Officer Bertil hadn’t been up Julip way in quite some time. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and scanned the sedges and lady fern on either side of the road. The last time he was up here his wife Pam had accompanied him at Upper Black Falls. They’d had lunch on a slate slab framed by golden aspens. The upper Black had sluiced through slate grooves, and they’d watched brook trout darting across the dark stream bed. That tranquil spot was where they’d conceived Bobby, their first born. The memory made the woodland morning all the more beautiful.

Officer Bertil put the frisbee-sized cinnamon roll down on the passenger seat and held his distended belly. He’d gotten the roll from the Mountain Top restaurant back in Ironville. The place was a tourist attraction just for their damn rolls. Well, that and Mindy Jacobs, the young blonde waitress. She was the real attraction for many of the male residents. He imagined many of them only accompanied their wives to Sunday breakfast at the Mountain Top because of Mindy. Hell, Mindy might be responsible for bringing families back together across the U.P. with her taught ass and perky breasts. And a man could wrap both hands around her waist and touch fingers. At least that’s how he imagined it.

The coursing sugar and images of Mindy were too much.

You selfish son of a bitch, he thought. You’re fantasizing about a girl half your age after thinking about the conception of your child and your sweet wife? Shame on you, pal. Shame on you.

Swallowing a gob of guilt along with cinnamon and sugar, Officer Bertil turned right onto Julip Road. Soon the cruiser wound up the washboard incline, into the highlands and away from Lake Superior. The forest, shadow by shadow, swallowed the squad car in its dark maw.

The reason for the boonies patrol was a supposed call from a lost hiker. Headquarters had received the call last evening, but couldn’t ascertain the precise location. The department sent out squad cars to parts of the county where the roads had a “J” in the name. Julip Road was on the list.

Bertil reached for his radio and burped.

“Charlie one-oh-two to C-Com.”

“Go ahead, Charlie one-oh-two.”

“No sign of our thirty-three on lower Julip, over.”