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

than running electric heat. Those tanks, in Meghan’s view, were potential fuel-filled powder kegs ready to explode. It was the one concern the fire marshal always pointed out when visiting random homes. Everyone else took them for granted.

Like most of the buildings in town, the exterior of the city works warehouses had no outside aesthetics. People used oil drums as burning barrels. Pallets made up walkways because if it didn’t snow in Noorvik, it often rained for long periods. Home decorations tended to blow away when gusting winds reached 80mph.

Meghan followed Lester into the pale yellow, metal building. The entry had concrete floors with enough room for benches and meters of coat racks on both sides of the hallway. Layers of winter gear occupied most of the hooks.

“I’m not sure where Hilma lives,” Lester said. “Leave on your gear. I’ll go find Freddie. He’ll take us over to the house.”

Meghan’s boots scuffed the dirty floor. It felt as if cement poured into the insulation and hardened. Her feet were numb, her legs sore and heavy. The intense heat inside the building blasted her face. For a moment, she wanted to peel off the layers because Meghan thought she had a hot flash.

“Barbara’s probably at her mother’s house,” Meghan said.

Eric nodded. “There’s nothing we can do about that.”

He stood in the hallway while Meghan slumped on an available wooden bench. She pressed her back against the coat covered wall.

“I know you’re worried about people walking all over the area.”

Meghan smiled. “You sound like me.”

“I learned from the best.”

Meghan found it difficult accepting praise. Instead, she redirected it. “I appreciate you coming with us.”

“Let me preface this by saying: It doesn’t happen a lot,” Eric started. “Sometimes people go unreported when they die in villages. Hilma was a prominent elder. She received a lot of benefits from the government as well as her dividends from the Alaska Native Tribal Councils. That annual money alone, along with the PFDs, she had a healthy pension. Sometimes families leave out details like recipients died to continue cashing checks.”

Meghan said nothing. She knew greed overwhelmed necessity and responsibility. The Permanent Fund Dividend was a fund every resident of Alaska received annually. Established in 1976, the state-owned corporation was intended to pay dividends to every Alaska resident indefinitely. Since Meghan received hers like everyone else, she put the money into high-yield IRAs for retirement considerations.

Eric had direct access to the state medical examiner’s office. It was his responsibility to report deaths accordingly. Hilma’s death wouldn’t go unnoticed or unlisted. That meant no one could take advantage of a dead woman’s annual income.

Lester appeared again from the gaping maw of the warehouse, followed by Freddie Kesuk. Meghan stood up and shook hands with the man. Brown grease-stained canvas coveralls were the fashionable choice for most workers in rural Alaska. Freddie was part of that trend.

“I locked up the house real tight,” Freddie said. He reached for a coat from the hook: gloves and ski cap in the pockets. Freddie exchanged leather work boots for insulated snow boots. “I didn’t like what I saw when I found Hilma. I’m the only person in town who had a key to the house. She gave it to me. I didn’t mind looking in on her from time to time.”

His English had regional shifts in sentence structure. The Alaska accent sounded as someone from deep southern states. It was pronounced and unmistakable. Freddie grew up in an isolated village and like most Native Alaskans, spoke a few languages. English was the dominant language, with the geographical tags that evolved with ancient language influences. Those dialect markers were older than most Americans, with Inuit settlers dwelling in Alaska for thousands of years before the Russians showed up and started fur trading.

Meghan felt there was more left unsaid than Freddie shared. He opened the door, and the group followed him out to the snowy night again.

“Lester said you needed a place to set up shop. Public works ain’t open until Monday. You can take the office. There’s WiFi, and I left the password on the desk. The landline works. There’s a cot I pulled out. You can sleep here. There’s the couch too. I got an inflatable mattress if you want that instead.”

“Thank you,” Meghan said.

“I got you a pizza from the store. I thought you’d be hungry when you got there. There’s a coffee pot back there too.”

“We’ll replenish any coffee supplies we deplete,” she said.

Freddie grinned at Meghan. His round face and wispy mustache and thin beard brightened with the announcement. “I’ll take Lester and Eric to the storage trailer by the school.”

“Can’t they sleep here?” Meghan asked. “I promise not to bite.”

He nodded.

“Works for me,” Eric said.

Lester nodded. His face showed the seriousness of what came out as an innocent suggestion. They needed to stay together. Freddie didn’t understand that looking for a killer in a townful of friends meant each of them were outsiders, and potential victims.

Chapter Nine

Freddie wore a bright LED headlamp that illuminated the way. It was after eight on Saturday night, pitch black outside. For a town of seven hundred people, the vast spaces between the houses were as barren as the countryside tundra they traveled to reach the place.

Winter put people inside. No sunlight meant no hunting and very little fishing. Subsistent living in Noorvik took place during months when the sun spilled over the landscape. The price of boxed cereal in rural villages cost as much as a pair of boots at the local store. People tended to order online, paying additional shipping charges still meant paying less than buying locally. Hunting and fishing were necessary to feed a family.

Meghan knew Hilma’s house before they reached it. She saw Barbara sitting on the wood steps that led to the door. A single level