“Of course,” she said, with what sounded like genuine affection. “That’s Mrs. Karlsen.”

Mrs. Karlsen heard her name and waved. “So nice to see you again, dear. How is your father these days?”

“He’s fine, Mrs. Karlsen.”

“Such a nice boy, Erik, so polite, and my goodness, so very handsome. You look very much like him, my dear.”

Ms. Petroff seemed to stiffen. “I’ll tell him you said so, Mrs. Karlsen.”

“You do that, dear. And you’ll see about my ride, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mrs. Karlsen.”

The old woman fussed with the lapel of Liam’s jacket and looked at him with a frown. “Who are you again?”

“Sergeant Liam Campbell, Alaska State Troopers, Mrs. Karlsen.”

“If you are in the troopers, Sergeant, why aren’t you in uniform?”

“It’s at the cleaners, ma’am.” In a lower voice he said to Ms. Petroff, “Who is Mrs. Karlsen?”

“Sybilla Karlsen, sir,” she said in an equally low voice. “She lives at Sunset Heights, up the hill and across Sourdough Street.”

Liam could feel the beginnings of a slow burn, and reminded himself that he was a stranger in town. “And she made it this far without someone stopping to help her?”

“This would probably be the sixth or seventh time she’s done this this summer, sir.”

“What?” He cast an involuntary look over his shoulder and Mrs. Karlsen beamed at him.

“She’s very wily, sir.”

He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What is done, generally, when she, ah, goes out for a stroll?”

“Generally, Sunset Heights is informed and they fetch her, sir.”

Sunset Heights was informed and Mrs. Karlsen was duly fetched. Liam and Ms. Petroff stood on the porch, waving goodbye. “What was she talking about, late for her set at Barney’s?”

“Barney’s was a nightclub, sir, which Mrs. Karlsen owned and where she sang.”

“In Blewestown?”

“Oh, no, in Anchorage. She was quite well known all over Alaska.”

Liam regarded Ms. Petroff with fascination. “When was this, exactly?”

“In the sixties and seventies, I believe. During pipeline construction.”

Liam had heard stories of the pipeline years and wondered what else went on inside Barney’s besides singing. An unworthy thought. “How did she end up in Blewestown?”

“Her husband built the highway in 1960. They had a cabin here. When he died she sold her club in Anchorage and moved down.”

“So she’s alone now?”

“Her brother, Hilary, is still alive,” she said with exactitude, by which inference Liam guessed Ms. Petroff thought Mrs. Karlsen might as well be alone in the world.

He moved the conversation to a more profitable topic. “I need a map, Ms. Petroff.”

“Your laptop has access to Google Maps, sir. I installed it myself.”

“And thank you for that, but I want a paper map of the entire lower Kenai Peninsula, one that includes the south side of the Bay as well. I want every little nook and cranny at as high a resolution as you can find. If it fit one entire wall of my office, I would not complain.”