"You know why you can't forgive yourself, Haley?"

Augusta asked, her voice quiet. "Because if you do, you think that will make it okay that Chloe is dead. You think you'll be letting Chloe down a second time. But listen-forgiving yourself doesn't make it okay. When you recognize you're part of the human race with all our foibles and frailties, you can let it go. When we sin or make a mistake, we try to learn from it. We don't hold on to it and nurse our feelings of unworthiness. G.o.d loved you when he formed you in your mother's womb, though he knew even then every choice you would make. If he can love you-and me-in spite of our faults, can't you learn to love yourself a little too?"

"It always goes back to G.o.d. If he loves me so much, why do I have this?" She slammed her palm down on her stump. "Why did he let my parents reject me? Why did he let my sister die?"

"We have no easy answers this side of heaven, Haley." Her grandmother's voice was so quiet, Haley had to strain to hear her reply. "Romans 8:28 says we know all things work together for good to those who know Christ and are the called according to his purpose. We can't see the big picture on this earth. We can only trust he's got it all in hand."

"I stopped believing that when he killed my sister," Haley said.

Augusta plowed on. "Deep down, you know I'm right, Haley. You're angry with G.o.d and angry with yourself. I know you sometimes feel aimless and wonder why you're here on this earth. You need to get in touch with G.o.d's purpose for your life. He has one. You just need to let him reveal it to you."

Haley didn't want to feel jealousy toward her newfound sister, and she hated upsetting her grandmother. Augusta had done so much for her over the years, and she didn't deserve this. "You want to meet Joy now? We could go back to her house." She rubbed her eyes. "I want you to see what she's living in now. We probably ought to do something to help her."

"Not now. You're tired. Take a nap, and we'll take a walk later. I saw a cute park on the way home from the cafe. Some fresh air might blow out the cobwebs."

Haley nodded, then lay down and pulled her knees to her chest. If only there was some way to be absolved of her guilt.

The radio squawked once, then died. Chet swore and threw the receiver down, making Tank's ears ring. "Radio gone again? I wanted to check in with Libby and see if they're on their way yet."

"Piece of junk," Chet muttered. He sighed and picked it up again, then rattled it. It surged back to life with the high-pitched squeal of an incoming call. He answered it and listened, then hung up slowly. "Got the autopsy back on Joe Wooten."

Tank studied his father-in-law's face, which was set and hard. "And?"

"And he was shot. The bear got him after he was dead."

Tank inhaled quickly. Murder. While violence always loomed just around the corner in Alaska, he hadn't expected this. It was in his neck of the woods too. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Who could have killed Joe-and why? It seemed like death had stalked the area for a year now. First the Walshes, then Leigh, and now Dr. Wooten. It left him looking over his shoulder, even though he knew the incidents weren't related.

"Mind if I use the radio?" Tank asked.

"If you can get it to work."

Chet moved out of the way, and Tank took his place. No one answered. "Libby and Brooke must be on their way to town." He disconnected, then swung around to watch Chet going through paperwork on his desk. "Do we have any idea what happened to Joe? What caliber gun, any information?"

"Yeah, but what we have doesn't tell me much. He was shot through the temple with a shotgun."

"Ugh. It's going to be hard to figure out whose gun did it."

"Probably why the perp used a shotgun. It will be harder to trace." He rubbed his forehead. "I don't want to tell Sue about this. It was hard enough announcing her husband was dead."

"So where do you start with Joe's death?"

"The usual places. Talk to his acquaintances, see who saw him last. I'll probably start with Sue."

"She's not a hunter."

"No, but she can give me details of what he was doing the last time she saw him."

Tank glanced at his watch. He had some time to kill until Libby and Brooke showed up. "Want some company?"

"I'd better handle this. Thanks anyway." He nodded toward the window. "The park is hopping today. Go take a stroll, and let me worry about the murder."

"Don't you think it's a little odd that we've had all these deaths lately?" Tank said.

A shadow darkened Chet's eyes. "You don't have to tell me. When we found Leigh, I didn't think I could go on living. I was drinking myself into oblivion when Joe Wooten dragged me into the bathroom and pushed me into a cold shower. He poured all the booze down the drain and came over every night for a month to play cards and drink coffee until I got my feet under me again. I don't know what I'm going to do without him."

Chet kept his grief for his daughter very private, and Tank never realized the trooper had nearly unraveled. "Sorry, Chet," Tank said quietly.

Chet waved his big hand in the air. "I'll find out who did this." The radio squawked. Chet held up a finger in Tank's direction. "Hang on a minute." He went to the radio.

Tank glanced at the pictures on the wall while Chet was on the radio. A burned-out cabin arrested his gaze. The Walsh cabin. While death was a part of life out here, he couldn't remember another period of time where so many people had died unnaturally. Could they all be related? He shook his head. Where had that thought come from? They had nothing in common.

