town hall, telling Meghan that the office administrator or the mayor, or both were already at their respective workplaces. The clear sky from overnight continued into the morning, and sunrise was twelve minutes earlier than Sunday. In another two months, dawn would be hours earlier, creep along with the distant mountain ranges and foothills, encircling the small town nestled at the end of a spit on the peninsula that poked out into Kinguyakkii Sound. By midsummer sunset would be a distant memory and something to look forward to until the ginger orb left the sky for the other side of the planet, leaving the Arctic in the dark for the months of winter. Life in Alaska was always a little different, and that was something Meghan liked about it.

  “Good morning, Boss.” Oliver had made a fresh pot of coffee. The aroma greeted Meghan along with his pleasant smile.

  The local AM radio station was on. The resident DJ, White Noise Wayne, was reading the local weather report for inland and at sea. He and Dead-Air Dave had a morning talk show that mostly covered television shows and upcoming local events. When Meghan heard Nancy McCormick mentioned, she stopped moving around to listen.

  White-Noise Wayne continued, “As you all probably know, our wonderful waitress from Midnight Sun Café was found dead in her apartment last Saturday night. Our very own Kinguyakkii Police Chief, Meghan Sheppard apprehended the suspect single-handedly.”

  “That’s not true,” she interjected without the DJ’s knowledge.

  “We are grateful for our Kinguyakkii Police and all the hard work they do there. Donations for Nancy’s family can be made at Midnight Sun Café, show your support, give something back to the community.”

  “Thank you, Wayne,” Dead-Air Dave added. They wanted to have a celebrity radio talk show like counterparts from lower-forty-eight radio stations. Since the AM broadcast was nonprofit, they could ramble and talk about anything they wanted. They took requests and programmed the overnight music to play nonstop without commercial interruption. That’s when Meghan usually listened to the radio. Dead-Air Dave and White-Noise Wayne tried to be funny; mostly they skirted FCC violations by making innuendos instead of direct statements.

  “What do you think about our police chief, Wayne?” Dead-Air Dave asked.

  “I think she’s doing a fine job. I’ve never met her personally but—”

  “I have.”

  “Have what?”

  “I’ve met her, personally. I mean, I saw her up close once. She was shopping at the store when I was there.”

  “Which store? Ammattauq Native Trader or Alaska Merchandise? And can someone tell me why they call it Alaska Merchandise? I mean, we’re in Alaska, we all know, that right?”

  “Well, you can’t call it Merchandise Store,” Dave countered. “That’s just silly.”

  “Not as silly as what they call it. It’d be different if the store were in California or Iowa, then you’d call it—”

  “So, I met the chief,” Dave interrupted the tangent with a segue.

  “Oh, right. What’d you think?”

  “She’s nice. She seems tough, you know like she could kill you with a jar of peanut butter.”

  Meghan bristled. She veered toward the radio near the coffeemaker. Wayne and Dave continued with their banter. Word got out, someone; probably a lot of people were talking about the case. The bizarre accident was bound to take precedence over the fact that Nancy McCormick was a victim. Now Nickolas Hodge would be a local hot topic for a while. People would remember his name, mainly because it was death by peanut butter. Most people never remembered the names of victims, only the killers.

  “She’s a looker too,” Dave said over the air, hundreds of people listening. Suddenly Meghan felt a flush of heat from embarrassment. “I mean she’s older, you know, but she’s really attract—”

  “Morning, Oliver,” she said after the radio was off.

  Whatever the two men had to say about her to the rest of the town and the surrounding countryside, anywhere the AM signal reached, including across the bay and into the Bering Sea, it wasn’t anything Meghan wanted to hear. She took a breath, felt the hammering of her heart, and pretended that whatever was on the radio had nothing to do with her. There was a little part of Meghan that was flattered; another part of her felt the weight of her hips and the festering of the words ‘she’s older’ that was going to haunt her for a long time.

  She made her way through the little gate, gave an approving nod to the new doorframe. While the patchwork was visible, it needed a paint job. Then she put her key into the doorknob and sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Oliver asked.

  “He changed the lock again.” Meghan shook her head, removed the old key from the key ring, and threw it in the trash by the coffee counter. She shed her coat, tossed it on the table, and fixed a cup of coffee.

  What was it that Valerie called Duane? A foil? What was it she learned in college about the literary device? Duane was supposed to contrast her, provided she was some sort of hero or protagonist. She did happen to solve a murder within a few days. That must have something to do with her status. Of course, a lot of it was guesswork and pure dumb luck — particular aspects of solving the case she’d never freely admit. Duane, for whatever reason, rubbed Meghan the wrong way like sandpaper underwear. She had to put up with him and eventually find a balance.

  There was the drop and scrape of something across the table. Meghan saw a split key ring with two keys on it. She followed the sudden appearance of the keys to Oliver still smiling at her like he kept pudding in his pocket and wanted people to guess what he carried around with him.

  “Mayor Warren dropped these off this morning. He’s getting the outside locks changed too.”

