off the streets when they see me coming, for sure.”
Mutt went around the counter to rest her chin on the top of Jane’s desk. “No mistaking who you are,” Jane told her, and fished around in a bottom drawer, producing a pepperoni stick. She stripped it of shrink-wrap and held it out. Mutt took it delicately between her teeth and it vanished in two bites. She retired to the door, the office being so small and its occupant so decrepit (and so willing to pay homage to Mutt’s Muttness) that she could be reasonably certain no one was going to bash her human over the head again, at least not in here. She kept one yellow eye peeled for anyone coming down the hall with fell intent, though, and frightened Bobby Singh’s law clerk into dropping a document box on the floor, where it burst open with a splat and scattered files from there to the back door. Mutt, watching with no more than casual interest, sent the clerk scuttling upstairs for the public defender, a musher in his off time who might be expected to have the sangfroid to face down an indoor wolf.
Jane Silver was older than god and had been the lands clerk for the Park since before Kate was born. She was a tough old bird with a sharp tongue and an encyclopedic memory, and held the record at the Alaska State Fair for the most blue ribbons won in a row for jam making. Her specialty was rhubarb butter, just the memory of which made Kate’s tongue prickle and her mouth fill with anticipatory saliva.
“I was sorry to hear about Old Sam,” Jane said.
“Thanks,” Kate said, “me, too.” Had it really only been five days? “Me, too,” she said again, and cleared her throat to speak in a stronger voice. “He’s why I’m here. I’m the executor of his will, as well as his main beneficiary.”
“I had an idea. What’s up?”
Kate pulled out the will. “Turns out the old fart had some property nobody knew about.”
“The Canyon Hot Springs homestead?”
Kate picked up her jaw and put it back into working position. “Well, yeah, now that you mention it. Nobody knew he’d staked a homestead up there.”
Jane reeled off the numbers and Kate looked down at the paper she held to see that Jane had them down pat. “Jesus, Jane, is there a tax ID or a property ID in the Park that you haven’t memorized?”
“No,” Jane said, like it was the simple truth, which it probably was. She typed something into the keyboard sitting in front of her and watched the monitor. Something beeped and the reflected light from the monitor changed on her face. She got to her feet, shoes creaking, and went to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and extracted a file. “Hmm, yes,” she said. “Nothing unusual here. Homestead requirements met and applicant’s eligibility sworn to by reputable members of the community.”
“He was underage,” Kate said, “and he wasn’t married. He wasn’t a father, either.”
Jane gave a dismissive wave with a hand that more nearly resembled a claw, a similarity enhanced by the long, bloodred nails that tipped each finger. Kate wondered how Jane could type. “The government was in a hurry to get as much land settled as fast as possible, so there was a lot of winking at that particular requirement. The only thing they really stuck at was if you had borne arms against the United States. Sam had a strong back and a reputation for paying his bills.” Jane paused, her ugly face unreadable. “It was assumed he’d marry eventually. Most everyone did back then.”
“You remember all that?” Kate said.
Jane looked up and grinned in an alarming display of long yellow teeth. “Hard to believe, I know, but yes, I am that old.”
“You lived in Ahtna then?”
Jane nodded, eyes back on the file. “I came to town with Mrs. Beaton.”
Again, Kate had difficulty in getting her jaw back in place. “Mrs. Beatrice Beaton? Of Mrs. Beaton’s Boardinghouse?”
Jane gave her a sharp look. “Yes. How do you know that name?”
“I, ah, I saw
Mutt went around the counter to rest her chin on the top of Jane’s desk. “No mistaking who you are,” Jane told her, and fished around in a bottom drawer, producing a pepperoni stick. She stripped it of shrink-wrap and held it out. Mutt took it delicately between her teeth and it vanished in two bites. She retired to the door, the office being so small and its occupant so decrepit (and so willing to pay homage to Mutt’s Muttness) that she could be reasonably certain no one was going to bash her human over the head again, at least not in here. She kept one yellow eye peeled for anyone coming down the hall with fell intent, though, and frightened Bobby Singh’s law clerk into dropping a document box on the floor, where it burst open with a splat and scattered files from there to the back door. Mutt, watching with no more than casual interest, sent the clerk scuttling upstairs for the public defender, a musher in his off time who might be expected to have the sangfroid to face down an indoor wolf.
Jane Silver was older than god and had been the lands clerk for the Park since before Kate was born. She was a tough old bird with a sharp tongue and an encyclopedic memory, and held the record at the Alaska State Fair for the most blue ribbons won in a row for jam making. Her specialty was rhubarb butter, just the memory of which made Kate’s tongue prickle and her mouth fill with anticipatory saliva.
“I was sorry to hear about Old Sam,” Jane said.
“Thanks,” Kate said, “me, too.” Had it really only been five days? “Me, too,” she said again, and cleared her throat to speak in a stronger voice. “He’s why I’m here. I’m the executor of his will, as well as his main beneficiary.”
“I had an idea. What’s up?”
Kate pulled out the will. “Turns out the old fart had some property nobody knew about.”
“The Canyon Hot Springs homestead?”
Kate picked up her jaw and put it back into working position. “Well, yeah, now that you mention it. Nobody knew he’d staked a homestead up there.”
Jane reeled off the numbers and Kate looked down at the paper she held to see that Jane had them down pat. “Jesus, Jane, is there a tax ID or a property ID in the Park that you haven’t memorized?”
“No,” Jane said, like it was the simple truth, which it probably was. She typed something into the keyboard sitting in front of her and watched the monitor. Something beeped and the reflected light from the monitor changed on her face. She got to her feet, shoes creaking, and went to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and extracted a file. “Hmm, yes,” she said. “Nothing unusual here. Homestead requirements met and applicant’s eligibility sworn to by reputable members of the community.”
“He was underage,” Kate said, “and he wasn’t married. He wasn’t a father, either.”
Jane gave a dismissive wave with a hand that more nearly resembled a claw, a similarity enhanced by the long, bloodred nails that tipped each finger. Kate wondered how Jane could type. “The government was in a hurry to get as much land settled as fast as possible, so there was a lot of winking at that particular requirement. The only thing they really stuck at was if you had borne arms against the United States. Sam had a strong back and a reputation for paying his bills.” Jane paused, her ugly face unreadable. “It was assumed he’d marry eventually. Most everyone did back then.”
“You remember all that?” Kate said.
Jane looked up and grinned in an alarming display of long yellow teeth. “Hard to believe, I know, but yes, I am that old.”
“You lived in Ahtna then?”
Jane nodded, eyes back on the file. “I came to town with Mrs. Beaton.”
Again, Kate had difficulty in getting her jaw back in place. “Mrs. Beatrice Beaton? Of Mrs. Beaton’s Boardinghouse?”
Jane gave her a sharp look. “Yes. How do you know that name?”
“I, ah, I saw
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