She went very still for a moment. “But I just saw him Monday night.”

“Yes, I know. It’s why I’m here.”

“But he’s only forty years old.”

“Yes. His death was not from natural causes.”

Her eyes widened a fraction but otherwise she gave nothing away. “You mean someone killed him?”

“Yes.”

Her disbelief was manifest. “Murder?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why would anyone bother?”

The invaluable Ms. Petroff had provided a thumbnail bio. Thirty-eight, unmarried, no children, graduated with a degree in civil engineering, had spent all her working life with RPetCo in Asia and South America, now head of operations in Alaska. Maybe she was just that cold. He made a pretense of consulting the notes app on his phone. “You were one of the guests at Gabe McGuire’s party Monday evening.”

“So was Erik.”

“Yes, and preliminary evidence suggests that he died last Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Which makes the guests at the party the last people to see him alive.”

“Other than the murderer.”

“Other than the murderer,” he said with a nod. “I understand that you had a personal relationship with Mr. Berglund.”

“I did.”

He waited. So did she. “Would you care to elaborate?”

“We were occasional bed partners,” she said. “It was never more serious than that.”

“How long did it last?”

“A month, perhaps.”

“Was it over?”

She shrugged. “It is now. Obviously.”

He was a little taken aback and tried not to show it. “Did you quarrel?”

Her smile was sharp and beautiful, although her dark eyes retained a perceptible wariness. “We had our differences.”

“Because you’re the head of RPetCo, and because RPetCo wants to drill for oil in Chungasqak Bay, and Erik might have thrown a stumbling block in your way?”

“Primarily. But Erik posed a very minor threat. The state of Alaska has always looked favorably on resource extraction.”

Given the amount of money RPetCo donated in local elections, that was a given. “And your fields on the North Slope are drying up.”

She nodded. “And, as you say, our fields on the North Slope are drying up.”

“Did the two of you meet here? Or in town?”

She smirked. “Here. Obviously.”

“Why obviously?”

“He was living in a dry cabin. I don’t do dry cabins.”

Liam glanced at the amethyst hearth. “Obviously.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know where his cabin is?”

“No.”

“When did you leave the party Monday night, Ms. Garland?”

“Domenica, please.” She strolled forward, so far as he could tell solely so he could get a whiff of her perfume. “I arrived at six on the dot and left at ten-thirty, also on the dot. I was the first to leave.”

“You’re very exact.”

“I’m a scheduler, Sergeant. I had to be home by eleven because I had a phone call scheduled with London then, which is eight a.m. their time.” She held up her phone. “I keep everything on my calendar, should you require data to back up my word.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary just yet.” He tacked on the last two words just to see her reaction. There was none. A very cool customer, Domenica Garland. “I appreciate your time, Ms. Garland. I may need to get back to you with more questions as the case progresses. May I have your phone number?” He held up his phone in his left hand, making sure his wedding ring was clearly visible. It didn’t even register on her peripheral vision.