“It’s stress,” she lied.

“Then you’d better calm down.”

Although it didn’t help, she craned her neck, trying to see his face, and that was when she noticed the five dots tattooed on his hand. He was an ex-con; that was a prison tattoo. “Where’d you serve time?” she asked, still trying to figure out who he was or who he might know.

“That’s none of your business,” he said, and jammed her hands back through the slot.

6

Hilltop, AK—Tuesday, 10:40 p.m. AKDT

There was video! That came as a shock to Amarok. “When did you put in a surveillance system?” he asked Garrett as Makita lay by the door so he wouldn’t have to venture too far from the cool air outside.

The owner of Quigley’s Quick Stop stood behind the counter wearing his usual flannel shirt with jeans and suspenders, slightly stooped, his gray beard hanging down to the middle of his chest. “Few months ago,” he replied.

“Why didn’t you say anything about it?” Since Amarok was in charge of keeping their small town secure, he would’ve expected Garrett to mention such a change.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. Only cost me four hundred dollars, cameras and all.”

Maybe Amarok shouldn’t have been surprised. Garrett was never unprepared. Like many of his generation, he wasn’t well educated in technology, but technology had become so easy almost anyone could use it. “You never used to have any security.…”

“Never needed anything except this.” He lifted the sawed-off shotgun he kept behind the counter. “But with the trouble we’ve had since Hanover House came to town, I decided it was time. Nothing against you,” he quickly added. “You do all you can to keep this community safe.”

So that was why Garrett hadn’t told him. He’d been trying not to offend Amarok. Not only was Amarok the only police officer in town, he also was marrying the woman most local people blamed for the trouble they’d had in recent years. “Better safe than sorry,” he said. “I just wonder how I missed the cameras.”

“I haven’t had ’em long. And there are only two. That one right there.” He pointed at one corner of the ceiling. “And another tucked up under the eaves outside.”

“Does that mean you have a visual record of every customer you served today?”

“Since the weather has improved, I have a visual record of every customer I’ve served for the past week. As long as the Internet doesn’t go out, like it does so often in the winter, the new system works great.”

A clock was ticking in Amarok’s mind—one that felt like a time bomb. “Finally some good news. How can I view it?”

“My laptop’s almost out of battery. I just plugged it in, so you’ll have to come around.” With one gnarled hand, he motioned for Amarok to join him behind the counter. During hunting season, Garrett sometimes stayed open until midnight to make up for the slow winter months. And since it wasn’t yet dark, he usually had customers.