Free Strange Things Done by Elle Wild

entertained for a moment by imagining what her father and his cronies would have to say about this, huddled around some crappy, east-end bar after the dogwatch shift. “Any idea who might have wanted Marlo McAdam dead?”
    “Marlo was a politician.” Caveman said, and his lip curled a little.
    “So she was unpopular?”
    “No, everyone pretty much liked her. She was good people. Honest. Which is rare in the Yukon, especially for a politician, eh? You know what they say: ‘Yukon, I con, we all con.’ ” He laughed dryly and took a long pull on the cigarette.
    Jo leaned forward in her chair. “I couldn’t help but overhear earlier that you thought the police might ask Christopher Byrne questions about Marlo’s death.”
    “Maybe. Okay, probably.” He glanced over to the poker tables, where Byrne was scrutinizing the pair of them. When Jo glanced away, she could still feel Byrne watching her.
    “Why?”
    “You’ll have to ask him. He’d kill me if I said anything to you.”
    “I hope you don’t mean that literally.”
    Caveman sniggered a little. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” He scratched the back of his neck.
    “Am I? Why don’t you redirect me?”
    Caveman squinted at Jo, seeming to size her up. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me.” The smoke began to leak from his lips in a slow whorl. Jo forced herself not to turn her face away; the scent reminded her of her mother, and of her illness. “You can’t use this. In your story, I mean.” He glanced over his shoulder.
    Jo hesitated, but it was clear that she had little choice. “Okay.”
    “The cops … I heard them talking about how Marlo got out to the Bluffs. It’s quite a trek up there, eh? They got witnesses say that they didn’t see her truck in the parking lot at Gertie’s.”
    “So … she got a lift from someone?”
    Caveman nodded gravely. “Looks that way. They said she left Gertie’s before closing. Must have met someone in the parking lot. Someone offered her a ride. Most likely someone she knew.”
    “Huh. So that might rule out suicide, since she may not have been alone.”
    Something flickered across Caveman’s features, some hesitation, before he said, “If I were you, I’d get out of here before freeze-up. Tough to get out once the roads and runway snow over. You could get out via Alaska, but not once the Top of the World Highway closes or the ferry is taken out. Be any day now. You don’t want to be trapped here with the rest of us when that happens. Trust me.”
    “What are you so afraid of? You think the killer is still here?”
    “I can’t say more than that, okay? It’s not safe. I shouldn’t even be seen talking to you like this.” He cast a look around the room.
    “Why? I wouldn’t know who to tell. I don’t know anything about anything that goes on in this town.”
    “Now you are dangerous,” he said, and he exhaled a thick curl of smoke.
    The squeaking of a microphone behind her caused Jo to turn away for a moment, toward the stage, where a young woman with a nose ring and thick sweater began strumming a guitar. Her hands bore an interesting collection of rings with oversized stones and skulls. “This one’s for Marlo,” the singer said, causing small waves of hushed discussions to ripple through the audience. She began to hum something low and lovely, the eerie strains reaching all the way into the shadows of the bar. When Jo turned back to Caveman, he had already slipped away, and there was a fresh drink that she didn’t remember ordering, sweating on the table in front of her.

    The kitchen in Jo’s new home smelled like a mixture of mold, chocolate, and something oddly pungent. Sally had been baking again. Various mixing bowls had been added to the pile in the sink, turning the water there an unapologetic shade of brown. The beaters were still in the mixing machine, coated in chocolate, calling to Jo in their syrupy voices. Eat me … eat me. She yielded up a finger and scraped off