Running Dark by Joseph Heywood Page B

tiny counter in the area that served as his kitchen and dining room.
    There were two six-packs of Strohs long-neckers in a paper bag in the truck bed, and when he came back inside, Mehegen had shed her sweater. She wore a T-shirt that proclaimed naked skydivers go down faster. It was clear she wore nothing underneath.
    She took two bottles of Strohs from one of the six-packs and a church key out of one of her cardboard boxes, popped the caps, and handed a beer to Service. She tapped her bottle against his and said, “ Slainte. I cooked the roast this afternoon; now let me get it warming and boil some water for the potatoes. I brought plastic plates. I figure why waste time doing dishes when we can toss them, right? My environmentalist friends would throw an eco-freaky hissy-fit, but what the hey—what they don’t know can’t sour their stomachs, right? You like garlic in your mashed spuds?”
    He nodded, and she said in a husky voice, “Okay, drink your beer and get outta that monkey suit while I do some woman’s work.”
    Service opened the bathroom door to serve as a wall, shed his uniform, and put on sweatpants, wool socks, slip-on logger boots, and a plaid wool shirt.
    Mehegen was sitting down when he stepped back to the other end of the Airstream. She held up her bottle like a pointer. “It’s Christmas Eve and neither of us has another to fuss over, but I don’t want you jumping to the conclusion that I came here to get laid,” she said.
    He had no idea how to respond.
    â€œUnless you think that’s a good idea,” she added. “Do you?”
    He felt his face reddening and she laughed. “Okay, I can see the Boy Scout game warden’s not all that comfortable with a direct female. No sweat. Let’s just enjoy this dinner and get to know each other. But no cop-shop talk. I talk to cops all day, every day, and while I appreciate what all you guys do, I get sick of the yammer. Okay by you?”
    He found himself dumbly nodding.
    She got up when the water boiled and dropped small red potatoes into the pot. Then she took something out of the smallest box and put it on the table.
    â€œYou know about Luciadagen? ”
    â€œIs that like Sadie Hawkins Day?”
    She laughed so hard that tears formed in her eyes. “It’s a Swedish deal, ya big lug, ‘Saint Lucia’s Day.’ The Swedelanders in the old country used to celebrate it around December thirteenth, and considered it the first day of winter—never mind that they were a good week ahead of the actual solstice. They’d crown a young girl as the Luciadagen queen, and the women would start cooking around midnight. In the morning there’d be a feast, and afterwards they’d all go out skiing, maybe the men would shoot their rifles a bit, then they’d all jump in the sauna.”
    He stared at the glistening concoction on the table. It was shaped like a cat that had been hit by lightning.
    â€œ Lussiketbröd ,” she explained. “It’s part of the festival. Saffron dough brushed with egg whites, filled with sugar, cinnamon, chopped nuts, and raisins. Go ahead and knock off a piece,” she said with a wink, handing him a small jackknife.
    â€œIsn’t this dessert?” he asked.
    â€œHey guy, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re celebrating. We don’t have to stick to the rules, eh? Time for you to eat some of my cat,” she added, lowering her eyes and smirking.
    He did as she ordered and tasted the bread, which was light and sweet. “Good,” he said.
    â€œMy cat tastes good?” she asked as he chewed.
    â€œA little dry,” he said.
    She laughed and said, “That’s the spirit!” She touched his arm. “She gets wetter as the meal goes on.”
    â€œMehegen isn’t a Swedish name,” he said, awkwardly changing the subject.
    â€œYoopers, we’re all a buncha mongrels, eh? We take what we like