Northern Lights Page 5

  "They broke some stuff back there."

  "Oh. Well, they always pay for it after. But they did run off a couple of tourists who were going to order lunch."

  "Bill started it."

  "Oh now, Jim, you both start it. Every time. I've told you I don't want you coming in here fighting and causing a ruckus that runs people off. I don't want to press charges exactly. I just want this nonsense to stop. And payment for damages."

  "Got it. Let's go sort this out, Jim."

  "I don't see why I have to—"

  Nate solved the matter by pushing him out into the cold.

  "Hey, Christ's sake, I need my gear."

  "Deputy Notti will bring it. Get in the car, or stand here and get frostbite. Up to you." He yanked the door open, gave Jim a heave inside.

  Once Nate was behind the wheel, Jim had recovered some dignity, despite the bleeding mouth and puffy eye. "I don't think this is the way to treat people. It ain't right."

  "I don't think it's right to coldcock your brother when somebody's holding his arms."

  Jim had the grace to look chagrined, and dipped his chin onto his chest. "I was caught up. Heat of the moment. And the son of a bitch pissed me off. You're that Outsiders come to be chief of police, aren't you?"

  "You're a quick study, Jim."

  Jim sulked during the short drive to the station house. Then he trudged along as Nate took him inside.

  "Lower 48 here," he said the minute he spotted Otto and Peach, "he doesn't understand how things are done in Lunacy."

  "Why don't you explain it all to him?" There was a light in Otto's eyes. It might've been glee.

  "Need the first-aid kit. Step into my office, Jim."

  Nate led him in, pushed him into a chair, then, after unhooking one of the cuffs, snapped it onto the arm of the chair.

  "Aw, come on. If I was going anywhere, I could just take this little dink of a chair with me."

  "Sure you could. Then I'd add stealing police property to the mix."

  Jim sulked some more. He was a bony man of about thirty, with a shaggy mop of brown hair, a narrow face sunken at the cheeks. His eyes were brown, with the left puffing up nicely from one of those short-armed punches. His lip was split and continued to dribble blood.

  "I don't like you," he decided.

  "That's not against the law. Disturbing the peace, destroying property, assault. Those are."

  "Round here, a man wants to pound on his fool of a brother, it's his business."

  "Not anymore. 'Round here, these days, a man's going to show respect for private property, and public property. He's going to show respect for duly designated officers of the law."

  "Peter? That little shithead."

  "That's Deputy Shithead now."

  Jim blew a sighing breath that had blood spitting out along with the air. "Christ's sake, I've known him since before he was born."

  "When he's wearing a badge, and he tells you to settle down, you settle, whether or not you've known him in vitro."

  Jim managed to look both interested and baffled. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

  "I get that." He glanced over as Peach came in.

  "Got the first-aid kit and an ice pack." She flipped the ice pack to Jim, set the kit on the desk in front of Nate. Then she fisted her hands on her hips. "Jim Mackie, you just don't grow any smarter, do you?"

  "It was Bill started it." Flushing, he pressed the ice pack to his bleeding lip.

  "So you say. Where is Bill?"

  "Peter's bringing him along," Nate said. "When he wakes up."

  Peach sniffed. "Your mother's likely to blacken your other eye when she has to bail you out." With that prediction, she walked out, snapped the door closed.

  "Jeez! You're not going to put me in jail for punching my own brother."

  "I could. Maybe I'll cut you some slack, seeing as this is my first day on the job." Nate leaned back. "What were you fighting about?"

  "Okay, listen to this." Gearing up for his own defense, Jim slapped his hands on his knees. "That brainless jackass said how Stagecoach was the best Western ever made when everybody knows it's Red River."

  Nate said nothing for a long moment. "That's it?"

  "Well, Christ's sakes."

  "Just want to be clear. You and your brother whaled on each other because you disagreed about the relative merits of Stagecoach versus Red River in the John Wayne oeuvre."

  "In his what?"

  "You were fighting over John Wayne movies."

  Jim shifted on his seat. "Guess. We'll settle up with Charlene. Can I go now?"

  "You'll settle up with Charlene, and you'll pay a fine of a hundred dollars each for creating a public nuisance."

