Wrong Alibi (Murder in Alaska #1) - Christina Dodd Page 0,1

corrosion. Either way, she could fix it and save the lodge from turning into a solid ice cube that wouldn’t thaw until spring.

That was, after all, her job.

She shivered.

So much better than her last job, the one that led to her conviction for a gruesome double murder.

“Okay, Petie, let’s grab that metal battery cleaner thingy and get the job done.” Which sounded pretty easy, when she talked to herself about it, but when she pulled on the insulated ski gloves, they limited her dexterity.

Out of the corner of her eye, a light blinked out.

She looked back into the lodge’s Great Room. The night-lights were failing, and soon she really would be alone in the absolute darkness, facing the memories of that long-ago day in the basement.

Good incentive to hurry.

She grabbed the wire battery connection cleaner thingy and moved to the outer door.

There she paused and pictured the outdoor layout.

A loosely built lean-to protected the generator from the worst of the weather while allowing the exhaust to escape. That meant she wasn’t stepping out into the full force of the storm; she would be as protected as the generator itself. Which was apparently not well enough since the damned thing wasn’t working.

She gathered her fortitude and eased the outer door open.

The wind caught it, yanked it wide and dragged her outside and down the steps. She hung on to the door handle, flailed around on the frozen ground, and when she regained her footing, she used all her strength to shove the door closed again.

Then she was alone, outside, in a killer storm, in the massive, bleak wilderness that was Alaska.

2

SOME MIGHT SAY PETIE was stupid to put herself in this situation.

She had to agree.

Except...

No, really, she had to agree.

Her forehead light scarcely pierced the dark of the night and the dark of the storm, so she groped in her coat pocket for her big flashlight, clicked it on and waved the beam around.

The left wall of the lean-to had been shattered by a tree branch that had ridden a gust like a battering ram. Everywhere, snowflakes twisted and spun in glittering arcs, and more snow settled against the outside of the generator.

Stupid to feel relieved, but nothing she’d done had compromised the generator. It was that bitch Mother Nature. She was out to kill them all.

Who could blame her?

A snow shovel hung on the external wall of the lodge, clamped at the top and bottom; still it clattered like a skeleton’s bones. Petie used the broad scoop to clear her path to the generator. Putting the shovel down, she knelt to release the lock on the door that opened onto the battery.

The wind caught the shovel and shoved it across the slick ground.

On her knees, she hustled after it, caught it before it escaped into the storm, brought it back to the generator and knelt on the scoop. The cold seeped through her ski pants, pants and underwear. Incentive to finish quickly. She cleaned the posts, scraping, wiping, scraping, wiping. She reattached the battery cables and pushed “Start.”

The generator coughed and chugged on. A light popped on over the door leading to the lodge. More came on inside.

She had fixed it. She had fixed it!

She had saved Hawley’s lodge. It would be safe until spring. Probably safe until spring.

Her momentary exultation flickered and died.

Now she was stuck here, alone, for another four months.

Her head bent. She closed her eyes. She felt the pain of piercing cold, of blistering wind, of loneliness and hopelessness that had no end.

Four more months of life barren and lost to exile...unless she did something to change that.

She turned off the flashlight and left it on the ground next to the shovel.

She didn’t need them anymore.

She pushed her way through the snow to the broken north wall and faced the full brunt of the storm. Even through her scarf, the wind scoured her face. Snow froze onto her eyelashes. If she walked out there, straight into the storm’s violent embrace, she would struggle and struggle, until at last she would lie down and die.

Why not? What did she have to live for?

TSTL. That was what they called women like her. Too Stupid to Live.

Truth. She was too stupid to live. She despised herself. Now she was stuck here, forever, alone every winter, without anyone who cared about her.

Why not walk out and die? Why not?

She took the first step.

A gust of wind slammed into her belly, lifted her off her feet, carried her backward and knocked