“Lately, an archeologist has been making a fuss about the oil companies putting the human history of the Bay at risk.”

Liam perked up. “That be Erik Berglund?”

“You’ve met him?”

Liam nodded. “Yesterday, at the brewpub. He invited me up to take a look at his dig so I did.”

“What’s he like?”

“Six-two, blond, blue, fortyish. The dig’s a tiny little thing, more of a cave, and he hasn’t found much. He’s got a theory about a traditional trail that sounds pretty interesting, though.”

“Fanatic?”

Liam reflected. “I don’t think so. Just a true believer. I liked him. You don’t find that many people that excited about their work.” He looked at Jo. “So he’s against the drilling?”

She nodded. “RPetCo has their own pet archeologist, a guy who’s been pretty much a paid shill for resource extraction companies in Alaska for decades. No resource extraction company wants to be hindered by a lot of unnecessary restrictions that will only delay production.”

“What would the shareholders say,” Wy said.

“May you live in interesting times,” Liam said.

“Yes, and now here comes Alaska state trooper Sergeant Liam Campbell into the mix. Why are you here, Liam?”

Liam exchanged a fleeting look with Wy and said, “Barton wanted me here to give the new post a push.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I told you, Jo,” Wy said sternly. “It was time to leave Newenham.”

It didn’t satisfy the Torquemada wannabe but it did shut her up, and Liam tried not to look too grateful.

They finished dinner and Liam cleaned up and started the dishwasher. It ran at a low murmur. So far everything in this house was as advertised, and Liam decided it was high time he developed a palate for beer. For the moment he poured himself a finger of Glenmorangie and joined the women in the living room, where Wy had a fire going in the wood stove.

The glass was an inch away from his lips when his phone sang out with the first bars of “Need You Tonight.” He gave Wy a look. “Seriously, Wy? A boy band?”

He kept the grin off his face until he was out on the deck, facing away from the two women in the living room giggling like teenagers. “Liam Campbell.”

“Hey, Liam, it’s Gabe McGuire.” There was a sigh. “I know it’s late and I apologize, but I think I’d be in trouble if I waited until morning to call this in.”

“Did you try the local cops?” That might have come out a little more crankily than he’d meant it to.

“I’m outside the city limits. They won’t respond if I’m not paying property taxes in Blewestown.”

A twittering sound filled the air and he looked up to see a flock of cedar waxwings swirl past. There were several mountain ash in the yard and they assembled into a fluttering, quarreling mess to fight over the berries.

“Liam?”

Liam’s turn to sigh. “Tell me what’s up and I’ll decide if I want to wait until morning.”