Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Ace sucked down another cup of coffee at Amka’s bar, reading the open ledgers in front of him.
Morning light spilled through the windows in that soft, washed-out Alaskan way, which was more suggestion than brightness.
Especially since thunder had rolled overhead a couple of times.
A summer storm was on the way. His phone buzzed, and he answered it. “Osprey.”
“Hi Ace. It’s Phyllis Bluetown.”
“Hi Phyllis,” he said to the widow who used to be the librarian in town. “What’s up?”
The sound of a parrot came over the line. “Are you working yet?”
“Not yet, ma’am.” He kept his tone level. “Do you need something?”
“I do. When you get the chance, I need my garden tended sometime in the next couple of weeks. No hurry. I can pay five dollars an hour,” she said.
He sighed but kept the sound from transferring over the phone. “I’ll be happy to help, and you don’t need to pay me.” He didn’t need the money and would help her any time. “You call if you need anything else before next week, okay?”
“Yes, dear. You let me know if you gain employment.” She clicked off.
Maybe he should get a job. He looked around, more comfortable at Sam’s than anywhere else right now. The place smelled like coffee and citrus.
Across the bar, Amka finished shaking a Bloody Mary, the ice clattering before she strained it into a tall glass.
She carried it to a waiting group of tourists and then quickly returned, slipping back behind the counter.
“I’m telling you, we’ve got extra money, and the tourists are really finding the town.
They need transportation to those far out places.
” Her eyes were light, earnest. Hopeful.
Ace didn’t want to disappoint her. He traced a thumb along the edge of the paper. “I ain’t flying.”
“Oh, come on.” She tapped a finger against her lips, thinking.
“Fine. Then I still think we could use another motel. Maybe closer to the waterfront on the Dalika River to the east? We could compete with North Reach Alcoves.” The naturally created slough from the Dalika River had several houses, high-end cabins really, circling it.
They were mainly used as rentals for the rich during tourist season.
Ace grimaced. The idea made his gut cramp. More tourists. More strangers. More noise. “Might be a moneymaker,” he admitted. “But do you really want to run a motel? Deal with that many people?”
Amka shrugged. “People pay.”
Ace glanced over his shoulder. Brock sat at a table with Ophelia, both of them bent over breakfast and what looked like case files. Brock’s posture was rigid as ever. Ophelia’s was relaxed but focused, FBI intensity never fully off-duty.
“Hey, Olly,” Ace rumbled. “Don’t you have a federal pension? Amka needs a partner for a hotel.”
Ophelia looked up, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders. “I do have a pension, but I don’t want to own a motel. That’s a lot of people to deal with on a rotating basis.”
Ace snorted. “That’s what I said.”
Brock took a slow drink of his coffee. He had dark hair, a square jaw, and the Osprey family familiar green eyes.
His were darker than Ace’s but not quite as dark as Damian’s.
His expression stayed firmly unimpressed.
“Why don’t you start a tourist company? You could fly people to fish and hunt.
Don’t you think it’s about time?” Not even a flicker of humor showed on his face. He was serious. As usual.
Brock had always leaned cranky, though falling for Ophelia had taken off some of the hard edge. Some.
“Nah,” Ace said easily. “I’d rather sit here and watch you be sheriff.”
Brock’s frown deepened. The town had elected him by accident, more or less. He’d skipped one annual meeting and somehow ended up stuck with the badge. No escape since. Still, he was good at it.
Ace figured Brock would be sheriff until he was ancient and terrifying at a hundred years old. He turned on his stool to face them. “Olly, when are you gonna quit the feds and start working for the sheriff?”
Ophelia glanced sideways at Brock. “I don’t know that us working together is a great idea.”
Brock threw back his head and laughed. “You just don’t want to take orders from me.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes, stretching in her chair. She was tall and in excellent shape, all clean lines and quiet strength. She could probably give Brock a decent run for his money. Although he was a former Navy SEAL, so maybe not. That kind of training didn’t exactly fade.
“Well,” Ophelia said, closing the file halfway, “right now I’m working this case with the Alaska Wildlife Troopers, since several of the murders occurred on federal land.
So the FBI is happy to have me stationed here, and I don’t need to worry about changing jobs.
For a while, anyway.” She huffed. “The media in Anchorage caught the story and is calling the killer the Glacier Butcher.”
Brock’s nostrils flared. “How fucking stupid is that?”
