Northern Lights

would who knew the layout and had a purpose—toward the back of her house. The dogs' behavior indicates they recognized this individual and considered him or her friendly. This individual then stopped at the edge of the screen of trees."
    "If, um, I was hiking around and happened to spot you and Meg . . . taking a dip in her hot tub, I'd probably be, you could say, hesitant to make myself known. I'd probably back off and leave, with the sincere hope you didn't spot me. It'd be embarrassing otherwise."
    "Seems to me it'd be less embarrassing altogether not to go sneaking around by her house in the dark."
    "It would." Studying the pictures, Peter pulled on his bottom lip. "Maybe it was somebody setting or checking traps. It's really Meg's property, right there by her house, I mean, but a little poaching maybe. She wouldn't like it, because of her dogs. I bet she had the music going."
    "She did."
    "So, somebody might've headed toward the house, just to see, especially if he was checking traps."
    "Okay." It was reasonable. "How about you and Otto taking a run out there, see if you can find any traps. If you do, I'd like to know who set them. I don't want to see one of the dogs hurt."
    "We'll get right on that." He glanced back toward the board. He might've been green, but he wasn't slow. "You think somebody was spying on her? Somebody who's involved in all this?"
    "I think it's worth finding out."
    "Rock and Bull wouldn't let anybody hurt her. Even if they considered the . . . individual friendly, anybody made any kind of threatening move on her, they'd attack."
    "That's good to know. Let me know about those traps, one way or the other, as soon as you can."
    "Ah, chief ? I think you should know Carrie Hawbaker's been making a lot of calls, talking to a lot of people. She's saying you're trying to smear Max's character so you can puff yourself up. Mostly people know she's just upset and a little crazy right now, but, well, some of them, maybe some who didn't much like the idea of bringing in someone from Outside, are stewing about it."
    "I'll handle it, but I appreciate the heads-up."
    There was concern in his dark eyes and a hint of anger on his face. "If people knew you were working so hard to try to find out the whole truth, they might settle."
    "Let's just do the job for now, Peter. Cops never win popularity contests."
     
     
    HE WASN'T GOING TO WIN one with Charlene either, Nate decided, when she stormed into his office an hour later.
    "I'm up to my ears over at The Lodge," she began. "Rose isn't in any shape to wait tables or anything else. And I don't appreciate you calling me over here like I'm some criminal. I'm in mourning, goddamn it, and you should have some respect."
    "I've got nothing but respect, Charlene. If it'll help any, you can cross my room off the housekeeping schedule until things get back to routine. I can deal with it myself."
    "That's hardly going to make a difference, with every other person in town coming in to gossip and sniff around about my Pat and about poor Carrie. You think because Max went and killed himself she's got more grief than I do?"
    "I don't think it's a contest."
    She tossed her head, jutted up her chin. Nate figured she'd stomp her foot next, but she folded her arms instead.
    "If you talk to me that way, I don't have a thing to say to you. Don't think I'm going to tolerate you taking that attitude with me just because you're banging Meg."
    "You're going to want to sit down and shut up."
    Her mouth dropped open, her cheeks flamed. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
    "I think I'm the chief of police, and if you don't stop being a pain in my ass and cooperate, I'm going to put yours in a cell until you do."
    Her mouth, painted Caribbean coral, opened and closed like a guppy's. "You can't do that."
    Probably not, Nate thought, but he was past playing with her. "You want to sit around sulking and playing the injured party? I know that tune, and it gets old and boring for everybody who has to hear it. Or do you want to do something about it? Do you want to help me find out who killed the man you say you loved?"
    "I did love him! The stupid, selfish bastard." She dropped into a chair, burst into tears.
    He debated for five seconds on how to handle her. He walked out, grabbed the box of tissues Peach kept on her desk and ignored his dispatcher's wide eyes. Back in the office, he dropped the box on Charlene's lap.
    "Go ahead, have a jag. Then mop yourself up, pull it together and