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  interesting converge sation. And she liked watching the sorrow that haunted his eyes come and go. She'd seen it lift a few times now. When he'd stood in front of her house that morning, listening to Loreena McKennit, and again for a few moments when they'd danced.

  Sitting there now, with the music and the heat of humanity all around her, she realized she wanted to see it lift again. And that she had a good idea how to make it happen.

  She went behind the bar, found an open bottle and two glasses. Holding them down at her side, she slipped out of the room.

  Hopp tapped Charlene briskly on the shoulder. "Sorry, Charlene, I need an official moment with Chief Burke."

  Charlene only pressed closer to Nate. He wondered if she'd just pop out the back of him.

  "Town Hall's closed, Hopp."

  "Town Hall's never closed. Come on now, let the boy out of that stranglehold."

  "Oh, all right. I expect you to finish this dance, handsome."

  "Let's find ourselves a corner, Ignatious." Hopp waved people aside, cut a swatch through the crowd.

  She hunkered down at a table someone had pushed into the pool area. "Want a drink?"

  "No, I think I want the back door."

  "You can run, but you can't hide in a town this size. You're going to have to deal with her sooner or later."

  "Let's go with later." He wanted to go upstairs, back to the dark. His head was pounding, his stomach queasy with the stress and effort of just being.

  "I didn't just pull you away to break Charlene's headlock. You've got my deputy mayor well and truly pissed."

  "I know it. I handled that situation as seemed most prudent and within the confines of the law."

  "I'm not questioning how you do your job, Ignatious." She waved that off as she'd waved off people.

  "I'm just giving you the facts. Ed's pompous, self-important and a pain in the ass more than half the time. Still, he's a good man and works hard for this town."

  "Doesn't mean he can drive worth a damn."

  She grinned at that. "He's always been a lousy driver. He's also powerful, rich and a grudge-holder.

  He won't forget you crossed him on this business. It might seem small potatoes to the type of thing you're used to dealing with, but in Lunacy, this was major."

  "I can't be the first to cross him."

  "You're not. Ed and I butt heads all the time. But the way he'd see that, he and I are on equal footing.

  I might even have a leg up. You're Outside, and he expects you to kowtow some. On the other hand, if you'd kowtowed, I'd have been very disappointed. Puts you between a rock and a hard place."

  "I've been there before. Does kowtow really have anything to do with cows?"

  She stared for a moment, then barked out a laugh. "A polite and sneaky way to tell me to mind my own. Before I do, let me add something. Getting yourself caught between Charlene and Meg means that rock and hard place are both going to be very hot, very sticky, and mean as a demon from hell."

  "Then I'd better not get caught."

  "Good thinking." Her eyebrows lifted when his cell phone beeped.

  "Calls to the station get transferred to my personal," he said as he pulled it out of his pocket. "Burke."

  "Get your coat," Meg said. "Meet me out front in five minutes. I've got something I want to show you."

  "Sure. Okay." He stuck the phone back in his pocket as Hopp watched him. "It's nothing. I think I'm going to duck out."

  "Mmm-hmm. Use the door there, go through the kitchen." "Thanks. And Happy New Year."

  "Same to you." Hopp shook her head as he walked away. "Going to be trouble."

  * * *

  It took him more than five minutes to get to his room, pile on his gear, slip out, then walk around to the front of The Lodge. He was halfway there when he realized he hadn't been tempted to just lock the door behind him and burrow back in the dark.

  Maybe it was progress. Or maybe lust was stronger than situational depression.

  She was waiting, sitting on one of two folding chairs she'd set dead center of the street.

  The bottle of champagne was screwed into the snowpack. She sipped from her glass, and a thick blanket covered her lap.

  "You can't sit out here in that dress even with your coat and the blanket—"

  "I changed. I always carry extra clothes in my pack."

  "Too bad. I was looking forward to seeing you in that dress again."

  "Another time, another place. Have a seat."

  "Okay. Why are we sitting outside in the street at. . . ten minutes to midnight?"

  "Not much for crowds. You?"

  "Not really."

  "They can be fun for a while, on a special occasion. But it wears thin for me after a few hours.

  Besides." She handed him a glass. "This is better."

