The Season of Killing by Leigh Mayberry (top romance novels .TXT) 📕

skin showing other than her face. Her long raven hair was tucked under the collar of her heavy coat. The coat had fur additions to the collar and cuffs. She smoked cigarettes like some people ate pretzels, one after another. As she grieved, Barbara didn’t share it. Smoke haloed her head.

Snow fell in thicker flakes from the black sky. The flakes illuminated in yellow from the surrounding streetlights.

It took a moment for Meghan to comprehend what they intended to branch the channel. “What if we break through the ice?” she asked.

Everyone else seemed so sure of the trip as if falling into the water wasn’t possible.

“We’ll be riding too fast to sink,” Lester said.

Another snowmobile rode up Mission Street, pulled across Third Avenue into the drifting snow between city hall and the department. The lone rider flipped the face mask up from the helmet. The machine idled like a chugging engine.

Since it was Saturday, the city hall wasn’t open. That meant the office administrator wasn’t watching the congregation preparing for the ride out of town. There was no one nosy enough to report anything out of the ordinary to the mayor. It helped Duane wasn’t due back until the evening flight. The last flight of the night, and hopefully before the storm hit the town. Meghan felt better about using the corporate credit card with the mayor absent. She purchased additional fuel for everyone because it made sense. Duane would have something else to complain about the moment he received the credit card statement. By then, there was no undoing the damage.

Eric rode a sleek short track snowmobile and wore an expensive parka, gloves, and protective gear. He had the kind of winter accessories someone purchased when they owned a general store, trading post, and bought directly from the manufacturers at discount prices.

“We’re all here,” Lester said. He slipped on his helmet.

Meghan scooted as far back on the saddle for Lester to climb on and fire up the engine. He settled on the seat before he flipped up the face shield. He addressed the group.

“Everyone keep watch in front of you,” he said. “We tackle the channel and spread out. Keep clear of open water if you can help it. Once we hit Kobuk, we get into a straight line.”

He looked over his shoulder at Meghan. “We can’t talk with the helmets. If you need to stop, you have to get my attention.”

“Watch for other riders,” Oliver called over the revving engines.

Meghan gave one last look at Barbara and Eric before she lowered the shield. The view diminished greatly. She felt isolated as if every part of her was inside the helmet. The growl of the engine lessened. She lost most of her peripheral view. When Lester pulled away, cranking the handlebars, he revved the engine. The whine of the snowmobiles around her sounded like underwater rotors for boats. Her body rocked on the saddle with every increment of speed.

When they pulled onto Third Avenue, Lester throttled the engine. The track grabbed at the layer of ice coating the pavement. Meghan lost her balance. She hooked a glove on Lester’s hip and squeezed her thighs together against the saddle.

The expected storm began to thicken. Cornflake-sized snowflakes drifted lazily out of the sky, showed pale yellow in the lamplights. The wind had subsided as if waiting for the rest of the thickening clouds to gather over the city.

They rode toward the airport, and Meghan adjusted the strap under her chin. Her glove exposed a chunk of flesh at her neck for a moment. It felt like the air stuck a burning match to her skin. The tracts bounced on uneven ground as they left the paths and moved over the uneven open field toward the flat expanse of the open frozen water.

As they reached the edge of the land, breaching the city limits, Meghan looked back over her shoulder to the bright headlights of Barbara’s and Eric’s snowmobiles. Her stomach flopped as the sled left the ground momentarily and bounced on the ice.

Behind them, the other snowmobiles followed. Their headlights were dancing in the air as the machines pitched and bucked and landed again. Barbara’s machine shimmied as she landed. It made Meghan apprehensive.

Civilians in a convoy weren’t standard protocol. Meghan knew she wasn’t stopping Barbara heading to Noorvik once she found out about her mother. With or without the escort, Barbara had to see her mother. At least with the police accompaniment, she’d be safer.

Eric Kennedy had government responsibilities as the only coroner for hundreds of miles. That made him slightly more professional than Barbara, less of a liability. He was a lifelong resident of Alaska, a part-time coroner, and owner-operator of the trading post. He was the necessary addition and given a choice. Eric wanted to go while his wife, Linda, ran the store in his absence. Meghan needed Eric. She wanted someone who knew how to handle the dead.

Nothing went as planned, Meghan knew. The best she hoped was a strong team and thick ice. Anything less than that and the city would spend more money on search and rescue of one civilian, one coroner, and two police officers. Eventually, they’d replace Meghan as police chief. If their sleds caught breaks in the ice, sunk into open water, Meghan wouldn’t feel sorry for herself missing another holiday with her daughter.

She took a breath. Inside the helmet, the thundering cracks of fresh ice sounded like thick branches snapping. So far, Megan’s holiday expectations got a lot more interesting since she landed in Kinguyakkii.

When the sleds left the solid ground of the spit, the group picked up speed. It was difficult to watch over Lester’s shoulder. Her limited view from the side to side allowed Meghan glimpses of their unmarred flat terrain ahead. She managed to get her fists clinging tight to the hem of Lester’s heavy