Only Joe Wooten's was murder. But the thought lodged in his brain like a burr. Maybe he'd ask around a little about the Walsh fire. It couldn't hurt. If he found something, he could ask Chet to test for accelerants.

The park's tranquility washed over Haley. A Native, his face brown and wrinkled, carved tiny ivory seals and swans from a cigar box full of seal tusks. His legs crossed and his back straight, he sat on an old army blanket in the middle of a field of wildflowers. To the man's right, Haley saw a woman with salt-and-pepper hair drawn back into a tight bun. She was mounting some kind of little creature on a wooden plaque. Boughs of spruce lay heaped in a basket beside her.

They'd been moving toward the park when Libby and Brooke pulled up in a pickup truck. Brooke had begged to go with them to the park, and Libby had seemed happy to oblige. As they walked, she told Augusta how much she loved her books.

Haley paused to watch the Natives work. Libby saw Haley staring. "That's a hoofaboo," she said. "It's made from a caribou hoof. You're supposed to hang him on a south-facing wall, and he'll bring luck to your home."

"Charming," Augusta said.

Haley stared at the cute little hoofaboo and wondered how it would look on her pale-lemon walls in the elegant home that looked out on White Tanks. Probably ridiculous, but the little face was cute. Oscar nudged her chin with a wet nose, and she pushed him down then put him on the ground.

A crowd began to gather. A dachshund ran over to rub noses with Oscar, then more wiener dogs yipped and tore across the park. "What's going on?" Haley asked Libby. She loved to watch the dogs. Dachshunds always looked like they were smiling.

Libby's delighted smile spread across her face. "I'd forgotten. It's our annual wiener-dog races."

"I've heard of them but never seen one. Joy mentioned it."

"You should put Oscar in it." Augusta patted the dog's head. "He's fast."

"Oscar wouldn't know what to do. He's never raced before." Haley shielded her eyes with her hand. "Here comes Tank now." He strode across the park and joined them.

His smile broadened as he looked around at the dogs. "The wiener-dog races! Brooke loves them."

"Oscar is eating up the attention. Augusta wants me to enter him."

He rubbed Oscar's head, and the little dog wriggled with delight. "Go ahead. You might as well enjoy the evening. You may never see another wiener-dog race."

A small boy of around ten tugged on her sleeve. "Hey, lady, we need another dog in the race. Can we race your dog?"

"He doesn't know how," Haley told the child.

"The dogs are good at figuring it out. You stand at the end of the run and call to him. He'll come running to you."

"Go ahead," Tank said. "Me and Brooke will cheer you on."

"Okay. Show me where to stand."

The boy took Oscar. "Right there," he said, pointing toward a gnarled spruce tree. "You'll be able to figure out when to call him. I've got to get a numbered shirt on him."

Tank and Libby went to stand with Augusta and Brooke. Haley joined the group of dog owners. They ranged from women about her age to men with long, straggly beards who looked like they'd be more comfortable mushing across the snow with huskies. A few teenagers talked excitedly as they waited to call their dogs. She stood beside a young couple with a big handsome German shepherd.

"Nice dog you've got," she said.

"This is Samson. He's a search dog," the woman said. She had hair a little lighter than Haley's own coppery locks and an open, friendly expression. "I'm Bree Matthews from Rock Harbor, Michigan."

"You're a long way from home," Haley said. She introduced herself. "My dog is in the race, and we have no idea what we're doing." She pointed him out as the young boy brought Oscar to the starting line. He wore a tiny red shirt with the number ten. Smiling, she moved to the left directly across from her dog. Oscar liked to run. Maybe he would do okay.

A man with a bullhorn stepped up. "We're about ready to start. Our prizes this year range from hoofaboos to free dinners. The grand prize is five hundred dollars."

The crowd cheered. The woman to Haley's left poked her in the ribs. "I'll take the money and splurge on a rug for the living room in my cabin. The floor gets mighty cold in the winter."

"Which dog is yours?"

"The red one next to the dapple. Which one is yours?"

"He's the dapple."

"I haven't seen many of them. He's cute." The woman stopped talking as the moderator waved a flag in his hand.

"When I drop the flag, you can call your dogs," he said. He waved the Alaska flag imperiously. "Get ready, set, GO!" He dropped the flag in a grand gesture.

"Oscar! Come here, boy!" Haley leaned on her crutches, clapped her hands, and continued to shout. Oscar hesitated a moment, then flung himself into the sport. Floppy ears flying behind them like silken banners, the tide of wiener dogs moved down the track. Their short legs were almost a blur. Each doggy face wore an expression of joy in the mad run.

