Kate Shugak, Holly Haynes.

We met in town yesterday, Haynes said, amused. I told you about it at dinner last night.

Truax didn‘t like the reminder. Of course, of course. Well, Kate Shugak. He said it like he was referring to one of the faces on Mount Rushmore. Kate was afraid for a moment he might bow, or maybe even genuflect.

She‘s the chairwoman of the board of the Niniltna Native Association, Truax said, like nobody in the room knew that, and I don‘t have to tell you how important it is that we give them every access to our work here. Like nobody in the room knew that, either.

This instant recognition and the subsequent bootlicking were not going to be an asset in her day job. It had been foolish of Kate not to have expected it, and she realized now that it was something to which she would have to give some serious thought.

An entire way of life seemed to be vanishing right before her eyes, and she had to put a sharp brake on the rising melancholy that recognition cost her. Sit, sit, Truax said, and instead of taking the seat at his desk pulled up a third straight chair to form a circle in front of it. She had to admire his instincts for currying favor. He was certainly better at it than she was. Can we get you anything? Coffee, tea, water, soft drink? No?

Vernon Truax was a thickset man in his late forties, with a broad, ruddy face and large, scarred hands. He was balding and while eschewing the ever popular combover he did wear his remaining hair in a thick fringe, probably in an attempt to hide the batwing ears that stuck out from his head at almost ninety-degree angles. He wore Carhartts that had seen honest sweat and hard labor. Kate had done her homework, as Jim‘s agent and as Association chair, and she was familiar with Truax‘s background. Degree from the Colorado School of Mines. Mining engineer twenty years in the field, the first six for Rio Tinto and the last fourteen for Global Harvest. No-nonsense, bit of a temper, thought well of by his bosses, respected but not feared by his employees. The Suulutaq wasn‘t his first mine. For that alone Kate was inclined to forgive much.

Truax was waxing fulsome on the storied partnership between the mine and the Niniltna Native Association and when he got to the hands-across-the-Park refrain Mutt, perhaps sensing that Kate‘s patience was beginning to fray, gave a vigorous sneeze that had just enough snarl in it to put a momentary stop to the apparently inexhaustible flow. Kate used the opportunity to interrupt Truax with a charming smile that begged forgiveness for her rudeness, partnered with the indefinable but nonetheless distinct impression that told him she didn‘t give a damn if he was offended or not. Mr. Truax—

Vern, please. And I hope I may call you Kate?

Of course, Kate said. Vern, I have to apologize for not making this clear from the get-go. Not that he‘d given her the opportunity. In fact I am not here in my capacity as board chair of NNA. I‘m here to make inquiries after one of your employees. Well, two, actually, but I‘d like to start with a Dewayne Gammons. Truax exchanged a glance with Haynes, who raised her brows and shrugged. Oh. I see. May I ask why?