Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
O phelia’s first time in a snowplow felt a little anticlimactic. Flossy sat between her and David Laurence, a handsome man who had to be in his late twenties with sparkling brown eyes and hair who whistled a soft tune as he shoved snow to the side of the road on the way to the bar. The headlights caught the snow still cascading down, and even though Flossy had assured Ophelia it was dawn, the outside remained pitch-dark.
David pulled over at the end of Main Street, next to a large wooden tavern with a sign in the window that read Sam’s Tavern . Another road crossed Main Street and looked like it followed a wide river in each direction. “I’ll leave you at Sam’s and plow the river road as far as I can. Flossy, please tell Monica that I’ll be back in about half an hour. Also, nice to meet you, Ophelia.”
Ophelia opened her door, helping the elderly woman out. “Thanks, David.” She assisted Flossy across a freshly shoveled walk, then through a round, wooden door into instant heat. Many people, all wearing snow gear, milled around drinking from thick mugs. A Christmas tree decorated in blue and gold took up an entire corner with paper-made decorations all around the bar, but raw tension spiraled through the place.
Flossy nodded grimly at a group of white-haired ladies setting out food on a pool table covered with wooden planks.
Ophelia looked around the tavern. A wooden hand-crafted bar ran along the north wall with bottles of alcohol behind it on a shelf, two pool tables took up space to the far right, and tables dotted everywhere else. A roaring fire burned in an actual brick fireplace in the center, viewable from both sides. Behind the bar, a slender woman with long black hair and deep black eyes bustled around, filling the mugs and offering what appeared to be a comforting pat or hug once in a while. She had pale skin and lovely native features. She had to be in her mid-twenties and stood several inches shorter than Ophelia’s five-ten.
“Where’s Sam?” Ophelia asked.
Flossy pulled her toward the bar. “Sam?”
“Yeah. Sam’s Tavern. Where’s Sam?” Ophelia wound through bodies to reach the bar, allowing Flossy to lead her.
“Oh.” Flossy motioned the bartender over. “Amka Amaruq? This is Olly Spilazi.”
Amka hurried over, plucked two mugs from beneath the counter, and set them in front of the women. “Hi, Olly. Leaded or unleaded?” She reached for pewter carafes near the bourbon.
“Leaded,” Ophelia said, her nose twitching at the scent of the fresh coffee.
Amka poured from one carafe while reaching for the second one to pour Flossy’s. The older woman must like decaf. “Sorry about the rough intro to town. We don’t usually lose people until after January.”
Flossy nodded.
Oh. She spoke with complete seriousness. Ophelia took a drink of the coffee and almost moaned at the smooth and delicious taste. “Any word on the young man?”
Amka shook her head, her eyes concerned as she turned to refill the leaded carafe. “Nothing, but we keep warming cabins within a couple of miles of most known fishing holes. Hopefully, he headed to one if something happened. We have a lot of missing people, but we usually find them. Well, sometimes.” She set down the carafe, her skin nearly translucent with the firelight warming the area. “Alaska is a dangerous place.”
“So I understand,” Ophelia murmured, taking another sip. “Do you work for Sam?”
Amka shook her head. “Nope. I own the bar.”
“We own the bar.” A brown-haired man dressed in a brown checked flannel shirt and dark jeans, sitting on a stool a little farther down the bar, held out his mug for more coffee. He smiled at Ophelia, his gaze running over her form and then back to her face—the only person in the place who seemed relaxed and not on edge about the missing Wyatt. “I’m Amka’s fiancé, Jarod Teller. Nice to meet you, Agent.”
If the guy claimed to be Amka’s fiancé, he shouldn’t be checking out Ophelia’s boobs. Ophelia nodded, turning back to face Amka and dismissing Jarod. Maybe she’d read him wrong. “You purchased from Sam?”
Flossy snorted. “You really can’t ignore any sort of mystery, can you?”
Heat filled Ophelia’s cheeks. “No. Never could. Now, who the heck is Sam?”
Amka took pity on her, poured her more coffee, and finally spoke. “I bought the bar from a man named George, who purchased it from a lady named Lulu. As far as we know, a Sam never existed. But the name works, and it stuck, so there you go.”
How odd. Or perhaps eccentric served as a better description. Ophelia took another drink as Amka headed back down the bar, refilling cups as she went.
