Northern Lights

women."
    "I signed on as deputy, not as a maid."
    She had a soft, motherly face. And, like any mother worth her salt, could sear a hole through steel with one firm look. "And I'm being paid to work as dispatcher and secretary, not to scrub toilets. But what has to be done, has to be done."
    "Why don't we rotate those chores for the time being?" Nate interrupted as he could see combat fire light both faces. "And I'll talk to Mayor Hopp about our budget. Maybe we can squeeze out enough to hire somebody to come in and swab us out once a week. Who has the keys to the weapon cabinet?"
    "They're locked in my drawer," Peach told him.
    "I'd like to have them. And I'd like to know what weapons each of you deputies is qualified for."
    "If it's a gun, I can shoot it," Otto retorted.
    "That may be true, but we're wearing badges." He tipped his chair back so he could see the gun Otto wore in a belt holster. "You want to stick with the .38 for your service revolver?"
    "It's my own, and it suits me."
    "That's fine. I'm going to take the 9mm SIG from the cabinet. Peter, you comfortable with the nine you're carrying?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "Peach, can you handle a firearm?"
    "I've got my father's Colt .45 revolver locked in my desk, too. He taught me how to shoot when I was five. And I can handle anything in that cabinet, the same as GI Joe here."
    "I served in the Corps," Otto retorted, with some heat. "I'm a Marine."
    "Okay then." Nate cleared his throat. "How many residents, would you say, own weapons?"
    The three of them stared at him until, finally, Otto's lips quirked up. "That'd be about all of them."
    "Great. Do we have a list of those residents who're licensed to carry concealed?"
    "I can get that for you," Peach offered.
    "That'll be good. And would there be a copy of town ordinances?"
    "I'll get it."
    "One last," Nate said as Peach got up. "If we have occasion to arrest anyone, who sets bail, decides on the term, the payment of fine, and so on?"
    There was a long silence before Peter spoke. "I guess you do, chief."
    Nate blew out a breath. "Won't that be fun?"
    He went back into his office, taking the paperwork Peach gave him. It didn't take long to read through it, but it gave him something to pin up on his corkboard.
    He was lining up pages, tacking them on when Peach came in. "Got those keys for you, Nate. These here are for the gun cabinet. These are for the station doors, front and back, the cells and your car. Everything's labeled."
    "My car? What've I got?"
    "Grand Cherokee. It's parked out on the street." She dumped keys into his hand. "Hopp said one of us should show you how you work the heat block for the engine."
    He'd read about those, too. Heaters designed to keep an engine warm when at rest in subzero temperatures. "We'll get to it."
    "Sun's coming up."
    "What?" He turned, looked out the window.
    Then he just stood, his arms at his side, the keys weighing down his hand, as the sun bloomed orange and rose in the sky. The mountains came alive under it, massive and white with the gold streaks sliding over them.
    They filled his window. Left him speechless.
    "Nothing like your first winter sunrise in Alaska."
    "I guess not." Mesmerized, he stepped closer to the window.
    He could see the river where he'd landed—a long, saggy dock he hadn't noticed before, and the sheen of ice under the lightening sky. There were hills of snow, a huddle of houses, stands of trees—and he noted, people. There were people, bundled up so thickly they looked like globs of color gliding over the white.
    There was smoke rising, and Jesus, was that an eagle soaring over head? And as he watched, a group of kids went running toward the iced ribbon of river, hockey sticks and skates over their shoulders.
    And the mountains stood over it all, like gods.
    Watching them, he forgot about the cold, the wind, the isolation and his own quiet misery.
    Watching them, he felt alive.

 
     
     
    THREE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    MAYBE IT WAS too damn cold, maybe people were on their best behavior, or it might have been that the holiday spirit was entrenched in that week between Christmas and New Year's, but it was nearly noon before the first call came in.
    "Nate?" Peach came to his door holding a couple of knitting needles and a hank of purple wool. "Charlene called from The Lodge. Seems a couple of the boys got into a ruckus over a game of pool. Some pushyshovey going on."
    "All right." He got to his feet, fishing a quarter out of his pocket as he