  "Oh hell now. You can't—"

  "I can." Nate leaned forward, and Jim got a good look at cool, quiet gray eyes that made him want to squirm in his seat. "Jim, listen to what I'm saying to you. I don't want you or Bill fighting in The Lodge. Anywhere else for that matter, but for just this minute, we'll pinpoint The Lodge. There's a young boy who spends most of his day there."

  "Well, hell, Rose always takes Jesse back in the kitchen if there's a ruckus. Me and Bill, we wouldn't do nothing to hurt that kid. We're just, you know, high-spirited."

  "You'll have to lower those spirits when you're in town."

  "A hundred dollars?"

  "You can pay Peach, within the next twenty-four hours. You don't, I'm going to double the fine for every day you're late meeting the terms. If you don't want to pay the fine, you can spend the next three days in our fine accommodations here."

  "We'll pay it." He muttered, shifted, sighed. "But Christ's sake. Stagecoach."

  "Personally, I like Rio Bravo."

  Jim opened his mouth, shut it again. Obviously he took a moment to consider the consequences.

  "It's a damn good movie," he said after a moment, "but it ain't no Red River."

  * * *

  If nuisance calls were to be the norm, Nate considered he might have made the right decision in coming to Lunacy. Sibling brawls were probably his top speed these days.

  He wasn't looking for challenges.

  The Mackie brothers hadn't posed one. His round with Bill had gone along the same lines as his round with Jim, though Bill had argued passionately, and with considerable articulation, regarding Stagecoach. He hadn't seemed nearly as upset at being punched in the face as he was about having his favorite movie dissed.

  Peter stuck his head in the door. "Chief? Charlene says you should come over and have lunch on the house."

  "I appreciate that, but I've got to get ready for this meeting." And he hadn't missed the gleam in Charlene's eyes when he'd hauled off Jim Mackie. "I'd like you to follow this one through, Peter. Go on over there, get a list of damages and replacement costs from Charlene. See that the Mackie boys get it, and pay the freight within forty-eight hours."

  "Sure thing. You handled that real slick, chief."

  "Wasn't much to handle. I'm going to write the report. I'm going to want you to look it over, add anything you feel necessary."

  He looked around when he heard a window-rattling roar. "Earthquake? Volcano? Nuclear war?"

  "Beaver," Peter told him.

  "I don't care if it is Alaska, you don't have beavers big enough to sound like that."

  With an appreciative laugh, Peter gestured to the window. "Meg Galloway's plane. It's a Beaver. She's bringing in supplies."

  Swiveling around, Nate caught sight of the red plane, one that looked the size of a toy to him. Recalling he'd actually flown on one of about the same size, he felt the little pitch in the belly and turned away again.

  Grateful for the distraction, he pressed his intercom button when it buzzed. "Yes, Peach."

  "A couple of kids pitching ice balls at the school windows. Broke one before they ran off."

  "We got ID?"

  "Yes indeed. All three of them."

  He considered a moment, worked down the order of things. "See if Otto can
take it."

  He looked back at Pete. "Question?"

  "No. No, sir." Then he grinned. "Just nice to be doing, that's all."

  "Yeah. Doing's good."

  He kept himself busy doing until it was time to leave for the meeting. They were primarily housekeeping and organizational chores, but it helped Nate feel as if he was making his place.

  For however long the place was his.

  He'd signed on for a year, but both he and the town council had a sixty-day grace period when either side could opt out.

  It steadied him to know he could leave tomorrow if he chose. Or next week. If he was here at the end of two months, he should know if he'd stick for the term of contract.

  He opted to walk to Town Hall. It seemed wimpy somehow to drive so short a distance.

  The sky was a clear, hard blue that had the white mass of mountains standing against it as if etched with a thin, sharp knife. The temperatures hovered at inhuman, but he saw a couple of kids burst out of The Corner Store with candy bars in their fists just as kids everywhere burst out of doors with candy. Full of greed and anticipation.

  The minute they raced down the sidewalk, hands appeared at the door to turn the Open sign around to Closed.

  More cars and trucks were parked on the street now, and others easing along the snow-packed road.

  It looked like they'd have a full house at the town meeting.

  He felt a quick twist in his gut, one he recognized from his public speaking course in college. A hideous mistake as an elective. Live and learn.