  It amazed him the champagne wasn't frozen solid. "I think it would be better if we were inside, where frostbite isn't a factor."

  "Not that cold out. No wind. Hovering around zero. Besides, you can't really see this from inside."

  "See what?"

  "Look up, Lower 48."

  He looked where she pointed and lost his breath. "Holy God."

  "Yeah, I always thought it was holy. A natural phenom caused by latitude, sunspots and so on.

  Scientific explanations don't make it less beautiful, or magical."

  The lights in the sky were green with shimmers of gold, hints of red. The long, eerie streaks seemed to pulse and breathe, bathing the dark with life.

  "The northern lights show best in the winter, but it's usually too damn cold to appreciate them. Figured this was a good night for the exception."

  "I've heard of them. Seen pictures. It's not like the pictures."

  "The best things never are. They show better out of town. Even better when you're camped up on one of the glaciers. One night when I was about seven, my father and I hiked up into the mountains and camped just so we could be up there to see. We lay on our backs for hours, damn near freezing, and just watched the sky."

  The otherworldly green continued to shift, glow, expand, shimmer. It was raining liquid jewels of color. "What happened to him?"

  "You could say one day he took another hike and decided to keep going. You got family?"

  "Sort of."

  "Well, we won't spoil this by telling our sad stories. We'll just enjoy the show."

  They sat in silence in the middle of the street, spindly chairs balanced on the snowpack while the heavens flamed.

  The flames sparked something inside him, stroked away the tension headache, settled him on the ridge of wonder where he could breathe.

  She glanced toward The Lodge as the noise level grew. The shouts of countdown to midnight began. "Looks like it's just you and me, Burke."

  "A better end to the year than I expected. You want me to pretend I'm kissing you because it's tradition?"

  "Screw tradition." She grabbed his hair in two gloved hands, yanked him toward her.

  Her lips were cold, and there was a strange, powerful thrill in feeling them warm against his. The full-throttle punch of the kiss jolted his sluggish system into drive, churned in his belly, snapped through his blood.

  He heard the roar—but it was muffled, dim and distant—when midnight struck. Bells clanged, horns tooted, cheers sounded. And through them he heard, clear as a wish, his own heartbeat.

  He dropped the glass in his hand, shoved the blanket away so he could reach her. The hum of frustration in his throat came from the barrier of thick layers of clothing. He wanted that strong, curvy body, the shape of it, the taste and scent of it.

  Then the sound of gunshots had him jerking back.

  "Celebration fire, that's all." Her breath streamed out in clouds as she tried to draw him back. This man could kiss, and she wanted to hold onto the punch-drunk sensation of having his lips, his tongue, his teeth ravish her.

  Who needed cheap champagne?

  "Maybe, but. . . I have to check."

  Sh
e gave a half-laugh, then reached down to pick up their glasses. "Yeah, you would."

  "Meg—"

  "Go ahead, chief." She gave his knee a friendly pat, smiled into those fascinating, and troubled, gray eyes. "A job's a job."

  "It won't take long."

  She was sure it wouldn't. A few shots in the air were usual on holidays, at weddings, births—even at funerals, depending on the sentiments toward the dead.

  But it didn't seem wise to wait. Instead, she left the chairs, the bottle, the glasses on the front porch. She carried the blanket back to her truck, tossed it in the cab.

  Then she drove toward home while the green lights played across the sky. And she knew Hopp was right. Nate Burke was going to be trouble.

  Six

  The Lunatic

  Police Log

  Monday, January 3

  8:03 a.m. Report of snowshoes missing from porch, residence of Hans Finkle. Deputy Peter Notti responded. Finkle's statement "That [numerous colorful expletives deleted] Trilby's up to his old tricks" could not be verified. Snowshoes subsequently located in Finkle's truck.

  9:22 a.m. Advised of vehicular accident Rancor Road. Chief of Police Burke and Deputy Otto Gruber responded. Brett Trooper and Virginia Mann involved. No injuries, other than the stubbed toe Trooper suffered as a result of repeatedly kicking his own mangled bumper. No charges filed.

