Northern Lights

it in his pack and hauled it home for me to deal with. He didn't have any respect for money. A lot of people that come from it don't."
    She lifted her head. "Are you saying there was money?"
    "I'm saying there's a possibility."
    "He never sent any home that time. He never sent home a dime."
    "If he had money and was going on a climb?"
    "He'd have left it stuffed in a drawer, if he kept his room. Or if he didn't keep his room, he'd have taken it with him. The State Police didn't say anything about money."
    "He didn't have any on him."
    None, Nate thought as he went out again. No wallet, no ID, no cash. No pack. Just matches and the journal, zipped into the pocket of his parka.
    On the sidewalk, he took out his notebook. He wrote down MONEY, circled it.
    The saying was "Follow the woman," he thought, but a cop knew if money was around murder, you always, always followed the money.
    He wondered how he could find out if anyone in Lunacy had come into a tidy little windfall sixteen years before.
    Of course, it was just as likely Galloway kept a room, left the money in it. And the maid, the owner or the next person to occupy it just got really lucky.
    Or he'd taken it with him in his pack. His killer hadn't opened it up before he'd tossed it into a handy crevice.
    But why should the killer take the pack at all if not for a reason? For supplies—and woo-hoo, look what else we've got here. Or just to dump it in a panic, thinking if the body was found it wouldn't be identifiable.
    But if there had been money, Nate was willing to bet the killer had known it was there and had helped himself. Who—?
    "People might wonder why they're paying taxes so the chief of police can daydream out on the street."
    He shook himself back, looked down at Hopp. "Are you everywhere?"
    "As often as possible. I'm on my way in to get a cup of coffee and brood. And plot." She wore irritation on her face as visibly as she wore her green-checked shirt.
    "What's up?"
    "John Malmont just tendered his resignation. Says he's leaving at the end of the school year."
    "Leaving teaching?"
    "Leaving Lunacy. We can't afford to lose him."
    She took out her zippo, but only stood snapping the top open and shut. Talk around town was she was wearing the patch.
    "He's a superior teacher, and added to that, he's helping Carrie with The Lunatic, he runs all the school plays, heads up the yearbook committee, puts us on the tourist map with articles he gets published in magazines. I've got to sit down and figure out how to keep him."
    "Did he say why he decided to leave? All of a sudden?"
    "Just that it was time for a change. One minute we're planning our summer book club, which he heads up, and the next he's packing. Son of a bitch!"
    She rolled her shoulders. "I'm having coffee and pie. Pie à la mode." She snapped the lighter violently. "That'll get the brain cells working. He's not leaving without a fight."
    Interesting, Nate thought. Interesting timing.
     
     
    BURKE HAD TO GO. That was the bottom line now. Poking and prodding into matters that were none of his business.
    Well, there was more than one way to run a pain-in-the-ass cheechako out of town. There were those who said Burke had risen above that status now that he'd survived his first winter.
    But he knew some remained cheechakos no matter what they survived.
    Galloway had been one. When push came to shove, he'd been gutless and mewling and sneaky. Most of all sneaky.
    The man had been an asshole, pure and simple. Why should anyone give a damn that he was dead?
    Done what had to be done, he told himself as he carried the heavy plastic bags through the woods. Just like he was doing what had to be done now.
    Burke would be dealt with. Another gutless, mewling, sneaky asshole. Oh, my wife left me for another man. Woe is me. Oh, I got my partner killed. Boo hoo. I have to run away where nobody knows me so I can wallow in my own muck of self-pity.
    But that wasn't good enough. Had to try to be a big shot. To take over what wasn't his. Could never be his.
    Yeah, he'd be dealt with, and life would get back to normal.
    He hung the plastic bags in the trees closest to the house while the dogs whined and batted their tails.
    "Not this time, boys," he said aloud and hung another from the eave by the back door, just out of sight of the doorway. "Not this time, fellas."
    He gave the dogs a brisk rub, but they were more interested in sniffing at and licking his hands.
    He liked the dogs. He'd liked Yukon. But that old