  He enjoyed a reasonable amount of conversation. Give him a suspect to interrogate, a witness to interview, no problem—or it hadn't been once upon a time. But ask him to stand up in front of an audience of some sort and speak in coherent sentences. Flop sweat was already snaking a line down his back.

  Just get through it, he ordered himself. Get through the next hour, and you'll never have to do this again. Probably.

  He stepped inside, into heat and a hubbub of voices. A number of people stood around a lobby area dominated by the biggest fish Nate had ever seen. He was baffled enough to focus on it, wonder if it was, perhaps, some sort of small, mutant whale—and how in God's name someone had caught it much less managed to mount it to the wall.

  The distraction saved him from worrying overmuch about the number of people looking in his direction, and the number already inside the meeting area, sitting on folding chairs and facing a stage and lectern.

  "King salmon," Hopp said from behind him.

  He kept staring at the enormous silver fish that showed its black gums in a kind of sneer. "That's a salmon? I've eaten salmon. I've had salmon in restaurants. They're like this big." He held out his hands to measure.

  "You haven't eaten Alaskan king salmon, then. But truth to tell, this one's a big son of a bitch. My husband caught it. Came in at ninety-two pounds, two ounces. Short of the state record, but a hell of a prize."

  "What did he use? A forklift?"

  She let out her foghorn laugh, slapped him merrily on the shoulder. "You fish?"

  "No."

  "At all?"

  "Got nothing against it, just never have." He turned then, and his brows shot up. She'd decked herself out in a sharp-looking business suit with tiny black and white checks. There were pearls at her ears, and a slick coat of red lipstick on her mouth.

  "You look . . . impressive, mayor."

  "A two-hundred-year-old redwood looks impressive."

  "Well, I was going to say you look hot, but I thought it would be inappropriate."

  She smiled broadly. "You're a clever boy, Ignatious."

  "Not really. Not so much."

  "If I can look hot, you can be clever. It's all presentation. Now why don't we get this show on the road by me introducing you to the town council members. Then we'll do our little speeches." She took his arm the way a woman might as she led a man through a cocktail party crowd. "Heard you dealt with the Mackie brothers already."

  "Just a little disagreement over Westerns."

  "I like those Clint Eastwood movies, myself. The early ones. Ed Woolcott, come over here and meet our new chief of police."

  He met Woolcott, a tough-looking man in his fifties who gave Nate's hand a politician's shake. His hair was gray and full, brushed back from a craggy face. A tiny, white scar cut through his left eyebrow.

  "I run the bank," he told Nate—which explained the navy blue suit and pinstriped tie. "I expect you'll be opening an account with us shortly."

  "I'll have to take care of that."

  "We're not here to drum up business, Ed. Let me finish showing Ignatious off."

  He met Deb and Harry Miner, who ran The Corner Store, Alan B. Royce, the retired judge, Walter Notti, Peter's father, musher and sled-dog breeder—all of whom were on the town council.

  "Ken Darby, our doctor, will be along when he can."

  "That's okay. It's going to take a while to keep this all straight anyway."

  Then there was Bess Mackie—a beanpole with a shock of henna-colored hair who planted herself in front of him, crossed her arms over her thin chest and sniffed.

  "You roust my boys today?"

  "Yes, ma'am, you could say that."

  She drew another sharp breath through her thin nostrils, nodded twice. "Good. Next time, you knock their heads together, save me the trouble."

  It was, Nate decided as she strode off to find a seat, a warm enough welcome, considering.

  Hopp worked him toward the stage where chairs were set up for her and Nate, and for Woolcott who served as deputy mayor.

  "Deb's going to start things off with some town business, announcements and such," Hopp explained. "Then Ed'll have his say, introduce me. I'll have mine, introduce you. After you say your piece, we'll close it down. Might be some questions here and there."

  Nate felt his stomach sink. "Okay."

  She motioned him to a chair, took her own, then nodded at Deb Miner.

  Deb, a stocky woman with a pretty face framed by wispy blond hair, stepped onto the stage, took her place behind the lectern.

  The mike buzzed and squeaked while she adjusted it, and her throat clearing could be heard echoing through the hall. "Afternoon, everybody. Before we get to our main business, I have some announcements. The New Year's Eve celebration at The Lodge is going to get rolling about nine o'clock. Live music's provided by The Caribous. We'll be passing the hat for the entertainment, so