  Meghan picked up the keys, looked at them suspiciously. Two keys usually came with replacement doorknob. Were these the only two keys for the office door or did he have one as well? She’d have to order another doorknob, identical to the new one and replace it when no one was around.

  “Anything out of the ordinary happen while I was away?” she asked and tried one of the keys in the door lock.

  “Lester had a shoplifter on Sunday. It was one of the Jones kids from Ptarmigan Way. Lester chased him on foot from the store.”

  “That’s a long way from Alaska Merchandise Store. If he knew who the kid was, why’d he chase him?”

  Oliver shrugged. “Wasn’t anything else going on.”

  That was a good sign. Their little slice of the world was balanced again, quiet. She got into the office and hung up her coat on the hook by the door. Meghan sat down at her desk and felt as if she’d come home again.

  There was an email from Jeff Ravenswaay, Andrea’s son. The attachments were links to online servers. When the video files downloaded, she watched them, one after another. Out of eighteen people who walked by Andrea’s apartment, the figure that hurried by, caught in a blur on the way out of the building using the side door, had the same shape and consistency as Nickolas Hodge. If the man had lived to stand trial, she’d have more than enough to convince a jury he was Nancy’s killer.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Cheryl and Brian Snyder closed the Midnight Sun Café for the entire weekend following Meghan’s return to town from Anchorage. Kinguyakkii Cemetery had very little organization when it came to plots. Sometimes during the summer months, when the ground softened enough for people to dig graves, families got together and took turns digging the hole. There were a few diggers in town, small backhoes that owners loaned o
ut when people had money to rent for a few hours. The Snyders didn’t need the backhoe, and when it came to digging the grave for Nancy, most of the town showed up to help.

  Meghan stood with the family while Eric coordinated how to handle the remains because, of course, he was the city’s undertaker. There didn’t seem to be any end of the hats the man wore for Kinguyakkii.

  It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon when Cheryl and Brian lay Nancy to rest. People respectfully added their condolences and Meghan got her share of handshakes. She wanted to make sure the townspeople knew it was Nancy’s day, not hers.

  Afterward, there was a gathering at the Cultural Civic Center on Second Avenue near the museum. It was the mayor’s contribution to the burial of Nancy McCormick. While Meghan suspected the Borough Council had something to do with opening the door, paying for refreshments, Duane took all the credit and made sure that everyone who showed up shook hands with him, making the occasion all about Duane instead of Nancy.

  “You look a little put out.” The observation came from Calvin who dressed for the occasion, wearing a pressed blue shirt, flat black tie, and black blazer with black slacks. He looked great, smelled terrific.

  Meghan sipped at the punch from the concessions table and tried avoiding his hazel eyes. Calvin had shaved the bristles from his face too, showing the lean, strong jawline.

  “I’m not, really.” Maybe her feelings about Duane taking over the banquet had soured her mood, more than just saying goodbye to a woman she barely knew. “I’m just thinking, is all,” she said because it was safer than speaking her mind.

  “Is it because Duane made this all about him and not about Nancy?” he asked.

  Meghan smiled at him. There it was, handsome, observant, and giving her a look that suggested she was either overdressed or underdressed. Meghan dressed for a party. It was a social event, something that didn’t happen very often. Other people in town looked at it the way she did.

  Cheryl and Brian, whatever marital problems they had, looked satisfied with each other and were mingling and laughing with people. Alaskans thought it was better to celebrate a person’s life than ruin a social event with sadness. Nancy, from what Meghan learned, had touched a lot of lives, mostly in useful ways. She always wore a bright smile when they visited the diner, and she gave everyone conversations and coffee.

  Usually, the closest to social events in town happened when bingo went into overtime, or the volunteer fire department purchased extra fireworks for New Years. Fireworks on the Fourth of July weren’t worth a damned in Kinguyakkii because fireworks in daylight don’t cut it.

  “You look really nice,” he commented.

  “Thank you, so do you.”

  Meghan let down her hair. The weather turned; a little less humidity meant she’d regained some natural wave back to her hair. She considered herself off-duty, so the one and the only dress she brought with her from New York was a semi-formal dress with a long skirt. It wasn’t flashy but had a deep V-neck top, showing more of her neckline than Meghan remembered ever showing in Alaska. Under the fluorescent lights of the civic hall, her skin looked pasty white. She wore low heel boots that didn’t show up under the skirt. Since it was impossible for anyone to know, Meghan had black leggings under the dress to keep her legs warm.

  “I read your article in the Northern Lights Sounder,” Meghan said conversationally.

  “You did?” He sipped on a plastic cup of punch. “What did you think of it?”

  Since it was a dry village, the non-alcoholic punch had a variety of ingredients, including ginger ale, apple, orange, and cranberry juices. It was thick and bitter, but at least it wasn’t lethal.

  There was an assortment of homemade dishes to pass — traditional Alaskan dishes mixed with store-bought treats. The buffet table was diverse, and parts of it had strange odors.

  “I thought it was good. I wasn’t too keen about seeing my face on the front page.”

  Calvin nodded without a retort. He gave her a look that suggested he had something to tell her but held back.

