The door to Doud’s opened with a jangle of the bell.

Mira Rathbun—mother of said “Rathbun kid”—blew into the little store with a bone-chilling lake wind. Bill clammed up, looking as if he’d swallowed his tongue. The man didn’t mind tattling to the off-duty cops on his neighbors, but he was more comfortable doing so behind their backs.

“Shut the damn door!” The order came from the cashier and two customers closest to the entrance.

When the last full ferry of tourists left Mackinac Island back in October, it also took the polite courtesy required for a summer resort with it. The town’s 500-ish year-round residents hunkered down for another bone-chilling offseason in the middle of Lake Huron with a charming surliness.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry,” Mira said, impatiently brushing a layer of powder off her bright orange snow suit. The woman was a mile-a-minute whirlwind, which stressed Brick out. It was unfortunate for the community that she’d been the one to teach Travis to drive his third-hand snowmobile.

This was Brick’s fourteenth winter on the island. He perversely looked forward to the frigid temperatures and the seasonal closures of most of the businesses. Winter was quiet. Low-key. Predictable.

Bill peered into Brick’s cart, eyebrows disappearing under the edge of his hat. “Beef stew again? Don’t you know any other recipes? I bet there’s a single gal or two on the island who wouldn’t mind cooking up a nice pastry for ya.”

“I like beef stew.” He also liked not being forced to be social while eating it.

Brick made a batch of beef stew every week and ate it for four or five days straight because it was easy and familiar. As for the social aspect, he’d earned his solitary winters and wasn’t inclined to set a second place at the table.

“Didja hear the news?” Mira demanded, bustling over and crowbarring herself into the conversation.

Brick was skeptical. News didn’t happen on Mackinac in the winter. Which meant this was gossip. Something he preferred to avoid despite the fact that both his jobs constantly put him on the receiving end of it.

“This have to do with the plane that came in late last night?” Bill asked, temporarily forgetting his problem with Mira’s kid’s accelerator hand.

Her eyes sparkled with the rare nugget of novelty in the middle of a season when every day looked a hell of a lot like the day before. Brick had a sudden desire to walk right out into the cold and avoid whatever bomb Mira was about to drop. Instinct told him something bad was about to happen, and he’d left his gun at home.

“Now, keep this under your hats because rumor has it her family doesn’t know yet,” she said, leaning in and dropping her voice to a whisper.

Brick had a very bad feeling about this.

“Whose family?” Bill asked, looking bewildered. “I’m not following.”

“I’m drawing it out for effect. Jeez. This is the longest conversation I’ve had with someone I didn’t marry or give birth to in three months. Let me have this,” she insisted.