What does this tell us? That our killer was male and at least as physically fit as Dalton. Which doesn’t narrow it down as much as it would in an urban environment. Rockton is like prison in some ways, giving guys lots of free time and the chance to get those biceps and pecs they’ve always dreamed of. Plus there’s the added motivation of getting in shape to impress the limited female population. That means a lot of guys like Kenny: former ninety-eight-pound weaklings who can now bench-press triple that much.

The impromptu surgery on Hastings suggests someone with medical knowledge, but the work had been crudely done. According to Beth, anyone with a basic knowledge of anatomy and butchering could do it. She’s right—even with just what I learned from my parents, I could. Out here, people hunt, which gives them those skills. We also may have butchers, veterinarians, and nurses who’ve been smuggled in as something else.

That’s the case, five days later. As for the rest of my life in Rockton, while I haven’t quite adopted the “work hard, play hard” local mentality, I’m closer to it than I’ve ever been. I put in long hours yet rarely spend an evening alone at home. My companions vary—Beth, Petra, Anders. I even manage to get Beth to come along with the others, which Anders says is a feat.

Dalton joins us occasionally, but socializing isn’t his thing. Still, I see as much of him outside work as I do anyone else, because I’ve taken an interest in the things that interest him. The night after we watched the northern lights, I came home to find a folding mattress and a stack of books in my front hall. When I thanked him for them the next day, he shrugged and said, “You wanted them. That’s something.”

“What’s something?”

“You. Wanting anything.”

I didn’t ask him to explain that. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to. The point is that I’d developed an interest in my surroundings, which he shared, so he’d take me hiking, riding, ATV’ing. Sometimes Anders joined us, sometimes he didn’t.

As for Anders in general … In another life, that might have been something. Hell, in this life it might still be something. Just not right now. Right now, I want friendship, and that is as huge a step for me as Diana taking lovers.

As for Diana, that’s been the most difficult part of my five days. How horrible is it to admit that I find it easy to avoid her? Yes, I’m busy with the case, but I’m busy socially, too. She wants desperately to make amends … and I don’t. We’ve been out together, as part of a group with Petra and Anders, and that’s fine because I’m not ready to cut her loose. But there are no best-friend moments.

On the fifth night, Anders and I stop by the Lion for a drink after work and Diana’s gang is there, and she waves us over, but I pretend not to notice. Petra isn’t with them and that’s my criteria for joining.

Anders and I take a table at the back, out of sight. We talk, drink, just relaxing after work. I use the toilet before we head out. Yes, I should be polite and call it a restroom, but that elevates it to a title it doesn’t deserve. One more issue with living in the middle of nowhere? A lack of proper plumbing. It doesn’t help that you hit permafrost a few feet down. Deep holes aren’t possible. What we have instead are chemical toilets, like the kind you’d put in an RV. Which means they need to be emptied. As in most communities, the shit jobs—pun intended in this case—pay very well. From the smell of the one in the Lion, it was a day or two overdue.

For that reason, I’m in and out as fast as I can be. As I leave, I nearly crash into Diana, right outside, trying to shake off a drunken guy.

“Hey,” I cut in. “She’s saying no.”

He backs off fast, hands up, mumbling apologies. I nod to Diana and try to pass, but she grabs my arm and her hand is shaking.

“Thank you,” she says.

“No problem. He just needed a firm no.”

“From you. That doesn’t work for …” She inhales. “I’m having a problem, Casey, and I hate to bother you with it, but …”

“Go on,” I say.

“You … you know what Isabel does, right? I mean, the kind of place she runs.”

I nod.

“She thinks …” Diana swallows. “God, this is so embarrassing. She thinks I’m freelancing.”

“What?”

“This guy gave me some credits.” She lifts both hands. “Not like that. Not at all. It was the night before you got here. We went out on a date—dinner at the restaurant, drinks afterward at his place. He had wine, and I said I’d couldn’t wait until my first pay so I could get myself a bottle. The next day, we went out for breakfast, and he gave me credits to buy the wine. He wasn’t …” Her cheeks flared again. “It was like giving me a bottle of wine as a gift. I only took the credits because I planned to pay him back. A payroll advance. Only Isabel saw this guy giving me credits early in the morning, and she jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“She has Mick keeping an eye on me, and he makes me nervous. You know he used to be a cop here, right? And the sheriff fired him?”

I didn’t know the last part, but I nod anyway. “I’ll handle—”

“And I think they’ve told others. I’ve been offered … credits.”

I look sharply toward the guy who’d been hassling her, now trying another woman at the bar.