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were more than dance partners. “Let’s stick to what we do best,” she said breezily.
    He growled his frustration, re-gripped and squeezed her hand, and pulled her hard against his chest.

Chapter Three
    Petersburg, 1932
    High Stakes for a Lone Federal Marshal
    (The Murder of Sing Lee: A Retrospective
    by Liv Hanson)
    “Watch your footing in Petersburg!” yelled the ferry captain as he helped his Juneau passengers off the boat. To Gus he said, “And good luck finding the murderer of old Sing Lee, Marshal.”
    Gus Stockton blinked as he pressed a dime tip into the man’s hand. Was the ferryman being sarcastic? Probably. Well, he’s got it right: Since I’m the wrong man for this job, I’ll need every ounce of luck I can get.
    He climbed the steep gangway, such a precarious ascent at low tide that Gus used the rail to pull himself up the slippery surface. When he reached the platform and got his first look at the town through the veil of a relentless downpour, he suppressed a gasp. All the roads and sidewalks were constructed of a xylophone of wood planks, rendered shiny by the falling rain, a telltale spattering of green warning walkers of the presence of moss. Tricky footing, indeed.
    Realizing he stooped against the pelting rain, Gus straightened his spine and walked with caution to the only hotel in town, The Acacia.
    “We have a reservation for two Federal Marshals, sir,” said the young hotel clerk.
    “One, only one.” Gus corrected. He thought about Frank Murchison, his senior partner, bedridden with consumption instead of joining him on the investigation. When Gus had asked for another agent to accompany him, his boss had said no, citing budget problems. The Depression had caused cutbacks in every Federal department, with salaries suffering thirty percent cuts. President Roosevelt’s new term was about to begin with a mandate to bring the U.S. out of the economic doldrums.
    Gus handed over seven dollars for two week’s lodging, wincing at the cost and the stress of his lone responsibility. If he were going to save money for his new President, he’d have to solve the murder of Sing Lee in record time.
    As he settled into his room, he sucked on his corncob pipe, empty of tobacco, but still a comfort to his mouth and a way to feel older than his twenty-eight years. Sleet jabbed at his one tiny window, urging him to hurry and find the criminal who had killed the most popular and richest man in Petersburg. His department had taken down big-city Al Capone; surely Gus could find the man who killed Sing Lee in this tiny village.
    With a glance at the room’s skinny bed, he thought about how little sleep he’d get in the coming weeks. He lowered himself into the rickety desk chair, and began to sort through the facts to find himself a killer.
    ****
    Liv stilled in her desk chair, considering the challenges facing Gus Stockton in 1932. No Internet, lousy phone service, and the urgency of a front-page crime to be solved by a lone Federal agent. All her research showed the man sent to this Alaskan territory was capable and diligent but the odds were against him from the start.
    Switch scenes seven decades later, to Parker Browne staring at her trade beads and striking up a conversation about jewelry. She had the uneasy feeling that the cop’s lackadaisical approach was a strategy and he’d found out things about her through the Internet and other magic technology that no one else in the town knew, using stealth tactics and a fishing-on-the-side father who might be serving as a spy. In less than twenty-four hours. Poor Marshal Stockton had had to take a slow boat all alone to Petersburg, and couldn’t even begin his investigation until several days after Sing Lee’s death. Sing’s trail was ice-cold; surely Ev Olson’s was hotter, wasn’t it?
    She looked at her watch. Three more hours to research, complete a Sing Lee to-do list, and polish another section for the newspaper column. She’d shower around