  11:56 a.m. Confrontation between Dexter Trilby and Hans Finkle reported at The Lodge. The argument, which included other various and colorful expletives, was apparently rooted in the earlier snowshoe incident. Chief Burke responded, and after some debate, it was suggested the altercation be settled through a checkers tournament. At press time, it was twelve games to ten, in favor of Trilby. No charges filed.

  1:45 P.M. Report of loud music and speeding vehicles on Caribou. Chief Burke and Deputy Notti responded. James and William Mackie found to be racing snowmobiles and playing a recording of

  "Born to Be Wild" at a loud volume. After a brief, and according to witness reports, entertaining chase, a heated confrontation with the officers ensued, during which the CD containing the offending track was confiscated, and which included James Mackie's claim that "Lunacy's iust no damn fun anymore." Both Mackies were ticketed for excessive speed.

  3:12 p.m. Report of screaming in the vicinity of Rancor Wood, 2.1 miles from town post. Chief Burke and Deputy Gruber responded. Turned out to be a group of boys playing war, armed with popguns and a squirt bottle of ketchup. Chief Burke declared an immediate truce and escorted the soldiers—

  alive, dead and wounded—home.

  4:58 p.m. Report of disturbance on Moose. Chief Burke and Deputy Notti responded. An argument between a sixteen-year-old female and a sixteen-year-old male involving an alleged flirtation with another sixteen-year-old male was settled. No charges filed.

  5:18 p.m. Sixteen-year-old male ticketed for reckless driving and excessive horn blowing up and down Moose.

  7:12 p.m. Responding to various requests, Chief Burke removed Michael Sullivan from the curb at the corner of Lunacy and Moose where he was singing a loud and reportedly off-key rendition of

  "Whiskey in the Jar." Sullivan spent the night in jail for his own safety. No charges filed.

  * * *

  Nate read over the single day, then the rest of his second week in The Lunatic. He'd waited for the complaints when the first issue that included the police log had come out. But there'd been none. Apparently people didn't mind having their names printed, even if it was in conjunction with their indiscretions.

  He slipped the newspaper into a desk drawer, with the first issue. Two weeks down, he thought.

  Still here.

  * * *

  Sarrie Parker leaned on the counter in The Corner Store. She'd shed her bunny boots and parka at the door, then plucked a pack of Blackjack gum from the point-of-purchase display.

  She was there to gossip, not to shop, and the gum was the cheapest excuse at hand. She gave Cecil, Deb's King Charles spaniel, a little pat on the head. He lounged, as he did every day, in his cushioned basket on the counter. "Don't see much of Chief Burke down at The Lodge."

  Deb continued to shelve packs of smokes and chewing tobacco. Her store was a clearinghouse for town news. If she didn't know about it, it hadn't happened yet.

  "Doesn't come around here much, either. Keeps to himself."

  "Has breakfast there every day with Rose's boy and takes his dinner there most nights. Not much of an appetite, you ask me."

  Since she had the pack of gum in her hand anyway, Sarrie opened it. "I pick up his room every morning, not that there's much to pick up. Man doesn't have anything but his clothes and shaving gear. Not a picture, not a book."

  Since she did the majority of the housekeeping at The Lodge, Sarrie considered herself an expert on human behavior.

  "Maybe he's having stuff sent."

  "Don't think I didn't ask." Sarrie wagged a stick of gum before folding it into her mouth. "Made it a point to. I said to him, 'So, Chief Burke, you got the rest of your things coming up from the Lower 48?' And he says to me, 'I brought everything with me.' Doesn't make any phone calls either, at least not from his room. Or get any. Far as I can see, the only thing he does up there is sleep."

  Though there was no one else in the store at the moment, Sarrie dropped her voice, leaned in. "And despite Charlene's throwing herself at him, he's sleeping alone." She gave a sharp nod. "You change a man's sheets, you know what he's up to in the night."

  "Maybe they do it in the shower or on the floor." Deb had the pleasure of seeing Sarrie's chipmunk-cheeked face register shock. "No law says you've got to do your screwing in bed."

  Being a professional on the gossip circuit, Sarrie recovered quickly. "Charlene was getting any, she wouldn't still be chasing after him like a hound after a rabbit, would she?"

  Pausing to scratch Cecil behind his silky ears, Deb had to concede the point. "Probably not."