Come Find Me in the Midnight Sun, page 12
“So, I’m dying to know more about you. Give me some puzzle pieces.”
My shoulders tense. I always dread this part. I want to avoid talking about my parents and my ex, of course. I consider telling her about DCS, but I quickly decide against it. I’ve managed to make her laugh and I don’t want to bring the mood down.
“I’m from Seattle. I lived there my whole life until last year.” Not too bad. Especially since I’m not a natural storyteller and I never know which details to include. Thankfully, Anna’s very good at asking questions and prompting for more.
“So, after all those years in Seattle, what made you want to try Alaska?”
I break eye contact, as my mind fills with my DCS case. It’s amazing how fast that happens. I try to shut it out, but it won’t be avoided.
“There was…the last case I worked with DCS ended badly. It was a sad situation, and I didn’t handle it well. I thought leaving Seattle would make it easier to move on.” She nods. My usual MO is to dance around the topic, but something tells me I can be honest with Anna about my compulsion.
“I can be obsessive with work. With puzzles, really. When I feel like I owe someone something, I try so hard to fix the problem or help them I…sometimes I…let go of myself, I guess.” Anna reaches across the table and places her hand next to mine. An invitation. I take it. “It’s something I usually don’t talk about. It’s still hard, so I’d rather not dwell on it if you don’t mind.”
“Of course! This is a Choose Your Own Adventure conversation. Where would you like to go instead?”
I smile. I loved those books as a kid. “How about Canada?”
She lifts her eyebrows three times in rapid succession. “Ooh la la! An exotic vacation.”
I wonder where she developed her knack for lightening the mood. Maybe it’s a skill Alaskans develop to deal with the dark and cold.
“I decided to leave Seattle and I had no plan, so after I wandered around Oregon and Washington for a while, I drove all the way through Canada in the world’s crappiest sedan, all because some woman said Alaska might be desperate for cops.” Did I just imply you don’t have to be qualified to work in Alaska? Will she think I doubt her credentials? I am nervous again, and I open my mouth to backtrack, but my scallops arrive.
“So why did being a cop catch your interest?”
The waiter returns with Anna’s dish and a wine top-up, which we both accept. I take an initial bite of my food. It’s delicious, but eating when nervous has never been my strong suit.
“Excuse me while I shove all this macaroni into my face. I have absolutely no self-restraint when it comes to cheese.”
My mind’s juxtaposition of this clever, elegant woman and her Cookie Monster way of devouring cheese and pasta tickles me. I laugh aloud. I sip my wine and watch her. She’s not a graceful eater, which somehow makes her more attractive. A piece of cheese clings to her mouth, stuck in her lipstick. So, I stare at her lips. I look down before she can notice. When Anna pauses for air, I continue.
“There was an officer I worked with a lot in Seattle. He was a really good cop, and a good person too. Kind of a friend. He let me work with him closely on that last case, even when I shouldn’t have been. I got to see what it was like, having a more active role in helping people. With DCS, there was only so much I could do, you know? When I worked with him, I felt I accomplished more, I guess. I wanted that.” I stop and wonder if I went on for too long. Anna leans forward and offers a bite of her mac and cheese with a nice juicy piece of lobster in it. No wonder this place has the highest ratings in town.
“You know, if you’d told young me I’d examine dead bodies for a living, I would have just made a face and told you to go away.” She takes a long glance at my scallops, which I keep forgetting are there. I offer her one, then eat a bit myself. We both sit there chewing slowly. I savor the garlic sauce.
“What did young you think you’d grow up to be?”
“A writer, for sure,” she quickly answers. “Even when I was a kid, I wanted to write children’s books. Mystery books. I had this whole series planned about a duck who lives on a houseboat and solves crimes. I’m obsessed with houseboats. I’ve never lived on one, but it’s my retirement plan. Cruise it all around the world.”
“You’d leave Seward?”
“Yup, but I’d always come back. It’s home.” It seems like it would be a nice one. I’ve tried to picture myself settling in Anchorage before, and I can never quite do it. Seward, though…maybe. “Besides, my family is in Alaska. My parents are in Fairbanks. My sister’s in Juneau.”
“So, how did you end up in Seward?”
“Once I decided my path in med school, I decided I wanted to specialize in animal attack.”
“Whoa.”
“It does sound gruesome. It is gruesome. But it’s important to understand what animal attacks look like in my line of work. If you can’t distinguish between, say, a stab wound and bear claw cuts, you could send someone away for murder when really the victim just disturbed mama bear.”
“Makes sense. We don’t get too much of that in Anchorage, but the occasional moose injury does happen.”
“Right. And the best way to learn about animal habits in Alaska is to work with the Native Alaskan communities. The Qutekcak had an elder who was state-renowned for his ability to identify animal attacks. He’d been hunting since he was a kid and he could tell you not only what kind of animal inflicted a wound, but also why, and sometimes he could even tell you the exact animal, if it was close enough to home. He lived about twenty miles from town, so I got permission from my professors to do some independent study with him. I started a trend too. He passed away a few years ago, but the university still sends students to learn from the Qutekcak. Probably half the MEs in the state trained in these mountains.”
