Free Murder at five finger light by Sue Henry

Clair’s okay. You know—new father syndrome.”
    There was a pause as he said something aside, then returned to the phone laughing. “He’s threatening to leave me here if I make any more comments concerning his imminent fatherhood.”
    As Jessie joined his laughter, Karen came out of the bathroom in her pajamas.
    “Do you think . . .” she started to say. “Oh, sorry. I thought you had the television on.”
    “That’s okay. I’ll be through in a minute,” Jessie told her, watching as Karen dropped the toothbrush back in her bag and laid her clothes on a chair before moving the bag to the floor beside it.
    “Somebody there with you?” Alex asked in her ear.
    “A friend I met here,” she told him. “We’re sharing a room tonight.”
    “She part of the lighthouse crew?”
    “Ah . . . well”—she hesitated—“ah . . . probably not.”
    Alex had never been slow on the uptake. “She’s right there and you don’t want to talk about it?”
    “That’s right.”
    “But it’s okay and you’ll tell me all about it when you get home, yes?”
    “Sure.”
    “Everything really okay?”
    “Yes, fine.” Again, she felt a twinge of I can take care of myself, thank you very much, and was surprised when Alex chuck-led, catching it.
    “Independent as ever. We do better in person than on the phone, don’t we? Why is that?”
    “Oh, I think we both like seeing who we’re talking to. There’s a lot that gets said nonverbally.”
    “You’re probably right. Well, my beer bottle seems to have a hole in it, so I’ll let you go and find another one. Oops, no more beer—Del says our ride is here.”
    “Tell him hello and have a safe flight,” she said. Then, feeling she was relenting in some odd way, “Glad you called, trooper. I’ll call you from Five Finger Light tomorrow night to be sure you get home okay.”
    “Don’t call too early. It’s a long drive so I’ll leave at the crack of doom and drive till I get there. I love you, Jess.”
    “I love you too. Take good care.”
    “You bet.”
    He hung up and she immediately missed him.
    Can’t have it both ways, she told herself, and dropped the phone back in the daypack.
    “Trooper?” asked Karen. “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.”
    “My friend’s an Alaska State Trooper,” Jessie told her.
    “Oh. What do you do?”
    “I run a kennel and race sled dogs.”
    Recognition dawned on Karen’s face. “I thought your name sounded familiar. You’re that Iditarod racer, aren’t you?”
    The conversation turned in that direction for the next few minutes, until Jessie escaped to take the shower she had planned earlier. When she came back, clean and refreshed, rubbing her short honey-colored curls semidry with a towel, Karen was already in bed watching the news on television with a frown.
    “Death, disease, and disaster,” she said, turning it off. “Can’t they ever report anything positive?”
    Jessie grinned and shook her head. “My feelings exactly. Well, for a week at least I don’t have to know what’s happening anywhere but on a tiny island in the vastness of Frederick Sound. What are you going to do about the situation tomorrow, Karen?”
    “I don’t know. But I’ll have to figure out something—just not right now.”
    “True.”
    “But maybe . . .” Karen began, but stopped suddenly at the sound of heavy footsteps that hesitated in the passageway outside their door. Her eyes widened and she sat up straight in the bed, listening intently, one hand clutching wrinkles into the sheet.
    “Come on, Craig,” a male voice called. “Get a move on or I’m gonna leave without you.”
    “Keep your shirt on,” they heard someone answer faintly, then the sound of a second set of footsteps came along the passage and the two continued together, sharing quieter conversation that faded into silence with distance.
    Though she had noticed that the curtains of the room were closed when she came in from the Harbor Bar, Jessie watched