Kate found herself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. He was shorter than Suzy, and Bonnie had him by forty pounds. She saw Lyda watching her and while she didn‘t mind providing comic relief for the sake of pulling Lyda Blue out of the doldrums, enough was enough. I work with the state trooper in Niniltna, Randy. Got a bit of a problem we thought you might be able to help us with. He shrugged his insignificant shoulders. I‘m just a baker, he said.

And a serial marrier, Kate said.

He was mute, but even his thick eyelashes were unable to hide the trace of alarm that appeared in the brown eyes.

It seems you arranged for your paycheck to be sent through the mail to Suzy Moonin.

Yeah, he said, with caution.

The problem is that Bonnie Jeppsen is the Niniltna postmistress.

Oh?

Yes, Kate said. You remember Bonnie? She would be the other woman you married since January. She intercepted your check. Suzy came looking for it. Oh.

There was a flash of emotion in his eyes, something gone too quickly for Kate to identify. Fear? No, not fear. Relief? Why would Randolph be relieved at being caught with two wives? When he said nothing further, she said, That‘s it? Oh‘? Anything you‘d like to add?

He shrugged his negligible shoulders again. They‘re my wives.

Yes, but most men settle for one at a time. What are you, some kind of Mormon? Randolph displayed emotion for the first time, in this case a wan indignation. I‘d never be a Mormon! They‘re against gays.

This was something of a non sequitur, and Kate didn‘t quite know how to reply. I love them, he said. He could have said I love NASCAR racing with more conviction, and it took Kate a moment to realize he was referring to his wives. With the first trace of defiance, he added, And they love me.

As of yesterday? Kate said. Not so much.

Tears might have welled behind the eyelashes. Are you going to arrest me? At this, Lyda stirred. He‘s a very good baker, she said in tones meant only for Kate‘s ears. Vern really likes Randy‘s crullers.

Kate dwelled for a pleasurable moment on the image of cuffing and stuffing Randolph into George‘s Cessna and delivering him into Chopper Jim‘s unwilling arms back in Niniltna, but decided that if she ever wanted to get laid again she‘d probably better not. In Alaska bigamy came under the unlawful marrying statute, and was rated a Class A misdemeanor. Convicted, Randolph could be sentenced up to a year in jail, along with fines and community service. The trick would be in convicting him. Judge Roberta Singh, presiding judge of the Ahtna court, did not take kindly to people cluttering up her docket with—and here as she was wont to do she would quote directly from the Alaska statutes—Class A misdemeanors, which characteristically involve less severe violence against a person, less serious offenses against property interests, less serious offenses against public administration or order, or less serious offenses against public health and decency than felonies. I wasn‘t hired by George W. Bush, Kate had heard her say in a rare moment of anger in response to a request for a hearing into the legality of a search and seizure in the matter of a resale amount of marijuana found growing in someone‘s back bedroom. I‘m a competent jurist, and competent jurists don‘t sit on frivolous cases. Bobbie Singh would never issue a warrant for Randolph‘s arrest. Not that Jim would ever ask her for one. He, too, tried to reserve his best efforts for real criminals. No, Kate said, not without regret. I won‘t be arresting you. I don‘t have that authority.