  “Looks like Duane is about to make a speech.” Calvin motioned behind Meghan where the mayor, his assistant, and the local DJs were huddled at the PA system where there had been a collection of contemporary and country music playing until Duane took over.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said into the microphone. The PA system was owned by the radio station and on loan along with the volunteer DJs. Both Dead-Air Dave and White-Noise Wayne were looking across the gathering of people on the main floor, and Meghan saw them share looks, lean close and talk. She tried to ignore the fact they had made eye contact with her and were likely continuing a private conversation about Meghan that had started over the airwaves earlier in the week.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming tonight, showing support to Cheryl and Brian Snyder while we celebrate Nancy McCormick’s life with them. She was a daughter of Kinguyakkii and will be missed.”

  Meghan smiled at the comment because she’d heard the phrase somewhere before. While it was unintentional, when the mayor started his speech, she wandered closer to the riser at the south end of the gathering hall. When there were events at the civic center, the riser helped everyone see without having to peer around big shoulders.

  Meghan got a little closer to the stage because most of the people in front of her were much taller, rounder than her. Calvin walked close behind her. Time to time, she felt his hand gently press against the small of her back, letting her know he was still close.

  When she found an area among the crowd where she could see Duane, the DJs, and the rest of the stage, Meghan turned to look at Calvin. He’d slipped away from her, wandered to the far side of the hall, leaving her standing beside a local resident who paid more attention to her than Duane.

  “I would like everyone to give a round of applause to Chief Meghan Sheppard,” Duane continued. People responded with cheers and applause that made her very uncomfortable. “Chief Sheppard, could you come up here a moment.”

  “That’s okay, Mayor!” she called from the crowd. “I’m fine right here.” Meghan lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

  “Please, Chief Sheppard,” he asked. It sounded sincere. He joined in the clapping as she moved through the bodies and went to the stage.

  Dead-Air Dave reached out, offering Meghan a hand to step up on the riser. She took his hand and smiled politely.

  “Chief Sheppard, everyone,” Duane said into the microphone, added clapping. The gathering was much bigger than Meghan first suspected. From the stage, it was easier to see most of the village showed up.

  She had nothing to say, instead just lifted a palm again to the audience. Calvin came across the stage, carrying a large picture frame covered in a cloth. Duane backed away from the microphone. Meghan was surprised to see Calvin step up and address the audience.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a lot of you know me as the local reporter for the Northern Lights Sounder. I’m here tonight not only as a reporter for the paper but as a person who received an extraordinary opportunity recently that I want to share with the rest of you.”

  Meghan stood between Dead-Air Dave and White-Noise Wayne. Both men squeezed close to her, invading her personal bubble. She tried to ignore their competitiveness and figure out what Calvin was up to with the speech, and why the hell they needed her on stage.

  “It is a great honor when a struggling journalist gets an opportunity to reach the acclaim of national coverage. A lot of you may not think it’s a big thing, but I can tell you from personal experience that it’s not only a good thing for me, but for the Northern Lights Sounder. I had an opportunity to reach across the United States when one of my articles was published with the Associated Press. Because of the fine police work from Kinguyakkii’s very own Chief Meghan Sheppard, I’ve gotten the opportunity once again to have an article published.”

  Duane and Calvin handled the picture frame. Calvin pulled the cloth from the frame revealing a front-page press photo of Meghan
in her Kinguyakkii outfit of a ski cap, oversized parka, pointing at something off camera and looking determined. The headline read: Chief Nabs Murderer.

  The rest of the article could wait. Meghan received the framed item and immediately turned it to face the back of the stage.

  “Chief Sheppard,” Calvin said with a proud grin. “Thank you for showing us you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure justice is served.”

  “Speaking of serving justice,” Dead-Air Dave broke in, leaning over the microphone. “We can’t serve anything without the right ingredients.”

  “Chief Sheppard,” White-Noise Wayne chimed in, “From all of us at KING-AM Radio—”

  “Best radio station on top of the world!” Dave injected for a fresh round of cheers.

  “We’d like to present you with our gift,” Wayne continued. He produced a large plastic tub of creamy peanut butter. It was an industrial-sized container with a handle, ribbon, and bow. When he started to hand it to Meghan while the crowd cheered, Wayne pulled back before she could take the twenty-five pound container. He leaned to the microphone and asked, “You don’t have an allergy, do you?”

  It was more than she ever expected. Meghan was involved in the apprehension of bad guys before. She’d never received any special treatment for doing a job that came easy for her. It was a strange sensation that took her as much a surprise as the recognition she received that night.

  “You have anything to say?” Dave asked.

  Meghan glanced to Duane. He was smiling in a way that politicians did when they were in front of a crowd. He clapped with the audience, but somehow his hands weren’t making much noise.

  Meghan handed the tub of peanut butter to Duane, so he’d stop pretending. Rolling the loose strands of coppery hair behind her ear, Meghan cleared her throat and leaned toward the open microphone.

  “Whoever is stealing aviation fuel from the airport, you better stop now, or I am going to arrest you.”