With difficulty on only one leg, she knelt and patted on the ground, calling encouragement to Oscar. He was lagging behind, but when he saw her kneel, he put on an additional burst of speed. She heard Tank's hoa.r.s.e shout from the sidelines and Augusta's high-pitched squeak of approval. Oscar had only two dogs ahead of him now. He seemed to smile even wider as his broad little chest put everything he had into the run for glory.

"Come on, Oscar, you can do it. Come here, boy!" Oscar pulled ahead of the dog in front of him, which inexplicably decided to put on the brakes. The other dog's short legs skidded to a stop, and then she loped off to the right, colliding with another dog. The two tangled and reminded Haley of the long red balloons that clowns twisted into the shape of animals, only in this case, the shape wasn't recognizable.

Now there was only one dog ahead of Oscar. Haley's pet gave a giant leap-or as giant as his short legs would allow-and drew neck-and-neck with the lead dog. He growled as if to say Back off, then leaped into Haley's arms. He was wet and panting as he lolled his tongue over her face. The crowd roared its approval at Oscar's win.

"Good boy!" She patted him and praised him. "You won!"

"Hey, lady, you want to sell him?" The little boy scratched his head. "I'll give you ten dollars for him."

"Sorry, he's not for sale."

The kid frowned, then shrugged and ran back to his parents. Oscar wiggled to be put down, so Haley put him on the gra.s.s and followed him to the rest of the group. The man with the bullhorn announced Oscar's win. Oscar raced off to jump into Brooke's lap. She giggled when he licked her chin. Haley went up to accept the trophy and award money, then rejoined the group.

Haley was trying to look everywhere except at Tank's face. She didn't like this attention that warmed her blood.

Tank put his hand on her arm. "I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

"Is something wrong?" She finally tipped a glance up into his face.

"The autopsy came back on Joe Wooten. He was shot. The bear got to his body after death."

"So at least we know Miki didn't kill him."

"Yeah. But I wanted to ask if you knew any details about the fire that killed your parents."

"Not really." She hesitated. "Fannie Coghill thought it might not have been an accident. She said my mother told her she suspected Ned Bundle of selling artifacts. She suggested we talk to Joy about it. I meant to do that, but it seemed a pretty far-fetched notion. And I'm not sure Joy would know anything about it anyway. Why are you asking about the fire?"

His gaze bored into hers. "There have been so many so-called accidents lately, and now a real murder. I just wondered if we were maybe missing something where Leigh and your folks are concerned. I think I'll talk to Joy about it. I'd like us to test for accelerants in the cabin's ashes."

"Hasn't it been too long?"

He shook his head. "I asked a buddy in the fire department. Most lab tests are sensitive enough to detect the accelerant even after considerable weathering. He can put me in touch with a lab that does it."

Something inside her cracked at the thought. She'd never imagined she had any emotion left for her parents besides bitterness. "You think someone set their cabin on fire? Who would do that?"

"Maybe no one. But I think we need to find out."

She nodded, but she didn't know what to make of the strange sensation she felt inside, something like new life stirring after a long winter hiatus. She wanted to dig a hole and bury those feelings, but she was curious to see what they were. "Augusta wants to meet Joy."

"See if she'll come now. We can stop by the Worley house, then meet up with Libby and Brooke for supper."

"I doubt we'll find out anything. I think Joy was just upset when our parents died and had to blame someone."

"You might be right. People like to have someone to blame."

She realized he was talking about her. "That's hardly the same thing."

"Isn't it? I've been thinking about your experience.

You didn't make that mine collapse, Haley. It was an accident. You didn't pick up a gun and shoot her."

She wished she could believe it was just an unlucky accident, but she knew how wicked her own heart was. "Let's not talk about it."

"You're going to have to let it go sooner or later."

"Then later." She giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth.

"Nervous, huh? About talking to Joy or dealing with your past?"

"Maybe both. Wait here, and I'll get Augusta. I'll tell Libby what we're doing."

Tank, Haley, and Augusta walked the three blocks to the Worley house. Tank tried to look at the town through Haley's eyes. The residents of Stalwart lived up to its name. Most of the houses were no more than eight hundred square feet, if that. There was no beauty, no aesthetic appeal in any of the homes. Plain Jane, boxy wooden structures. A splash of green occasionally broke the brown sameness. It was a world Tank knew and loved, but watching the bleak expression on Haley's face, he realized it held no appeal for her.

Toys lay in the Worleys' yard. This time when they knocked on the door, a male voice answered. "Joy, get the door!"

Augusta's nostrils flared at the peremptory tone in the man's voice. "He's talking to her like she's some kind of servant," she hissed.

Haley nodded. "The woman treated her like that too. That's why I said we need to do something."

Tank peered through the screen door and saw Joy coming toward them. She had a dark mark on her arm. A bruise? He clenched his fists.

Joy stopped before she got to the door. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh. I didn't expect . . ." Her gaze went to Augusta. "Are you . . . ?" She pushed open the wooden screen door and stepped outside.