Northern Lights

out of Anchorage was doing a pan of the crowd from the opposite corner.
    Tourists shot videos or browsed the folding tables and portable booths where local crafts and jewelry were sold. Beaded leather bags, dream catchers, elaborate Native masks hung on folding screens. Plain and fancy mukluks and handwoven grass baskets ranged over the folding tables or slabs of plywood set on sawhorses.
    Though it was warm and sunny, caps and scarves made of qiviut, the underwool of the Arctic musk ox, sold briskly.
    The Italian Place sold slices of pizza to go. The Corner Store had a special on disposable cameras and bug dope. A spin rack of postcards stood just outside the door. They ran three for two dollars.
    "An enterprising little town," Meg commented as they drove through.
    "It is that."
    "And after today, a safer one. Thanks to you. Otto nailed that. It's thanks to you, chief."
    "Aw shucks, ma'am."
    She rubbed a hand over his. "You say that like Gary Cooper, but you've got Clint Eastwood—Dirty Harry years—in your eyes."
    "Just don't . . . I'm trusting you."
    "You can." There was an icy calm over the rage now. If there was overflow, if that rage bubbled up and cracked the calm, she'd freeze it up again. "I need to be there, but . . . we can say this is your bear to take down."
    "Okay."
    "It's going to be a beautiful day for a parade," she said after a long breath. "The air's so still, though. Like it's waiting for something." They pulled up at the school. "I guess this is it."
    The marching bands were decked out in bright blue uniforms with their brass buttons and instruments gleaming with polish. Horns clashed as different sections practiced, and adults in charge shouted out instructions.
    Drums boomed.
    The hockey team was already loading up, sticks clacking as they herded into position. They'd lead the parade, with their regional champions' banner hiding the rust on Bing's flatbed truck. A test of the recording and speakers had Queen's "We Are the Champions" pouring out.
    "There you are." Hopp, snappy in a suit of hot candy pink, hurried up to him. "Ignatious, I thought we were going to have to run this show without you."
    "Handling things in town. You've got a full house."
    "And an NBC affiliate to document it." Her cheeks were nearly as pink as her suit with the excitement of it. "Meg, shouldn't you be getting up there?" She pointed skyward.
    "Engine's down, Hopp. Sorry."
    "Oh. Well, poop. Do you know if Doug Clooney's got his boat out on the river yet? I've been looking for Peach or Deb—they're supposed to be driving herd around here—but everyone's running around like chickens."
    "I'm sure he's out there, and Deb's right over there, getting the hockey team settled."
    "Oh. Good God, we're starting. Ed! Stop primping for five seconds. I don't know why I let them talk me into riding behind these horses. Don't see why we couldn't have gotten a convertible. It's more dignified."
    "But not as much of a spectacle." Ed smiled broadly as he joined them. He wore a navy three-piece suit, bankerly with its chalk stripes and flashy with its paisley tie. "Guess we should've had our chief of police behind the horses."
    "Maybe next time," Nate said easily.
    "I haven't congratulated you on your engagement." His eyes were watchful on Nate's as he held out a hand.
    He considered doing it now, right now. He could have him down and cuffed in under ten seconds.
    And three elementary kids rushed between them, chased by another with a plastic gun. A pretty, young majorette in sparkles hurried over to retrieve the missed baton that landed near his feet.
    "Sorry! Sorry, Chief Burke. It got away from me."
    "No problem. Thanks, Ed." He extended his hand to complete the aborted shake and again thought—maybe now.
    Jesse ran up, threw his arms around Nate's knees.
    "I get to be in the parade!" the boy shouted. "I get to wear a costume and march right down the street. Are you going to watch me, Chief Nate?"
    "Absolutely."
    "Don't you look handsome," Hopp commented, and crouched down to Jesse as the boy slipped his hand trustfully into Nate's.
    Not here, Nate told himself. Not now. No one gets hurt today. "Hope you'll come to the wedding," he said to Ed.
    "Wouldn't miss it. Couldn't settle for a local, eh, Meg?"
    "He survived a winter. That makes him local enough."
    "I suppose it does."
    "Jesse, you better get back to your group." Hopp gave him a little pat on the butt, and he ran off, shouting, "Watch me!"
    "Help me up into this thing, Ed.