“Nope. But I’ve had half a dozen calls from concerned citizens this morning involving you harassing them.” Jonah took another bite, mumbling around his pastrami, “To be honest, that’s not the best way to start out in this town.”

Taking a calming breath, River centered herself. She would not suffer any further indignity of letting him get to her. Before River accepted this job, she hadn’t understood why no one had been here to document the town already. Moose Springs was gorgeous, the mountainscape stunning, and the sheer volume of wildlife any filmmaker’s dream. Now she got it.

They had no intention of giving her—or anyone—filming permits.

“Let’s start this over again. I have been hired by the Alaskan Tourism Board—”

“Which is run by a nonprofit organization and not a state body of government,” Jonah said, interrupting her. “Meaning you don’t have a pot to piss in, legally speaking. If the mayor doesn’t want to grant you the right to film in town, he has the power to decline the request.”

Okay. A mayor. She could work with that. “Who’s the mayor?”

Jonah scratched his chin. “Well, to be honest, he’s kind of taking a break.”

“I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“It’s been a busy year, what with fighting to keep the town from being overrun by tourists and condos and Santa mooses…”

Did he say Santa mooses?

“Anyway, whenever he gets around to it, the mayor will be in charge of staffing city hall. They’re the ones who run the website with your permits. But no one wants much to do with those kinds of jobs, and the mayor’s been awfully busy. Plus, he’s getting married soon.”

River took a deep steadying breath. “So you’re telling me, if I want to cash my paycheck and make my film, I have to wait for a town that doesn’t have a governing body and a mayor on an undetermined hiatus to appoint a city hall employee to retrieve an email that says I have a permit?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Or it’ll stay in some email black hole of nothingness, unrecognized and irretrievable.”

“That’s right.”

Which meant never. She was never getting her permit.

“Do you know what happens to good towns when documentary makers go rogue?” River said ominously. “It’s not pretty, Jonah. It’s not pretty at all.”

“I’d strongly encourage you not to film guerrilla style, ma’am. The town is very serious about that.”

“Who? Who is really serious about it? The empty barn of people?”

“I suppose the one who’ll have to write you the tickets. Or put you in holding for disturbing the peace.” Officer Jonah would have seemed a lot more official without a bit of lettuce stuck in his teeth, but River had the feeling he was completely serious.