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“Exactly! They make me feel tall and powerful. But anyway, I went to college and took this natural resources course. I thought it was a filler, but it changed everything.
“I’m so glad I got assigned up here. It’s so beautiful. You grew up here?”
“I did. I spent my first years in the department away from family, too. This was the right time to come back.”
Elana hesitated, adjusted her Stetson on her hair—glossy and black and worked into a tight bun at the nape as Sloan had once worn hers.
Then she turned liquid brown eyes to Sloan. “I know you got hurt. I hope it’s okay to say.”
“Sure it is. I got hurt. I got well.”
Sloan made the turn to Heron’s Rest. “It wasn’t in the line,” she added. “Just wrong place, wrong time. There’s the lake.”
Elana leaned forward, and her Cupid’s bow mouth curved in a smile. “It’s so pretty! It’s a lot smaller than Deep Creek Lake but really pretty. And busy!”
“Once it freezes, they’re all over it. Natives and tourists. If you come here in the winter, you probably come for winter sports.”
She thought of Mrs. Colbert.
“With exceptions. We’ll just do a check on fishing licenses and alcohol consumption.”
“Alcohol? This early in the morning?”
“Some think it’s a way to stay warm. A breakfast beer, a thermos of Bloody Marys, a flask of whiskey. Or it’s justHey, I’m on vacation. We’re friendly. We educate rather than push. Safety first, Elana. Like that guy over there, near the shore. Ice fishing near the shore’s a bad idea.”
“Ice is thinner near the shore.”
“Exactly right. Why?”
“Um, the shallower water and the underwater vegetation melt the ice faster.”
“Yeah, and that’s what you’ll tell him.”
“I will?”
“With courtesy.” She parked the truck. “Let’s strap on the cleats.”
She’d always enjoyed walking on the lake, and skating over it on a cold afternoon with the mountains dressed in white rising up.
The skaters zoomed around it now, though this was no Zamboni’d rink. Ripples and bumps sent more than one into a spill.
She counted sixteen ice fishermen—and women—taking advantage of the early morning. More than one had already pulled up a catch or two.
Their cleats gripped, and the wind blew light and steady as they crossed over to the man all but buried in a black hooded parka. He had a red plastic sled he might have borrowed from a kid. It held an auger he’d already used to drill a hole in the ice, and the chisel he’d used to widen it.
He sat on a portable seat that looked brand-new. So did the flag on the tip-up in the hole, and his fishing rod.
“Identify yourself,” Sloan instructed, “and me. Call him sir, always polite. Once we see his fishing license, you can refer to him as Mr. whatever it is. Make conversation,” Sloan added. “Then educate him on the spot he’s chosen.”
“Okay. Here goes.”
Elana put on her pretty smile as they approached. “Good morning! I’m Officer Sanchez, and this is Corporal Cooper with the Natural Resources Police.”
He looked up, squinted with most of his face hidden by the hood, and a thick scarf that came up past his chin. “The what? They got cops for that?”
“Yes, sir! It’s sure a beautiful day out here.”
“If you like frozen tundras. I’ve been sitting here freezing my ass off for damn near an hour. I got nothing.”