Maggie‘s mouth turned down at the corners, and she tossed the blue jacket with the Alaska State Trooper insignia on a chair. Hurled it, more like. Mutt, standing on Kate‘s right, cocked an apprehensive ear. Since Jim is on call, I had to drive the Blazer in the parade.

Translated, this meant Sergeant Jim Chopin had taken the first opportunity that came his way to dump leading the parade off on Maggie Montgomery, his clerk, dispatcher, and warden. If you were in the Blazer, what‘s he driving? He went up with whoever it was that came whining into the office, Maggie said. She wasn‘t in a good mood. You should see the call sheet since they went into full gear out there, Kate. Nothing but trouble. We don‘t even get goddamn holidays off anymore.

Maggie didn‘t often use profanity, and out there was understood by Kate to be the Suulutaq Mine, not the Kanuyaq. I know. Jim hasn‘t made it home for the last three nights. That came out a little more forlorn than she had meant it to, and she said, Bobby says you can‘t hardly get in the door of the Roadhouse these days. For a moment it looked like Maggie was going to burst into tears.

It‘s jobs, Maggie.

I know, Maggie said, with an emphasis that brought Mutt‘s ears up. I know, she repeated in a more subdued tone. It‘s just that—

All anyone ever wanted to talk about anymore was the goddamn Suulutaq Mine and what the mine was going to do to the Park. It was especially all anyone ever wanted to talk about to Kate, who, as the reigning chair of the board of directors of the Niniltna Native Association, the largest governing body in twenty million acres of Park lands, might be imagined to have some say in the matter.

My life used to be so simple, she thought now, and she interrupted Maggie without compunction. Anybody in back?

Maggie was hurt, and let it show by the curtness of her reply. Petey Jeppsen. Oh, and Willard, of course.

Willard was Willard Shugak, Kate‘s second or third cousin, or maybe her first cousin once removed—she could never remember which. There were a lot of Shugaks in the Park. There were a lot of Shugaks in Alaska, come to that. One thing she couldn‘t and didn‘t ever forget was that Willard was Auntie Balasha‘s grandson, that her daughter and his mother had been an alcoholic, which made Willard a victim of fetal alcohol syndrome. He was a simple, uncomplicated soul with a gift for the inner workings of the internal combustion engine. He couldn‘t read a Chilton manual to save his life but he could fix anything on four wheels blindfolded. Kate walked back to the cells.

Willard, tall for an Alaska Native and carrying an increasing amount of weight, greeted her with his trademark beaming smile. Hey, Kate! You come to get me out?

What are you in for this time, Willard?