Northern Lights

sees it again. I've seen it before. Somewhere." Nate picked it up, let the cross twirl. "Somewhere."
     
     
    HE CARRIED IT WITH HIM. It wasn't strictly procedure, but Nate kept the earring in his pocket as he went about town business.
    He said nothing to anyone about the incident at Meg's, and he asked her and Jacob to do the same. A little game with a killer, he thought.
    In that burgeoning spring while the days lengthened and the green overtook the white, he went about his duties, talked with the people of his town, listened to their troubles and complaints.
    And checked the earlobes of all the men he came in contact with.
    "They can close up," Meg told him one night.
    "What?"
    "The holes in your ear—or wherever you decide to skewer yourself." She danced her fingers lightly over his penis.
    "Please." He couldn't quite submerge the shudder and made her laugh. Wickedly.
    "I've heard it can really add something to the . . . thrust."
    "Don't even think. What do you mean, close up?"
    "They can heal up. If you haven't had it for long, and you quit wearing anything in it, they"—she made a slurping sound—"close up again."
    "Son of a bitch. Are you sure?"
    "I used to have four in this one." She tugged her left ear. "Got an urge and jabbed a third and fourth hole in."
    "Yourself ? You did it yourself ?"
    "Sure. What am I, a weenie?" She rolled over on him, and since she was naked, his mind wandered away from the conversation before he dragged it back again.
    "I wore four for a few weeks, but it started to be too much trouble, so I ditched the extras. And they closed up." She reached over to turn on the light, then angled her head. "See?"
    "You could've told me that before I looked at earlobes all over town and made notes on who had piercings."
    She rubbed his earlobe. "You might look cute with one."
    "No."
    "I could do it for you."
    "Absolutely no. Not in the ear or anywhere else."
    "Spoilsport."
    "Yeah, that's me. I've got to rethink this now, since my short list is no longer viable."
    She rose up to straddle him, to take him in. "Think later."
    • • •
     
     
    HE DROPPED INTO THE LODGE and spotted Hopp and Ed having a meeting over buffalo salad. He stopped at their booth. "Can I interrupt a minute?"
    "Sure, slide in." Hopp made room for him. "We're going over what you'd call fiduciary matters. Gives me a headache and perks Ed here right up. We're trying to figure out how to stretch the budget to building a library. Section off part of the proposed post office for it, at least for now. What do you think?"
    "Sounds like a nice idea to me."
    "We're agreed on that." Ed dabbed at his lip with a napkin. "But we need a little more elastic in the budget to make the stretch." He winked at Hopp. "I know that's not what you want to hear."
    "We get people involved, get donations for materials, for labor. We get books donated or go begging for them. People pull together if you get them excited about a project."
    "You can count me in," Nate told them. "If and when. Meanwhile, I got a fiduciary type of question myself. I was going to drop by to see you, Ed. Bank question, goes back a few years, so it may tax your memory."
    No hole in his ear, Nate thought as Ed nodded.
    "When it comes to banking, my memory's long. Hit me."
    "It deals with Galloway."
    "Pat?" He lowered his voice, glancing around the restaurant. "Maybe we shouldn't discuss this here. Charlene."
    "It won't take long. I've got a source saying Galloway got himself a good pile of cash playing poker when he was in Anchorage."
    "Pat loved to play poker," Hopp commented.
    "That he did. I played with him more than once. Small stakes, though," Ed added. "I can't imagine him winning much."
    "Source says otherwise. So I was wondering, did he send any money back, into his account here in town, before he went on that climb?"
    "Not that I recall. Not even a paycheck. We were a smaller operation in those days, as I told you before." His eyes narrowed in thought. "Though by the time Pat left, we'd built an actual vault and had two part-time tellers. Still I was involved in nearly every transaction."
    Rubbing his chin, he sat back. "Pat didn't bother with the finances. He wasn't one to come into the bank to deposit, or withdraw for that matter."
    "How about when he left town for work? Did he usually send money back?"
    "Now, he did, sometimes. I do remember Charlene coming down once, even twice, every week—more than two months—checking to see if he had anything direct