Page 38 of Fire Peak

And what, if anything, could he possibly have to do with the things going on today?

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On Charlie’s next day off, she hitched a ride into town with the chef, Big Eddie, who liked to spend his days off drinking at The Fang. Eddie used to be a pro football player. A broken neck had ended his career, so he’d turned to his other passion, cooking.

He’d been cooking for a group of hunters when he first came to Alaska. Firelight Ridge had soothed his traumatized soul, or so he liked to croon over a sad banjo riff after the day’s shift was done.

Charlie loved hearing people’s stories about what brought them to Alaska. That made her think of the mysterious Bulldog. Had he come with April, or had they met here? The article hadn’t used the word “murder,” but they clearly thought something was suspicious, or why would they be asking for more information?

“Eddie, have you ever heard of someone named Bulldog?”

“I used to play with a tight end called Bulldog.”

“I mean, here. Locally. He lived here back in the seventies.”

“No, but I’m the wrong guy to ask. I only came here five years ago, and I’m always at that stove.”

“Who would know?”

“April knows everyone. Solomon, Pinky, Scooter, any of the old guys who hang out at The Fang. That was some crazy-ass shit the other day,” he added as his Toyota Tundra took the winding curves at twice the speed Charlie would have preferred. He had a titanium rod in his neck; she didn’t.

“Sure was. I’m glad April upgraded our sprinkler system.”

The day after the smoke bomb, a helicopter had delivered a technician who’d installed a system so expensive that all the staffers were still buzzing about it.

“Think she’s being paranoid?” Big Eddie asked.

“I don’t know. Did you see anything suspicious that day?”

“Maybe.”

She waited, gripping the edge of the passenger seat, while he navigated a hairpin curve.

“I went out back to dump a pot of pasta water over the basil. It’s been looking thirsty. I saw a couple coming up the back side, by the generators.”

“Guests aren’t allowed back there.”

“That’s what I told them. The girl smiled and said ‘sorry,’ Said they were interested in off-grid systems so they were checking out our generator.”

“What did they look like?”

“Dressed nice. Athleisure style. The high-tech stuff made in labs. She had an accent, don’t know where from.”

Charlie’s stomach lurched as he yanked the wheel to avoid a small creature scurrying across the road.

“I don’t know if it was suspicious, but nobody ever goes back by those generators,” he added.

That was a very good point. Most guests came for the views, for the way Fire Peak seemed to catch the sunset on its triangular point and light up the sky with it. Who would care about some run-of-the-mill generators in a shingled lean-to?

“You should tell that cop about it,” said Big Eddie.

“You mean Nick? He’s not a cop.”

“Close enough.”

“How is he ‘close enough’? You’re either a cop or you’re not a cop. There’s no ‘cop-ish’ category.”

“He seems cop-ish to me. Take it from a Black guy.”

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