"What happened to you?" he asked.

Katrina shrugged. "Nothing."

"That's not nothing," Stride told her.

"I slipped on the ice. Luckily, my tits broke the fall, or it would have been a lot worse."

"Did you cut yourself on the ice, too?"

"I think there was a piece of glass, yeah." She covered the gash with her hand.

"It looks like someone beat you up."

"I don't really care what it looks like."

"I'm not trying to pry. I just don't like it when husbands or boyfriends use their women as punching bags."

"Well, I don't have either one. Okay? Now what do you want?"

"Sonia Bezac at the dress shop sent me down here."

Katrina's eyes flashed with anger. "What the hell did she tell you?"

"Just that you might know something about Tanjy Powell."

"Oh." Katrina slumped.

"Do you know Tanjy?"

"Speaking of girlie pretzel sticks," Katrina replied, sticking out her tongue.

"So that's a yes."

"Sure, I'm in Silk a lot, so I see her there. Sonnie gets me decked out when I'm headed down to the Cities for a weekend of clubbing." She read Stride's expression and said, "Do I have to give you my big girls speech again?"

"No."

"Good. It's not funny, you know, the way people treat us plus sizes. And it's not just men. Women are the worst. Girls like Tanjy, they look at me like I'm some kind of freak."

"You're sure it's not the belly button ring, the tie-dye, and the tattoo?" he said.

"Okay, yeah, I may look like a freak sometimes. Hell, I am a freak and proud of it. But put me in a short skirt on the dance floor, and I can rock it out. Some women act all disgusted. Well, fuck 'em, I am who I am. I'm not going to walk around in a muumuu just because I was born with fat genes and I like to eat."

"I can see why you and Maggie get along," Stride said.

"Yeah, Maggie's got a foul little mouth on her. I love that. For a pretzel stick, she's not half-bad."

"What about Tanjy?"

Katrina growled. "Now there's a bitch. Slinks around the shop like she's better than everyone else. Always has her face stuck in a Bible, and then you find out she likes to get tied up and nasty. Fucking hypocrite."

"Does she come in here a lot?"

"Oh, yeah, she gets a cuppa almost every day. Treats me like I'm the hired help. And what the hell is she? Like she's anything more than a sales-clerk herself?"

"When did you last see her?"

Katrina took hold of her pigtails and wiggled them like antennae. "I do that when I need to think. Helps focus the brain waves." She thought for a moment and said, "I guess it was Monday."

"Was she here with anyone else?"

"No, she came in, got a cup to go, and left."

"When was that?"

"Oh, shit, I don't remember. Sometime in the afternoon."

"How did she look?"

Katrina rubbed her nose with the back of her palm. "Same as usual, I guess. Same stuck-up, bitchy attitude."

"Was she upset? Agitated?"

"Not that I could see."

Stride tried to puzzle out the time line. Tanjy left Silk to get coffee and came back half an hour later, visibly shaken. That evening, she disappeared. Why?

"Did you see where she went?"

"Nope."

"Did you see her talking to anyone?"

"Negatory."

"Did you know Maggie's husband?" he asked.

"Eric? Yeah."

"Did you ever see Eric and Tanjy together?"

"Nope." Katrina stuck a fingernail in her mouth and chewed on it.

"You look nervous," Stride said.

Katrina didn't reply.

"Was something going on with Eric?"

"How would I know?"

"That's not an answer."

Katrina fidgeted in her chair. "I don't know anything about Eric."

"When did you last see him?" he asked.

"He was in on Monday, too," Katrina told him.

Stride's face hardened. "Were Eric and Tanjy together?"

"No." She saw the disbelief in his eyes and added, "Hey, it's true. They weren't together. Eric came in about ten minutes after Tanjy left."

After leaving the coffee shop, Stride headed for the branch of Range Bank across the street and asked the head of security to queue up the tapes from the bank's ATM camera on Monday afternoon. He sat alone in a windowless office, watching the grainy tape roll. The video was in black-and-white, but Duluth in January was like a black-and-white movie anyway. He sat under the fluorescent light, not moving a muscle, watching pedestrians come and go in silence on the tape.

At five minutes after three o'clock, he watched Tanjy Powell disappear inside the door of Java Jelly. Three minutes later, she came out again with a tall cup of coffee in her hand. It was odd, seeing her again in the flesh, looking as cool and mysterious as ever. She sipped her coffee, and he could imagine the warmth of the liquid on her lips. She was dressed in a black wool coat that draped to her ankles, and she had a velvet pillbox hat nestled on her head. It was white leopard, with a matching scarf. Her raven hair flowed from under the hat and skittered across her face like streaks of chocolate skimming across the surface of espresso foam.

His view was blocked as an old man approached the ATM. His face filled the camera. Stride swore, trying to see behind him. He caught a glimpse of Tanjy turning away from the coffee shop, but in the opposite direction from Silk. He wanted to reach in and move the man out of the way.

Where was she going?

Stride fumed as nearly two minutes passed. Finally, the old man took his card and disappeared, and the camera offered an unobstructed view across Superior Street. He caught his breath. Tanjy was there, nestled against the side of a building.

Eric was with her.

He was wearing a dark suit, but no coat. His long blond hair blew wildly in the wind. The two of them were so close as to be nearly kissing. Eric spoke animatedly, clutching Tanjy's shoulder with one hand. Suddenly, she turned away, and she stared right at the camera, as if she were looking straight at Stride across the street. Her hands flew to her mouth in a look of sheer horror.

Eric pulled her back and said something more to her. Tanjy shook her head violently. She yanked away and hurried down the street away from him. He saw Eric call after her. Once, then twice. When she was gone, Eric stood there on the frigid street, alone, looking like some kind of Norse god. He shook his head and walked toward the coffee shop and went inside. He came back out again with a cup of coffee himself and headed in the opposite direction, his head down, his hair waving behind him. He walked until he vanished out of view of the camera.

Stride let the tape go. More people wandered by. Everyone was in a rush, trying to escape from the cold.

He pulled out his cell phone. His fingers hesitated over the keys, but then he dialed.

"Abel? It's Stride. We need to talk."

Fifteen minutes before midnight, Serena climbed from lake level up the sharp incline that twisted like a Chinese dragon through a series of tight switchbacks. She was driving Stride's Bronco, its four-wheel drive clutching at the pavement. Her high beams illuminated the neighborhood. She was in the narrow greenway of Congdon Park, one of the richest areas of the city, on a secluded street that didn't invite visitors. Grand homes lit up like monuments as her headlights swept across them, and then they vanished again into the shadows. The gated driveways were closed and locked, alarm systems on, lights extinguished.

This was a city with almost no middle class. You were rich, or you were poor, and never the twain shall meet.

She drove slowly, unsure of her directions, and almost missed the sign pointing her toward the cemetery. She followed Vermillion Road, and a few hundred yards later, the street became a rutted dirt track. The land opened up around her. Fir trees hugged the road, and beyond them, she could see slopes glowing in the moonlight and rows of silhouetted headstones. The area was primitive and empty, as if she had left the city miles behind her.