“And you loved it so much around here that you stayed?”
“Well, if I say yes, that will be half of the truth.” She gives me a long look before she brazenly swipes another scallop off my plate. “There was also my first real girlfriend. She’s Aleut.” I don’t know much about the Native Communities of the Kenai Peninsula yet, and it must show.
“People call the Native Alaskans around Seward Qutekcak, but that’s the name for people from lots of different villages. They all lived separately and had different traditions, but since they tended to have close relationships and worked together a lot, they got sort of legally grouped together as Qutekcak.”
“Ah, okay. Like the Tulalip in the Puget Sound. I had a kid who lived on their reservation for a while. There are people from seven different lines of ancestry. Tulalip is just the name of the place, but everyone thinks it’s one tribe.”
“Similar, then.”
I nod so she’ll go on, then wipe my mouth. Between the two of us, we’ve made quick work of both entrées. The waiter notices immediately and the plates disappear.
“We met while I was studying, and we got really close, really fast. College romances. You know.” That I do.
“When I graduated, I came back here to live with her. She moved out of her family’s place and down to Seward with me. It was a big deal for both of us, you know? Being out in a part of the state that isn’t always friendly made us bond even faster.”
I am slightly jealous of this woman I’ve never met, even though she’s clearly not in the picture. I keep my rejoinder brief so as not to betray my irrational emotions.
“What happened?”
She chuckles. “Well, at one point, it felt like all we had was each other.”
I frown.
“I mean, we were together because we didn’t know what else to do. She had a huge falling-out with her family over me, and I think I felt I had to stay with her because of that. And it turned out she felt the same way because I’d moved to Seward for her. But it was clear, probably right after I got here, to be honest, that we didn’t have all that much in common.” She smiles at the memory, though it sounds painful. “Besides, she couldn’t stand hearing about my work. She said it was depressing. Which it is.”
“Yes, but that means it’s important to be able to share it with someone.”
“Precisely.” She lifts her glass to me just as the waiter deposits a dessert sampler between us. We both look at him, wide-eyed.
“The manager sends his regards.” He’s gone before either of us responds.
“Either Mr. Alaku is glad to see me out on a date, or you talked to him.” I laugh and try a cube of cheesecake.
“Can’t it be both?”
Chapter Thirteen
Silence falls as we make our way through tiny tiramisus and chocolate dipped strawberries. And because I struggle with comfortable silence, and because if left without a distraction too long, my mind can go to less than pleasant places, I find myself telling Anna about my terrible dream.
“Wow. That sounds horrible.”
“Yes. It was intense.”
“Do you dream a lot?”
“Not really. Or at least usually I don’t remember them. But once in a while I’ll have a vivid one. It’s usually about work.”
“Oh no! Do you get paid overtime for that?”
“I’ll be sure to ask the chief!” We laugh.
“These cases must be getting to you.” She pauses, almost expectantly, perhaps waiting for me to go on. I stop, conflicted. I promised not to talk about the case.
“Are you sure? It’s work.” She nods and I wonder if my need to talk about it is that obvious. I’m disappointed in myself.
“We promised no work talk over dinner, but we’ve finished dinner, haven’t we? If we change venues, then the rules change.” Her smile reminds me of a fox. A sexy red fox. “What do you say we head to the hotel?” My stomach does an elegant swan dive.
“My place? It’s awful.”
She laughs with her head back and her slightly overlapped teeth visible. “Oh no! I know where the department puts people up. That place is terrible. But the Hotel is a place just a few blocks from here. The bar there is one of Seward’s great secrets. Overpriced, but I know the bartender. She’ll treat us right.”
“Oh! That sounds much better. Sure.” She does that amazing thing where she barely even glances around and the waiter magically knows to appear with the check. Anna covers it.
“Can’t have you thinking Seward is just headless people,” she says. “Some of us have all our parts attached and appreciate good conversation.”
* * *
The Hotel is decorated in total Victorian style, which doesn’t make sense for Seward. There’s a lot of intricately carved wood, and the narrow steps that lead to the rooms have a maroon carpet runner. Light from gold floral chandeliers bounces off the glass of gold floral-framed mirrors. It’s not my aesthetic at all.
The bar is a different story. It’s tucked toward the back of the first floor and features giant leather chairs reminiscent of Ernest Hemingway. While the rest of the Hotel is overwhelmingly frilly, the bar is more like a hunting lodge. It even smells different—bourbon and cloves instead of powder and drying flowers.
Anna pulls out a heavy walnut stool at the bar. We’re the only customers and it’s quiet. Someone heard her, though, because there’s rustling behind a pocket door before a brown-skinned woman with silver hair piled high in a bun emerges.
“Anna! Oh, how nice to see you, dear!” The woman comes around the bar and kisses Anna on both cheeks. After a moment of catching up, the older woman turns to me. “And who’s this?” Her light brown eyes scan me. Anna holds out her hand like she’s a delicate model presenting a masterpiece.
“Marge, this is Louisa. She’s a trooper from Anchorage.” She smiles slyly at me. “She’s also my date for the evening.”
I’m sure I turn as dark red as the plush rug under our feet.