Jarod cleared his throat. “So, Olly. You really think you can solve old murders?”
“Yes,” she answered, not looking his way.
His stool scraped back. “I’m pretty free during the days if you need a guide around town,” he offered.
“You could say that again,” Flossy mumbled into her cup.
A woman hustled up, this one as tall as Ophelia. “Hey, Flossy. Did David head out to plow to the river road? I have a coffee thermos for him.”
Flossy nodded. “Yes. Ophelia, this is Monica Luna, David’s fiancée. Monica, please meet Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi.”
Luna? “Related to Gus and Janet from the Green Plate restaurant?” Ophelia asked as Monica had a large radio in one hand and held out the other to shake.
“My aunt and uncle, and I work there as well,” Monica said. “It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling and her curly brown hair around her shoulders. “I’m in charge of the high-frequency radios this year.” She glanced at Flossy. “We need to apply for another grant. We’re definitely low.” Someone called her name and she turned. “I’ll set up the grid board as well. It was nice to meet you, Ophelia.” She hurried away.
Amka leaned over the counter to peer down at Ophelia’s feet. “You’re going to need better boots than those for our winter here.”
The front door opened, and Ophelia turned to see Brock entering with Ace, both in full snow gear. She instantly went hot and then started, surprised. When he caught her eye, he smiled. She smiled back, trying to appear casual and not like a dorky teenager. What in the world had gotten into her?
“He’s like this generation’s Humphrey Bogart, right?” Flossy whispered, her mouth partially covered by her mug.
Brock cleared his throat, and the din quieted in the tavern. “All right. Dawn is breaking, and we have three buildings open while we search. Sam’s Tavern will serve as headquarters. Anybody searching have at least one partner who knows where you are at all times and then check in here with updates. The high frequency radios are by the door, and we only have enough for two people to share one. So know where your partner is at all times.”
For a guy who didn’t want to be in charge, he seemed like a natural.
He glanced at his wristwatch. “Miller boys? Where are you?”
Two young men, probably in their late teens, stepped forward from behind the food. Tall and lean with sandy blond hair, they both wore full snow gear. “Here, Sheriff,” the slightly taller one said. At Brock’s frown, he coughed. “I mean, Brock. Sorry.”
Brock didn’t address the title. “Give me the status of the warming huts.”
The second kid set down his plate. “All warming huts along Samson’s Crick, the bigger river, and the three finger tributaries are stocked and ready to go. The one closest to Jaordney’s Creek, northwest of Pike Creek, crumbled to the ground before fall. Looked like porcupines got to it and ate most of the wood.”
Brock nodded. “Good job, guys. Okay. We have food and drink here, while hot food and relaxation can be found at the diner as usual. Finally, Doc has the clinic open for anybody with injuries. There should be no instances of frostbite. Next to the radios is a box of hand and feet warmers. Take all you want. Let’s go.”
Groups started shuffling toward the door, their snow boots clomping.
Ophelia moved for Brock, surprised again when she had to keep looking up to meet his gaze. “I’d like to help search.” Maybe she could get a feel for the land around them and talk to other searchers.
Brock grunted.
Two men, both grizzled and wide, moved from the bar. “I’ll take you, Agent,” said the first.
“I’m a better driver,” said the second, smiling and revealing a missing front tooth.
Brock sighed. “No. If you’re going with anybody, it’s with me.” He looked at her jacket. “You need snow gear. It’s freezing out there.”
While she didn’t like the order, at least she knew he could drive a snowmobile. She swallowed.
Amka leaned over the bar. “I have an assortment in the back room, Olly. People leave stuff here every winter. I’m sure we can find something for you.”
“I’ll help,” Jarod said.
Amka cut him a look and then gestured for Ophelia to follow her behind the bar and to a swinging door, grabbing a thermos on the way.
Ophelia paused. “I don’t want to slow you down, Brock. I could stay here.” It wasn’t in her nature to stand by and do nothing, but she didn’t have a snowmobile, and she didn’t want to be a hindrance.
“You’ll just cause issues here, and I don’t have time for anything else right now, especially since I’m not the damn sheriff.” His gaze softened slightly. Was he teasing her? “You won’t slow me down, but I’ll be out for quite a while. I’m fine having you ride behind me.”
