Moose Jaw Junction had gone by various names over the decades, and the interior had likely seen a few revisions, but I was willing to bet its classic Up North feel hadn’t changed since the day it opened. These days, there was pine paneling on the bottom half of the walls and green paint above, and the long bar did indeed have a moose jaw hung above. It was the kind of place that sponsored softball teams and welcomed snowmobilers, and the friendly atmosphere was almost palpable.

“Niswander!” a male voice called out. “You here to play pool or to eat?”

Rafe held my hand up high and kept walking. “Eating. Catch you later, Charlie.”

“Who was that?” I asked, looking around for a familiar face and seeing none.

“No idea,” he said easily. “Used to play pool here a lot, though. And there’s Jenica. With two spots open next to her. What do you think?”

He was nodding at the long bar. A woman about my age, with short dark hair that looked as if it always did what it was told, sat at the far end, turned slightly so that she half faced the door.

The one time I’d met the conservation officer, it had been outside in early December, and she’d been dressed so appropriately in cold weather gear that getting an impression of her physical attributes beyond the fact that she was taller than me—such a surprise!—had been impossible.

As Rafe and I slid into the tall chairs to her left, I noted her trim figure, and if the muscles she was using to raise her pint were any indication, she was also fit and strong, something I appreciated in law enforcement officers.

“Hello, Rafe,” she said, then looked at me. “We’ve met.”

I blinked. It had been once. Almost four years ago. “Yes,” I said. “At the Jurco River dam.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I recall. You were interested in the accuracy of the recordings, but I don’t believe I learned your name.”

“Minnie Hamilton,” I said, holding out my hand across the front of Rafe. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’s my fiancée.” Rafe slung his arm around my shoulders. “We’re getting married in September.”

“Congratulations.” Jenica nodded at us. “Although the more correct response is felicitations.”

“Well, thanks, either way.” I smiled. “Or should it be both ways?”

Jenica seemed to be seriously considering the question, so I was happy when the bartender came over. We told her no menus were needed as we’d be having the fish fry, and she nodded and asked Jenica if she wanted a refill on her cola. She did not, and the bartender nodded and said our orders would be up in about ten minutes.

“Mine took twelve,” Jenica said, forking off a piece of fried fish and dipping it in tartar sauce.