Northern Lights

Her name was Willow Louise, and she was beautiful. This information came from Peter, who rushed into the station four hours after he'd rushed into the clinic.
    Knowing his job, Nate had stopped by The Corner Store and picked up cigars. And while he was there found a sturdy five-ring binder. It was army green rather than the black he would have preferred but he bought it, charged it to the Lunacy PD account.
    It would hold his notes, copies of all the reports and photos. It would be his murder book.
    He passed the cigars out with some ceremony to Peter, Otto and an amused Peach. The gesture warmed the cold shoulder she'd given him since he'd snapped at her that morning.
    After some backslapping and smelly smoke, he gave Peter the rest of the day off.
    Nate hunkered back in his office, spent some time with the hole punch and the copier. He put his murder book in order. Having it and the board gave him that tangible foundation. It was cop work.
    It was his work.
    He intended to spend the next part of his shift harassing Anchorage with more calls, but Peach came in. She shut the door, sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
    "Problem?"
    "You think those tracks back at Meg's place are something to worry about?"
    "Well . . ."
    "Otto told me, since you didn't."
    "I, ah—"
    "If you told me what's what around here, I wouldn't get irritable."
    "Yes, ma'am."
    Her lips twitched at that. "And don't think I'm not onto you, Ignatious. You use that agreeable tone when you want to change the subject or make someone think you're agreeable when you're not."
    "Busted. I thought it was worth checking out, that's all."
    "And you don't mention it to your dispatcher because maybe you don't think she's smart enough to know you're spending as much free time as you can manage out there snuggled up with Megan Galloway?"
    "No." Watching her, he tapped the corner of his murder book right, tapped it left. "But maybe I didn't want to discuss said snuggling with the woman who brings me sticky buns. Because she might get the wrong idea."
    "And Peter and Otto wouldn't?"
    "They're guys. Mostly guys only have one idea about . . . snuggling, so it didn't apply. I'm sorry I was short with you this morning, and I'm sorry I didn't keep my valued and respected dispatcher in the loop."
    "You've got a smooth way about you," she said after a minute. "You worried about Meg?"
    "I'm wondering what business anybody had sneaking around there, that's all."
    "She'd be the first to tell you she can handle herself and always could. But I'm of the opinion it never hurts a woman to have a good man looking out. People around here, they don't hurt each other. Oh, some fistfights now and then or some backbiting, what have you. But it's a place you feel safe, where you know if you had trouble, somebody'd lend a hand."
    She drew the pencil out of her bun, ran it through her fingers. "Now this happens, and you wonder if feeling safe was just an illusion. People get worked up. Get scared and spooked."
    "And a lot of those people are armed and territorial."
    "And a little bit crazy," she added with a nod. "You're going to want to be careful."
    "Who did Max trust enough to let get that close, Peach? Close enough to put a bullet in his head?"
    She played with the pencil another moment, then stuck it firmly back in her bun. "You're not going to let it be suicide."
    "I'm not going to let it be what it's not."
    She sighed, twice. "Can't think of anybody he wouldn't have trusted. Same goes for me, and just about everyone in Lunacy. We're a community. We may argue and disagree and kick some ass now and then, but we're still a community. And that's next door to family."
    "Put it this way. Who would Max have climbed with back when Galloway went missing that he'd trust well enough today?"
    "God Almighty." Staring at him, she pressed a fist to her heart. "You're scaring me some. Putting it that way, you're making me think which one of my neighbors, my friends, might be a cold-blooded killer."
    "I don't know that it's cold."
    But you are, she realized suddenly. When it comes down to this, you are. "Bing, Jacob, Harry or Deb. Lord God. Ah, Hopp or Ed, though Hopp was never too keen on climbing. Mackie Sr., Drunk Mike if he was sober enough. Even The Professor went up a couple times. Short, summer climbs as far as I know."
    "John always had a thing for Charlene."
    "Holy hell, Nate."
    "Just getting a picture, Peach."
    "I guess so. Long as I can remember anyway. Not that she looked twice at