In the Barren Ground by Loreth Anne White Page A

of the cliff before the weather blew in on Friday.”
    Heather stilled her mug en route to her mouth, then lowered it slowly back to the table. She cupped her hands around it, a wariness entering her eyes.
    “Yeah,” she said finally. “A red AeroStar. It’s a tiny two-seater thing—barely two people can squish in. You build them from a craft kit. They come out of the Balkans. I’m making one myself.”
    “Do you know whose it was?”
    She moistened her lips. “No.”
    Tana glanced up. “Are there many around like it?”
    “Could have come in from a hundred miles any direction. Illegal hunters, diamond guys, engineers, prospectors, who knows.”
    “But is there anyone that you know in this region with one?”
    Her mouth tightened. “Crash.”
    Big Indian looked up sharply.
    “Wasn’t his, though,” MacAllistair said.
    “How do you know?”
    “He said so.” A pause. “Look, why do you need to know, anyway? What difference does it make to what happened to those kids?”
    “Maybe the pilot of the red AeroStar saw something that could aid with the coroner’s recommendations.”
    She nodded slowly. “So . . . it’s not like it’s a police matter.”
    Tana closed her book. “It’s standard procedure for police to file a report in an event like this. Thanks. You still on for the ride after I’ve checked in with Blundt?”
    “For sure.” She slugged back the rest of her coffee, grabbed the packet of smokes she’d left on the table, and pushed to her feet. “I’ll be in the hangar, waiting for you.”
    Tana shrugged back into her jacket. When she stepped out, an aurora pulsed high across the sky.

CHAPTER 12
    Tana had barely landed back in Twin Rivers and was feeding her dogs when the call came in— big fight at the Red Moose . She wheeled her RCMP truck into the frozen parking lot, slammed on the brakes, sending her vehicle skidding to an angle in front of the stairs that led up to the old-style saloon. She killed her siren, left her light bar strobing, and flung open her door. Loud music, yelling reached her instantly.
    “Stay here!” she commanded her dogs, and she ran toward the stairs, hand ready near her sidearm.
    Pine trees swirled and swayed in the wind. Aurora borealis danced in the sky.
    She took the wooden stairs two at a time. As she reached the porch of the Red Moose, the double doors swung open. A man came hurtling backward out of the doors. His arms windmilled as he flailed wildly to keep balance, and rolled down the stairs. She sidestepped him, pushed through the doors.
    “Oh man, this is going to be good,” said someone bashing in through the doors behind her. “Cops are even here.”
    It was hot inside. Smelled like a locker room, sour with sweat, spilled beer, and wine. Music pounded. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light. It was all dark wood inside. The caricature of a neon red moose lit the bar area in reddish light.
    The fight was centered near the bar counter. Around two big young guys in particular, one laying into another, who was trying to defend himself against the attack. Men were yelling. A chair went flying, hit the mirror behind the counter. Glass shattered. A woman shrieked.
    Oh, Jesus—when was she going to cut a break?
    Pulse racing, Tana shoved through the people massing around the fight. Another chair went flying. Glass tinkled. It crunched beneath her boots. The floor was slippery with spilled drink.
    “Step aside, RCMP.”
    No one seemed to hear her.
    “Police!” she yelled. “Step aside!”
    As she got deeper into the fray she recognized the two men at the center of the melee. The big young gun on the attack, his long black hair flying loose, eyes psychotic, sweat gleaming, was Jamie TwoDove—the man she reckoned had made the bracelet Selena Apodaca had been wearing when she was killed. Like a lunatic he was laying into Caleb Peters, the band chief’s son. Blood oozed from a cut on TwoDove’s brow. Peters was trying to defend himself