"Paul, it's Betsy. My lackluster intern spent the last two days in the morgue and came up with nada. Well, not nothing. We've got enough stuff for a good profile of Stephen Whitaker and what his political activity meant to Alaska, but that's probably not what you're looking for. It you need that; it will be in the Sunday Times. Talk to you later. Actually, I think I'll drive out to Talkeetna in the morning. Too much is happening, I want to be on the scene. You can buy me that drink then."
Kitka winced. He liked Betsy. He didn't want her out here snooping around, asking questions. Questions for which he had no answers.
The machine beeped. "Paul, the computer was down for ten hours," said another female voice. Maggie. "We're so backlogged I can't even see the light of day. I don't know whe