“Very,” Ace agreed. He would’ve gone with a name that hinted at the missing eyes. Like the Vision Thief or a title equally dumb like that.
Behind the bar, Amka wiped down the counter. “Are you anywhere closer to finding that killer?”
Ophelia shook her head. “No. We haven’t had any murders for a few months.
” Her tone stayed measured, though fatigue edged beneath it.
“I’d like to believe the killer died somewhere out in the wilderness, but he could just be taking a break.
” She took a sip of her coffee. “Dutch thinks he’s just hunkered down for a bit, and I trust Dutch’s gut. ”
Ace nodded. “I would, too.” Trooper Dutch Reddick was a gnarly old Alaska Wildlife Trooper with a face carved by weather and stubbornness.
He’d talked Christian into partnering with him on the investigation in an effort to groom him to take over, once Christian finished the training.
Like he needed it, considering his time in special ops. But the state had rules.
Brock scrubbed a hand through his thick hair. “Hey. Did you see Damian actually in town last night?”
Ace glanced up. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”
Brock frowned. “I don’t know. He doesn’t usually come to town except for lunch once in a while.”
Ace flexed his ankle on the floor. “He just had something I wanted him to look into.”
Brock’s eyes sharpened. “What?”
Ace smirked. He wasn’t going to share May’s business. That was up to her. “Nothing you need to worry about. Today, anyway.”
“Hmph,” Brock muttered.
The tavern door slammed open hard enough to rattle the glass. A young woman rushed inside, breathless, her eyes wide as she scanned the room before locking onto Brock. “Hey—are you the sheriff?”
Brock straightened immediately. “Yeah.”
“Oh, good.” Relief washed across her face.
“The lady down at the sheriff station told me you’d be here.
” She looked barely past twenty with long black hair falling around her shoulders and pretty brown eyes bright with panic.
Freckles dusted across her nose. She wore touristy jean shorts with a pink T-shirt showing a bear caught on a boat.
“My friend didn’t come back last night.”
Ace stiffened. Crap. They hadn’t had to search for a lost person since early winter.
Brock shifted into calm authority. “Okay. Slow down. Who’s your friend?”
“Laura. Laura Jordan.” The woman wrung her hands, her cheeks pale beneath the flush of exertion. “We’re up here with a bunch of friends from Montana State for a couple of weeks.”
Brock glanced at his watch. “When did you last see Laura?”
“Last night here at the tavern,” she said.
Ophelia stood. “Where are you staying?”
“At the Blue Beaver Campground.” The words tumbled out quickly.
“We went river rafting yesterday, and we were supposed to go fishing later today, but there’s a bad storm moving in, so we decided to wait until tomorrow.
I mean, once we find Laura.” She wrung her hands.
“I took a migraine pill and pretty much passed out last night. She didn’t come back. ”
“Okay. Take a deep breath.” Brock dropped several bills onto the table, the motion automatic. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, his gun strapped to his thigh in plain view, badge catching the morning light.
Ophelia stood beside him in jeans and a crisp white shirt. The weather had turned warm enough that she’d skipped her usual jacket, though the alertness never left her posture. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Candy. Candy Nelson.”
“Okay, Candy,” Ophelia said. “Start with the night at the bar and run us through what happened.”
Candy pushed dark hair back from her face, her fingers trembling. “It was a normal night. We partied, drank a bit, and played some pool. A few games of darts. I had a headache. I’d been drinking, so I went back to the campground.”
“By yourself?” Brock asked.
“Yeah.” She nodded quickly. “Everyone else was still here, partying. It was light out, so it didn’t feel like a big deal. It’s only about a mile walk, and it’s awesome being able to see daylight for twenty-four hours.”
Ophelia drew her phone from her back pocket. “How many people are in Alaska with you?”
“Um, there are seven of us. Four girls and three guys.” Candy swallowed.
“We’re in the Kappa Rho sorority and the guys are from Sigma Eta.
We planned the trip during finals week, figuring we’d have some fun in Alaska.
I follow a few of the influencers who explored here last year, and it seemed like a fun place. ”
Those damn influencers. Ace turned all the way to listen. If they had to start searching for the young woman, he wanted the details. “Did all of you walk to the bar last night?” he asked.
“No. We rented a couple of four-wheelers and rode them through town and to the bar.” She shrugged. “But I walked home because, why not?”
Brock’s gaze stayed fixed on her. “Then what?”