You haven‘t been in business out here for even a year, Kate said.

Some guys don‘t last a week, Lyda said. Maybe they miss their wives or their girlfriends. Maybe they don‘t like the isolation. Maybe they don‘t like the no drugs or booze policy. Maybe they‘re just pissed off they have to share the remote in the TV room.

You‘d think hauling their stuff out with them wouldn‘t take that much extra effort. They know they‘re coming out to the back of beyond when they take the job, and that they‘ll be bunking in with a bunch of strangers. Chances are they‘ve been on jobs like this before and they‘re aware of what sometimes happens to personal possessions in communal living, so it‘s not like they‘ve brought their most treasured belongings with them in the first place. They know Vern is going to be angry at wasting employee orientation and training on them. They‘re probably afraid that if they say they‘re quitting he‘ll make them walk back to Anchorage. So they leave their stuff so as not to draw attention that their last plane ride is one-way. Lyda looked down at the bags. What do you want to do with these?

Is there somewhere we can take them so I can look at what‘s in them? A table would be good.

Still silent, Lyda Blue led her to a small vacant office at the back of the main office building, furnished only with a rectangular folding table. There was no window and the only light was a single fluorescent tube dangling from a wire in the center of the ceiling, to the imminent danger of anyone walking beneath it. The room was cold, too, and on the wall next to the door Kate spotted a bundle of wires where a thermostat might one day go. Mutt cast a disparaging eye around the space and took a seat next to the door. It was warmer outside.

Kate moved the table so that the dangling fluorescent tube hung over it and heaved the bags up. Lyda Blue lingered by the door. Is there anything else? There will be, Kate said, but in the meantime why don‘t you help me unpack his bags. Don‘t close the door.

Lyda, who had been about to do so, said, Why not?

She won‘t like it.

Lyda looked down at Mutt, who was watching her with a narrow yellow stare. Just leave it open a crack. You packed these bags, didn‘t you?

How did you know that?

Kate shrugged. Just a guess. You seem to be Vern‘s first call for everything. Lyda hesitated for a moment longer, and then came to stand across the table. Kate didn‘t look up, pulling at the strap on the duffel and spreading its contents across the table. Three pairs of jeans, half a dozen shirts, jockey shorts, long underwear, wool socks, all well worn but nothing in rags. A pair of flip-flops. An electric razor, a toothbrush, toothpaste, a tube of generic shampoo, a stick of equally generic deodorant, a can of shaving cream. How well did you know Dewayne Gammons, Lyda?