“Louisa, this is Marge. She’s something of a gay mom to me.” They both laugh in unison. “Marge is the first out lesbian I met in Seward who lives here permanently. She helped me navigate the people in town so I could be comfortable to be me.” Anna takes both of Marge’s hands in hers. “She’s been truly invaluable.”
“Wow. It must be incredible to have a friend. I don’t know anyone out in Anchorage.”
Marge nods slowly. “Alaska can be a little intimidating if you let it be. The ideal image of femininity here is pretty much what it was in the 1920s. It can seem there’s not much room for queer folks, but like I’ve told Anna, you’d be surprised. People here may act gruff about it when they first find out, but at the end of the day, they respect anyone who can make it here year-round.” My chief said pretty much the same thing.
“Did you grow up in Seward?”
She raises her eyebrows in a sort of amused challenge. “I did. I didn’t know a single other gay person. But I like to think I started a trend, because now there’s seven of us!”
“We should drink to that!” Anna is ready to put the bar to use. “What have you got for us, Marge?”
“Oh, the usual. Bunch of dusty bottles of stuff nobody drinks and some fine bourbon.” She turns to the bar, her face reflected in the long mirror. She flashes her teeth, a lot of gums, before she blows over the tops of the bottles. A dust powder-puff lifts around her and she sneezes. She’s right. The only bottles not covered in a layer of white are the bourbons and scotches.
“Why even bother keeping the other ones around?”
“Oh, at this point it’s a running joke. If a tourist comes in and orders something weird, I make a big show of blowing off the bottle for the regulars. We all get a good laugh.” She laughs.
“So, which one, and how do you like it, Ms. Trooper?”
I go for an old fashioned with Anna following suit. Once we’ve tasted our drinks, Marge excuses herself to go do some chores around the hotel, instructing us to call out if we need anything. Once she’s gone, Anna moves us to a small table nestled between two comfortable armchairs.
“So, tell me about it.” She means the case.
I stare into the auburn whiskey for courage, then take a sip. The orange hits my nose and balances out the light sweetness of the sugar. The alcohol doesn’t burn—it just goes down smooth. Anna patiently sips hers, then licks her lips as if the taste is a wonderful surprise. I’d bet she usually takes her whiskey neat.
“Well, you know the basics. Man goes missing. Mom calls it in after a few days. Dog finds a body in the woods, sans head and with gun. Another man goes missing around the same time from an airstrip. No word on a body nor any clues as to where he went. Mom and Dad visit the morgue.” I nod to her since she was there. “Mom decides the next day that it is their son, but Dad isn’t sure.”
She nods. “And the theory is that it’s Lee Stanton and it was a suicide.”
“Right.” I swirl the bourbon and bitters around a large globe of ice. Around the world in eighty-proof.
“But…”
“Yes. But.”
She leans back in her chair, clutching her tumbler in both hands. “It bothers you, but you don’t know why.”
“Exactly.” I lean back too, relieved she understands. “This dream about it has me second-guessing. Or maybe I was second-guessing already and that’s why I had the dream.”
“You think maybe it’s not Lee?”
“I don’t know. Not necessarily. Maybe it is Lee, but what if it wasn’t a suicide? What if it was connected to Branden, the other missing man? Or what if it’s not Lee? And with Branden, I’ve got nothing. Just some magically disappeared footprints, a distressed girlfriend, and a haunted airstrip.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Sounds like the start of a great mystery novel. The girlfriend is Marli Lei, right?”
“Right.” Anna whistles. “You know her?”
“Everybody knows everybody around here. We call her the Maiden of the Mountain.” I must look shocked. “Oh, don’t pretend you didn’t notice she’s gorgeous!”
I straighten my imaginary tie. “Well, I try to stay professional.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re here with me!” We both laugh.
“So, no one’s tried to convince you it’s aliens yet?” I blink rapidly and she laughs. “Oh, come on now. You’re in Seward! You must know this is the Bermuda Triangle of the North!” I shake my head. No tourist brochures covered that. She kicks off her heels and curls her legs into the chair, glass in lap, as if it’s story time.
“Have you met AJ?”
“AJ, Branden’s friend from Kolit’s?” She nods. “Not yet, but Mikey and I plan to talk to him soon.”
She tilts her head back into the tufted leather and chuckles at the ceiling. “Oh, he’s not the one you need if you want to know about aliens—you need his mother. She’s a local expert!”
Marge reemerges stealthily as Anna speaks, her low heels drowning in the carpet. “You two doing all right in here?”
“I can use a top-up, please, Marge.” Anna looks at my glass. “Louisa can too.” Anna stands, collects my glass, and heads to the bar. “We were just talking about the Seward aliens. If I recall, you know something about that, Marge.”
I can see Marge’s smile in the mirror as she talks over her shoulder. “Oh, now that I certainly do! My daddy was absolutely convinced about the aliens. He was good friends with those folks at Kolit’s, and they know the most about it of anybody in town because Kolit himself used to work at the military base.”
“Oh?”
“Yup. Daddy was a Navy man himself, Top Secret clearance, and he swore he saw some stuff made him think it was all true.”