She really wanted to go. “Okay. I’ll be right out.” She dodged around the bar and pushed open the swinging door to find Amka digging through boxes in a large storage area that led to what appeared to be a back door. An adjacent window showed the day slightly brightening outside through billowing snow. Another doorway to the left led to a small bedroom with a bathroom beyond it. “You live here?”
Amka lifted bright pink snow pants out of a box and stood. “No, but if the weather gets bad, it’s easier to stay here. Also, I sometimes have folks sleep it off.” She winced and held out the pants. “They’re definitely not your color, but they look long enough for your legs.” She eyed Ophelia. “Your very long legs. You lucked out there.”
“Ha.” Ophelia accepted the pants and kicked off her boots to pull the snow pants over her jeans. “It didn’t feel like it when I towered over every boy in the ninth grade.”
Amka chuckled. “Probably not.” She reached for a pair of brown boots with fur over the top. “These are mine. They should fit you. Size?”
“Eight.” No way did they have the same sized feet.
Amka tossed them over. “These are eights because I like to wear three pairs of socks. You’ll be fine with one pair, so long as you use the boot warmers after riding for a while. Make sure you crush them up before inserting them.”
“Thanks.” Movement crossed out back, through the window, and she straightened. “There’s somebody?—”
“I know.” Amka grasped the thermos and unlocked the back door, pushing it open. A man came into view, caught sight of Ophelia, and stopped short of taking the thermos.
Ophelia set her stance, her right hand loose in case she needed to go for her gun. She knew danger when she saw it. The man stood well over six feet, with long black hair and a broad chest. The darkness obscured his features, but something about his eyes caught her attention, even in the dim light.
Amka sighed. “Christian Osprey, meet Olly Spilazi.”
Oh. The mysterious third brother. Ophelia remained in place as Christian took a step closer. The light illuminated him, showing one green eye and one black. His features appeared similar to Brock’s, but she couldn’t pinpoint just one that was the same. A white wolf, or maybe a huge dog, stepped up to stand by his knee.
“Oh,” Amka breathed, dropping to her haunches and reaching for the wolf-dog.
“No.” Christian held out a large hand between the woman and the animal. “He’s wild, Amka. Keep your face out of reach, just in case.” His voice stayed low and rough, but his gaze remained soft as he held her arm and helped her up.
She patted the animal’s head and handed over the thermos. “Coffee. Strong. Are you going on the search?”
He nodded, glancing at Ophelia and then at the fluorescent pink pants. Amusement tilted his full lips for a second before he turned back to Amka and accepted the coffee. “Thanks.”
“You’re supposed to have a partner,” Amka said, pressing a hand to her hip.
“Got one.” Christian jerked his head toward the now-standing animal.
Ophelia cleared her throat. “I’d like to interview you about the death of Hank Osprey, Christian. When will you be available?”
He took a step back. “Nice to meet you, Olly.” Then he was gone. Fast and graceful.
Ophelia stilled. “He seems rather…blunt.”
“That’s Christian.” Amka shut the door and grabbed a black jacket lined with light purple fur from another box. “This one will keep you warm.” She tossed it over.
Ophelia caught the heavy coat, her gaze remaining on the closed door. “Do you have any idea what happened to Hank?”
“Nope. Just know that somebody probably accidentally shot him while hunting out of season.”
Well. She’d heard that line before, now hadn’t she? Had there been a meeting to get the story straight? Ophelia switched tactics. “Does Christian drop by for coffee often?”
Amka turned back around and shrugged. “He checks in once in a while and often brings fresh meat. He’s not good around crowds or people. Yet.”
Jarod pushing the door open and strutting into the room stopped Ophelia from asking additional questions. “The sheriff is ready to go, lady agent.” He paused, looking at the wet floor by the door from Christian’s snowy boots. “Don’t tell me that freak came by again.”
Amka rolled her eyes. “You should suit up if you’re going out.” She handed Ophelia a pair of bright green gloves and then headed back through the doorway with Jarod on her heels.
Ophelia followed, slipping into the down coat and zipping it up. At least it covered some of the obnoxious pink. Her boots clunked on the wooden floor, and she had to walk heel to toe to keep from tripping.
By the bar, Jarod leaned over and said something to Amka that appeared intense.
Ophelia began walking toward them and slipped, her feet flying out from under her.