summer. Now, they were completely white, and had been since a few days after termination dust—the first mountain snow of the season—had fallen in mid-September. Mim had heard a story of a guy hiking on Flattop Mountain—not far from the berry-picking spot—who’d broken both legs. He’d sat there, alone and unable to move, looking down at all the traffic on the Seward Highway just a couple thousand feet below. It was one of those stories that ended differently depending on who told it. Sometimes the guy was rescued; sometimes other hikers found his bones in the spring. The mountains looked even more deadly now that Ethan was gone, and Mim was inclined to believe the hiker ended up as bear poop.
Arliss talked about taking the family berry-picking this year. Luckily, he’d been too busy.
Mim hung a left on Elmore, through a manicured neighborhood of big, cedar-sided homes with spacious lots and gobs of plump blue spruce. She and Ethan had talked about moving here. She stayed on Elmore at the roundabout, then took the next left into South High School parking, steeling herself to face Constance. Maybe she was trying too hard. Maybe she needed to just relax and let time do its job, healing all wounds—or beating the shit out of her—whichever came first.
Constance waited in the lee of the front entry, out of the wind. Other students were waiting too, chatting in groups of three or four. Mim groaned when she saw her daughter. As per usual, the she wolf ran alone. Odd, that she wasn’t wearing her backpack. Instead of going around the van to get in, Constance approached Mim’s door. That was weird. She usually wanted nothing but to go home and go to her room.
Mim rolled down her window.
“What’s up?” she said, catching her breath in the chilly air. The sweet odor of birch in the fall would have made her smile had she not been so terribly sad.
“Mr. Gee said I can make some extra money tutoring some kids in math.”
“Tonight?”
“Right now,” Constance said.
Hands on the steering wheel, Mim rolled her wrist so she could look at her watch. She didn’t like last-minute changes, but anything that signified a thaw in Constance was more than welcome. “Okay,” she said. “How long do you think?”
“I don’t know yet,” Constance said. “I’ll catch a ride.”
“With a friend?” Mim asked, sounding snarkier than she wanted to.
Constance wagged her head. “Yes, with a friend.”
“Okay,” Mim said again. “No later than seven—and call when you’re on the way home.”
“Of course,” Constance said, as if she was clearly old enough not to be reminded of stupid details.
Mim rolled up her window, fighting the urge to play detective and dig deeper. She told herself this was good. This was progress. Still, she wished Arliss were here. He’d go all marshal-y and follow her or something. If Constance was meeting a boy, Arliss would do his job as an uncle and give the kid chronic diarrhea with a stone-cold glare from those blue eyes of his.
Mim turned left on De Armoun again to go pick up the boys, when her cell phone rang. At first she thought it might be Constance, changing her mind and wanting a ride home. She did that lately. But the caller ID was blocked. Mim tapped the hands-free button.
“Ms. Cutter?” the voice said. “Jill Phillips here.”
Mim took a second to make the connections.
“Chief,” she said. “Thanks for returning my call.”
“No problem,” Phillips said. “What can I do for you?”
Mim pulled onto a patch of gravel at 140th. Her heart was beating far too fast to drive and talk about something of this magnitude. She threw the van in park and then settled deeper into her seat.
“Arliss speaks highly of you,” she said. “He says you’re the best boss he’s ever even heard of.”
“That’s good to hear,” Phillips said, wary, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“He doesn’t know I’m calling.”
“I gathered that,” Phillips said.
“Chief . . . should I call you Chief?”
“Jill is better.”
“Okay, Jill,” Mim said. “Please call me Mim. I’m talking to you because Arliss trusts you. And if he trusts you, then I trust you.”
“Do you need me to have him call you when he phones in?” Phillips said. “He doesn’t have cell reception where he’s at now, but he has a satellite phone.”
“No,” Mim said. “Please no. The last thing I want to do is bother him at work. I want to talk to you. I’m calling because . . . Well, I’m