“Where’s Sam?” Ophelia asked.
Flossy pulled her toward the bar. “Sam?”
“Yeah. Sam’s Tavern. Where’s Sam?” Ophelia wound through bodies to reach the bar, allowing Flossy to lead her.
“Oh.” Flossy motioned the bartender over. “Amka Amaruq? This is Olly Spilazi.”
Amka hurried over, plucked two mugs from beneath the counter, and set them in front of the women. “Hi, Olly. Leaded or unleaded?” She reached for pewter carafes near the bourbon.
“Leaded,” Ophelia said, her nose twitching at the scent of the fresh coffee.
Amka poured from one carafe while reaching for the second one to pour Flossy’s. The older woman must like decaf. “Sorry about the rough intro to town. We don’t usually lose people until after January.”
Flossy nodded.
Oh. She spoke with complete seriousness. Ophelia took a drink of the coffee and almost moaned at the smooth and delicious taste. “Any word on the young man?”
Amka shook her head, her eyes concerned as she turned to refill the leaded carafe. “Nothing, but we keep warming cabins within a couple of miles of most known fishing holes. Hopefully, he headed to one if something happened. We have a lot of missing people, but we usually find them. Well, sometimes.” She set down the carafe, her skin nearly translucent with the firelight warming the area. “Alaska is a dangerous place.”
“So I understand,” Ophelia murmured, taking another sip. “Do you work for Sam?”
Amka shook her head. “Nope. I own the bar.”
“We own the bar.” A brown-haired man dressed in a brown checked flannel shirt and dark jeans, sitting on a stool a little farther down the bar, held out his mug for more coffee. He smiled at Ophelia, his gaze running over her form and then back to her face—the only person in the place who seemed relaxed and not on edge about the missing Wyatt. “I’m Amka’s fiancé, Jarod Teller. Nice to meet you, Agent.”
If the guy claimed to be Amka’s fiancé, he shouldn’t be checking out Ophelia’s boobs. Ophelia nodded, turning back to face Amka and dismissing Jarod. Maybe she’d read him wrong. “You purchased from Sam?”
Flossy snorted. “You really can’t ignore any sort of mystery, can you?”
Heat filled Ophelia’s cheeks. “No. Never could. Now, who the heck is Sam?”
Amka took pity on her, poured her more coffee, and finally spoke. “I bought the bar from a man named George, who purchased it from a lady named Lulu. As far as we know, a Sam never existed. But the name works, and it stuck, so there you go.”
How odd. Or perhaps eccentric served as a better description. Ophelia took another drink as Amka headed back down the bar, refilling cups as she went.
Jarod cleared his throat. “So, Olly. You really think you can solve old murders?”
“Yes,” she answered, not looking his way.
His stool scraped back. “I’m pretty free during the days if you need a guide around town,” he offered.
“You could say that again,” Flossy mumbled into her cup.
A woman hustled up, this one as tall as Ophelia. “Hey, Flossy. Did David head out to plow to the river road? I have a coffee thermos for him.”
Flossy nodded. “Yes. Ophelia, this is Monica Luna, David’s fiancée. Monica, please meet Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi.”
Luna? “Related to Gus and Janet from the Green Plate restaurant?” Ophelia asked as Monica had a large radio in one hand and held out the other to shake.
“My aunt and uncle, and I work there as well,” Monica said. “It’s nice to meet you.” She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling and her curly brown hair around her shoulders. “I’m in charge of the high-frequency radios this year.” She glanced at Flossy. “We need to apply for another grant. We’re definitely low.” Someone called her name and she turned. “I’ll set up the grid board as well. It was nice to meet you, Ophelia.” She hurried away.
Amka leaned over the counter to peer down at Ophelia’s feet. “You’re going to need better boots than those for our winter here.”
The front door opened, and Ophelia turned to see Brock entering with Ace, both in full snow gear. She instantly went hot and then started, surprised. When he caught her eye, he smiled. She smiled back, trying to appear casual and not like a dorky teenager. What in the world had gotten into her?
“He’s like this generation’s Humphrey Bogart, right?” Flossy whispered, her mouth partially covered by her mug.
Brock cleared his throat, and the din quieted in the tavern. “All right. Dawn is breaking, and we have three buildingsopen while we search. Sam’s Tavern will serve as headquarters. Anybody searching have at least one partner who knows where you are at all times and then check in here with updates. The high frequency radios are by the door, and we only have enough for two people to share one. So know where your partner is at all times.”
