Sure, Lyda, anything you want. He cast about him for more tribute and lunged at a tray of cookies, scattering staff in front of him like marbles. He trotted back to Lyda, with what Kate had to admit looked like a fabulous chocolate chip cookie cradled reverently in his hands, at a guess six inches across. He extended it in Lyda‘s direction with a bona fide bow, in the manner of one sacrificing to a personal goddess.

Lyda had to take it. Thanks, Jules. You sure there aren‘t any peanuts in it? Jules looked hurt. You know I‘ll never let that happen in my kitchen. She smiled at him and the hurt expression on his face vanished like spring mist. Okay, thanks. I‘ll take it with me if you‘ll wrap it up.

Jules wrapped the cookie in enough wax paper to satisfy an embalmer in ancient Egypt. He presented his offering again, again with the bow. Thanks, Jules, Lyda said again, displaying a commendable patience. Now, if we could just talk to Randy.

Jules made an effort to pull himself together. We‘re prepping dinner, don‘t keep him too long, okay? He looked agonized at having to lay down even this much law to her.

Okay. Lyda led Kate and Mutt, neither of whom had even registered on Jules‘s peripheral vision, deeper into the belly of the culinary beast. At the back of the room a man was taking trays of golden brown dinner rolls from an oven and replacing them with more. He was short and slight, with a potbelly that strained his apron and thinning hair, the remnants of which wrapped around the sides of his head like greasy wings, leaving a bald, sweaty dome that dampened the edges of his paper hat. He had no shoulders to speak of and less chin. He might even have been bowlegged.

Lyda walked up to him and said, Hey, Randy. Can you take five?

And she looked over her shoulder just so she could watch Kate‘s jaw drop.

They foregathered on the dock. Kate Shugak, Randy Randolph. Randy, meet Kate. She‘s from Niniltna, and she needs to ask you a few questions.

Kate was still trying to come to grips with the fact that this was the Lothario breaking hearts across the Park. He did have brown eyes, with long, curling eyelashes so thick they seemed to weigh down his eyelids. Maybe the eyelashes were his secret. Randy Randolph? she said, just to be sure.

Lyda turned her head away but Kate saw the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Mutt, notorious for slobbering over anything with the XY chromosome pair, remained next to Kate, her head cocked to one side, regarding Randolph with a quizzical expression.

He nodded, pulling the paper cap from his head and running a hand over his scalp. It came away wet and he wiped it on his pants. What‘s this about? He looked over his shoulder. I gotta get them rolls out pretty soon.