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Duke needed to cover his shattered back window before snow piled inside his SUV. For now, he waited for Mariella and Matthew to climb out, and then he ushered them inside.
When he’d first heard about the trading post, he’d imagined a cozy log cabin with a fireplace and various knickknacks for sale.
Not this place.
Not only was the ceiling sagging with water stains in several spots, but Simmy had taken a stick and shoved it on a chair to hold up one of the beams.
Probably because there was three feet of snow on top of this building. How much weight could the roof withstand?
Rows of cafeteria-style tables had been set up in the center of the space, and a small giftshop and general market stood to his right. A fireplace nestled in the back left corner, two old couches in front of it, along with a coffee table with duct tape on the edges. The counters where food was served consisted of unfinished plywood and some leftover laminate countertops.
The food left a lot to be desired, even though Simmy tried her best.
She had the basics to make sandwiches, and she made a new pot of soup every day. Duke’s favorite was her ham and potato. As an unofficial foodie, Duke gave the dish his stamp of approval.
When the soup of the day ran out, there were prepackaged soups that just required hot water from one of the carafes situated near the coffee pots.
Signs were plastered along the walls and, whenever people visited from different countries, they wrote “Hello” in their language. Then Simmy hung the paper as a reminder of everyone who’d passed through this post.
Mariella turned toward him as soon as the door closed, loosening her bright pink scarf. A touch of anxiety thrummed through her gaze. “So . . . how long are we going to be here? A few hours?”
Matthew stood beside her, also waiting for an answer.
Duke swallowed hard, hating to break the news. “Most likely overnight.”
“What?” Her voice squeaked as a sense of panic radiated from her.
Duke wished he had a different plan. He’d like nothing more than to finish this tour and be on his way. But some things were beyond his control.
“Sorry,” he told them. “But the road’s not passable.”
“But . . .” Mariella glanced around before turning up her nose.
This place wasn’t exactly considered luxurious accommodations. Okay for a pit stop to document “roughing it” in the arctic for social media. But no place someone like Mariella wanted to spend a considerable amount of time.
He understood that.
Thank goodness these two had signed a waiver that basically covered every possible hazard from wrecks to avalanches. Had they read the fine print? He wasn’t sure. But it was there.
“I’ll get you both a room. In the meantime, grab some coffee and maybe a cup of instant chicken broth. It’s on me.” He nodded toward Andi, who slipped off her coat near some hooks in the distance. “I need to get a few details worked out.”
As Mariella and Matthew slowly—reluctantly—walked away, Duke turned to Andi. “Could we have a word?”
She froze just a moment before snapping out of it and nodding. “Of course. What’s up?”
“I didn’t want to freak out Mariella and Matthew.” He lowered his voice. “But do you have any idea who that shooter was? Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
A thought simmered in her gaze before quickly disappearing.
“I have no idea,” she finally said. “I honestly wondered if I’d imagined that man. I’ve never seen anything like that happen since I’ve been driving to and from Prudhoe Bay.”
Duke’s jaw tightened.
Andi was hiding something from him. He was certain of it.
But he wouldn’t push too hard.
Not right now. Maybe she had her reasons for staying quiet.
