WAS BECOMING A REGULAR ON RAGGED ASS. STILL, THE atmosphere felt hostile.

As I pulled to my usual spot on the shoulder, I noticed a gray pickup in Snook’s drive. It had a rusting tailpipe and a bumper sticker saying Give Wildlife a Brake. I’d seen it before, couldn’t recall where. Rusty pickups were all the rage in Yellowknife.

I decided to hold tight.

Good call.

Ten minutes later, the side door opened, and a man stepped from the house to the carport. His face was in shadow, but his form looked familiar.

The man got into the truck and backed toward the street. While shifting gears, he glanced my way.

We registered mutual expressions of shock.

Horace Tyne.

Without a word, Tyne gunned it up Ragged Ass. Pebbles spit by his wheels ticked the side of the Camry.

What was Horace Tyne doing with Nellie Snook?

I got out, crossed to the house, and banged on the door.

Snook answered right away, holding a ball cap in one hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

Realizing I wasn’t Tyne, she frowned. “You’re like a bad rash. You just keep coming back.”

“Was that Horace Tyne?”

“What do you want?”

“You told me your father left land to you and your brother.”

“Don’t remember saying that, but so what?”

“Did the land also belong to Annaliese?”

“He did it to salve his conscience for ignoring us all our lives. That’s my opinion, and I’ll never change it.”

“Think a minute. Do you own the land outright or the mineral claims?”

Snook’s brows winged farther down. “What’s the difference?”

“Where is the land?”

“All I know is it’s not here in Yellowknife. A town lot might have value. This is a worthless hunk of nothing so far out on the tundra no one would buy it.”

“Have you tried to sell?”

“Right.” She snorted. “That’d happen. Now that the deeds belong to me outright, I’m going to offload the land to charity. I’m tired of shelling out for all three of us. Annaliese and Daryl never had a nickel to spare.”

“You plan to donate the property to Horace Tyne?”

“Yes.” Defensive. “I sign a few papers, I’m out from under the taxes, or the fees, or whatever it is I’ve been paying.”

“For his preserve.”

“When they open the new mine, the caribou won’t have no place to go. Their migration routes will be shattered.”

Something cold clammed into my gut. “Which new mine?”

“Gahcho Kué.”

I grasped each of Snook’s upper arms and locked my eyes onto hers. She stiffened but did not pull back.

“Nellie, promise you will do nothing until you speak to me again.”

“I don’t—”

“You own mineral claims, not land. The claims could be worth a great deal of money. Someone wants to get them from you. That person may have killed Daryl and Annaliese.”

She looked at me like I needed a shot of Prozac.

“Who?” Barely voiced.

“I don’t know. But I will find out.”

I felt distrustful eyes on my back as I ran to the car.

Back in the Camry, I hit a key on my speed dial.

Come on. Come on.

“Hey, buttercup. You back in Charlotte?”

“Pete, listen to me.”

Twenty years of marriage had sensitized my ex to every nuance of mine. He caught the tension in my voice. “What is it?”

“You’re a lawyer. You know how to research corporations, right?”

“I do.”

“In Canada?”

“Mais oui.” May we.

“Never speak French, Pete.”

“Noted.”

“How long would it take?”

“What do you need?”

“Just the names of the owners, or officers, or whatever they’d be.”

“Probably not long.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“You’ll owe me, sugar britches.”

“I’ll bake you a big batch of cookies.”

“What’s the name?”

“Fast Moving.”

“Oh! là là. I like that.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Do you know if it’s a partnership, a corporation, or just an assumed name used by an individual?”

“No.”

“That makes it difficult. Do you know where it’s registered?”

“No.”

“That makes it even harder.”

“Start with Alberta.”

Ollie was coming out of G Division headquarters as I pulled in. The lot was small, and I almost ran him over.

Holding two palms high, he circled to my side of the Camry. I lowered the window. “Sorry.”

“Slow it down, sister, or I’ll have to write you up.”

“You can’t write me up. You’re out of jurisdiction.”

Ollie pointed a finger pistol in my direction.

“Haven’t seen you since Friday,” I said.

“Believe me.” He tipped his head toward the building. “I’d rather be with you than those skanks.”

“What’s happening?”

“Unka’s about to roll on Scarborough. Doesn’t matter. It was endgame when his buddy nailed him to the wall.”

“So Scar killed Castain, and Unka killed Scar.”

“Cheap method of social cleanup, eh?”

“What about Ruben?”

“No one’s owning that one.”

“Ryan’s still in there?”

“He and Rainwater will be at it awhile.”

“He said you might be leaving.”

“Flying out in two hours.” Ollie grinned, but the tightness in his jaw belied unhappiness. “Thanks for coming west. Sorry we didn’t get satisfaction on Ruben. But it’ll all come out.”

“I think her murder is unrelated to Castain and Scarborough.”

“What do you mean?”

I laid out my theory.

“Who do you like for the doer?”

“I don’t know. But Tyne has Snook convinced that her”—I hooked air quotes—“‘land’ is vital for his caribou preserve. That the opening of the Gahcho Kué mine threatens the herds. Here’s the thing. Snook’s mineral claims are way over by Ekati. They’re nowhere near Gahcho Kué.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m waiting for info on the owner of the claims adjacent to Snook’s. In the meantime, I plan to dig in to Tyne’s background.”

“Good luck.”

Our eyes held for a moment. Then Ollie reached in and stroked my cheek with one knuckle. “Do you still think I’m the most magnificent creature to ever cross your path?”

“I think you’re a narcissistic pain in the ass.” Smiling.

“I may start calling you again.”

“Keep in mind they’ve tightened the laws on stalking.”

Ollie laughed and stepped back.

Back at the Explorer, I booted my laptop and entered the name Horace Tyne.

Google sent me to an old photo of a Second Lieutenant Horace Algar, gazetted with the Tyne Electrical Branch of the Royal Engineers.

I tried a more detailed string. Horace Tyne. Caribou. Alberta. That bought me a link to Friends of the Tundra. Ryan was right. The site was primitive.

I decided to take a different approach. The Fifth Estate.

I started with the Yellowknifer but could find no link to its archives. I looped through a number of newspaper portals. The Deh Cho Drum. Inuvik Drum. Nunavut News. Kivalliq News. Each had interesting headlines and colorful photos. None offered access to archives.

Frustrated, I returned to the Yellowknifer and tried clicking through some of the drop-down menus. One presented a graphic of the newspaper’s seventy-fifth anniversary collector’s edition.

The cover displayed a black-and-white of a man in coveralls and a miner’s hat. I clicked on it and downloaded the PDF file offered.

I was studying a shot of the Con mine circa 1937 when my mobile sounded.

“I’m thinking this is worth a lot more than cookies.”

“What did you find, Pete?”

“Maybe buns?”

“Uh-huh.”

While I listened, I scrolled to a story titled “The Golden Age of the 50s and 60s.”

“Fast Moving is an LLP, a limited liability partnership. It’s registered in Quebec. Because it’s a partnership and not a corporation, this may take a bit longer.”

“OK.”

I moved on through a series of ads to a color shot of the Old Stope Hotel burning down in 1969. Prince Charles’s visit in 1975. Strikers protesting in 1992.

I kept scrolling.

My eyes fell on a photo.

I stared in disbelief.