“No.” His voice was abrupt and he saw her eyes widen. He moderated his tone. “I would prefer that my looking for him is not broadcast over the air. Is there another way you can find out?”

“Several, although it'll take longer.”

“That's fine. Thank you. Here's the number of the post.”

She inclined her head in the same gracious gesture as before, with all the dignity of the queen of England and none of the pretentiousness.

“Have you met Mr. Bayless?”

“A few times.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

The brown eyes regarded him steadily. “Such as?”

“Such as a report of a blowup he might have had with David Malone, after Malone fired him from his job on theMarybethialast summer.”

“I remember. He was angry. He made a lot of threats.”

“Such as?”

She hesitated. “Well, he said he was going to kill David. He also said he was going to blow up his boat.”

“Did you hear him say this?”

She shook her head. “No. One of the fishermen who was in the harbor was telling me about it when he came in to settle up at the end of the summer. Daniel, Daniel Walker.”

He jotted the name down, and the name of Walker's boat, theAndrea W.Notebook folded and restowed, he looked at Tanya, her sleek cap of hair, her steady gaze. An intelligent and composed young woman. “Did you know the Malones?”

Her face closed up again. “Yes. David Malone came often to the office, to draw an advance, to get copies of his tickets. And of course he came in every fall to settle up.” She swallowed, and said, steadily enough, “Is it true that he is dead?” She saw his look. “I knew something was wrong by the expression on your face. I made a couple of calls. Is he dead?”

“Yes. Along with his wife, his two children, his brother and both deckhands.”

She put a hand over her eyes in an involuntary gesture.

Liam took a chance. “Forgive me, Tanya, but did you know Mr. Malone on a personal basis?”

She dropped her hand. “No,” she said, with determined composure. “I knew Dave only from the office. Well…” She hesitated for a moment. “He did sit with me at Bill's once, when I was having dinner there one evening, he and his brother.” The curl of her lip told Liam that Tanya shared Ballard's opinion of Jonathan Malone.

“You liked him.”

She met his eyes without flinching. “Yes.”

“If he hadn't been married…?”

She took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. “Does your investigation require that I answer that question?”

“No,” Liam said, conscious of a feeling of shame. “No, Tanya, it doesn't. I'm sorry.” He got up to leave.

Her voice stopped him at the door. “If he hadn't already been married when I met him, Mr. Campbell, he would have been shortly thereafter. But he was.”

“Did he feel that way, too?”

Again she hesitated. “I think so, yes.” Her smile was bleak. “I made sure we never had the opportunity to speak in private.”

He nodded. “You were both better people than I was,” he said, and went out the door before he had to face the surprise he knew would show on her face.

TWELVE

Wy had dogged Prince from the dig all the way into Newenham, unloaded McLynn and accepted a last-minute charter to Three Lake Lodge for two corn growers from Iowa. They were both blond and blue-eyed, short and stocky and pink-cheeked with excitement. They'd never been to Alaska before, they'd never fished for salmon and, as it turned out, they'd never flown in a small plane, either, as was made manifest when one of them had to throw up into his brand-new hip waders while they were going through Jackknife Pass.

The good news was that he did use the waders, without spattering so much as a drop on the brand-new carpet she'd just installed in the 180, and that they paid in advance in cash. She arranged to pick them up a week later and made the trip home a short one. It had been a long, long day, and she was weary to the bone.

“Tim?” she said, as she walked in the door of the white clapboard house on the bluff of the Nushagak River. “You home?”

“I'm in here.”

The kitchen. It figured. Tim spent half his life with his head in the refrigerator.

“What's for dinner?” She closed the door.

“I have to cook again?” he whined, but she heard the smile in his voice.

“It's your turn, I told you that this morning,” she said, and then halted in surprise in the kitchen doorway. “Jo!”

The short, stocky woman with the blond, frizzy hair came around the counter and enveloped Wy in a warm, solid hug. “Hey, girl.”

Wy returned the hug with as much energy and enthusiasm as she was capable of on this day, and Jo pulled back. “You're a wreck.”

“Gee, thanks, you look great, too.”

“I can go away, if you need me to.”

Wy made a rude noise. “Like hell. If I can't be mean to you, who can I be mean to?”

Jo's green eyes were shrewd. “Liam?”

Wy looked at Tim, leaning against the kitchen counter, dipping a plain hot dog into a jar of mustard. He was slight and dark, with flat cheekbones and compact frame. His dark eyes were wary and suspicious, and much older than the rest of him. No child of twelve should look out on the world with such distrust.

Tim saw her looking and thought it was at the hot dog. “Just a snack,” he said, and with one bite made the rest of it disappear.

“Uh-huh,” Wy said. “Is that what we're having for dinner again?” He drew himself up, offended. “No. We're having something different, like you said you wanted.” He stepped back, revealing the culinary riches behind him on the counter. “We're having polish sausage and sauerkraut,” he said proudly. He held up an empty package of Alaska Sausage's finest, and pointed at a quart jar of Claussen's Crisp Sauerkraut, also empty.

Wy, who after a year's steady indoctrination knew enough to be grateful that Tim allowed himself to be part of the kitchen crew rotation, said, “Looks good. Do I get anything green along with that?”

He looked doubtful. “Well,” he offered, “the sauerkraut used to be cabbage, and cabbage is green.” He brightened. “I got ice cream for dessert, though.”

“What kind?”

His smile was sly. “Häagen-Dazs. Vanilla.”

Wy sighed. “I am so easy.”

Jo laughed, and tugged Wy out of the room. “Come on, let's get you cleaned up while Chef Paul here does his thing.”

In her bedroom, Wy stripped off her clothes as Jo lounged on the bed. “Still sleeping alone, I see.”

Wy stopped, half in and half out of her jeans. “How can you tell?”

Jo made a face. “I'm a reporter. I notice the details. Like a fullsize bed in the room of a woman hankering after a king-size-bed guy.”

Liam was six-three. Wy tossed her jeans in the hamper and grabbed for the Sea Wolves T-shirt she used for a robe. “I'll be right back.”

She used up all the hot water and then some. When she came back into her bedroom Jo had picked up the little embroidered box on Wy's dresser, identical to the one Jo had on hers, both of which had been acquired on the isle of Crete during the European vacation that had been the reward of both sets of parents following a successful graduation from college. “Remember the store where we got these, how the guy behind the counter tried to pick us up?”

“Remember how we let him?” Wy said dryly, stepping into clean underwear.

“Ah yes, the Labyrinth by moonlight,” Jo said dreamily. “One of my favorite memories.”

“All you saw was stars, girl,” Wy retorted, “which is generally what you do see from lying on your back outside at night.”

“Slander, calumny and defamation of character,” Jo said peacefully. “I'll sue. What's this?”

Wy pushed her head through the neck of her T-shirt and peered over Jo's shoulder. “That? It's my high school class ring. Mr. Strohmeyer told me not to buy one, that I'd probably never wear it again. He was right, as usual.”