“You’re telling me that you’ve never seen this guy in here?” Cecil holds up a picture of our target to a stranger in the store.

It’s not like any store I’ve ever seen. Not that Whitehorse has a wide array to choose from, with a scattering of restaurants and bars on one road, this Trading Post is the closest thing to a supply shop we could find. With fourteen-dollar jars of peanut butter piled on a shelf right next to shotgun shells, it’s not exactly a conventional grocery or hunting shop.

“That’s what I’m telling ya,” an elderly Native man with long, smoky wisps of hair falling from his neat braid around his deeply lined face replies. The man grabs some cooking oil from the shelf beside Cecil’s head and walks away from us.

“S’cuse me,” I jump and wheel around to face a burly beast of a man glaring down at us. His dark eyes are just slits in his face almost matching the crescent shaped scar on his thick jaw. I tilt my head back to try to meet his gaze, but he must be almost seven feet tall and built like a bull. I’m not sure how he got that scar on his chin, but I’m guessing it wasn’t a fight. If it was, I’d put money on the other guy being dead.

“Yes?” Cecil looks like he’s trying to stand taller, but the more he stretches his spine, the more he looks like a child next to the huge stranger. Although, if he looks like a child, I must look like an infant. Compared to me, Cecil is tall. And this guy is practically a giant.

“I’ve been getting complaints that you’re harassing my customers,” the man’s voice booms like claps of thunder.

“You own this place?” Cecil looks around the store.

“That’s what I said,” the lumbering man frowns at us. I shiver involuntarily, and it’s not from the cold.

“Perfect, just the man I’d love to talk to!” Cecil lights up, like this guy just extended him a warm welcome instead of a warning. “I’m Cecil White, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he waits for the man to fill in the blank.

“That’s because I didn’t give it to you,” he answers with no humor in his voice whatsoever. He looks from my boss’s face to mine and sighs deeply, “The name is Dave. Now I’m going to have to ask you and your daughter to quit bothering my customers with a bunch of questions, understand? You’re making people uncomfortable,” Dave folds his large, muscular arms over his chest and it reminds me of the huge X on a barn door.

“This is Abbie. She’s not my daughter, she’s my assistant. Sure, sure, I won’t bother anymore customers,” Cecil nods and pulls the picture back out of his pocket. “Hey, you probably know just about everyone around here, right? Do you recognize this man?” He holds the picture up in front of Dave’s face.

“I don’t see how who I know is any of your concern,” Dave narrows his eyes and pushes Cecil’s hand down from where it hovers.

“The thing is,” Cecil steamrolls over him, “this guy is a dangerous man. He’s a bad guy. He’s a murderer,” he lowers his voice. Dave’s face doesn’t change. If the idea of a killer living in his town frightens him, his face would be the last to show it.

I pull my long brown hair over my shoulder and begin to twist the ends nervously. I can’t help but feel like I’m watching Cecil poke a bear.

In its den.

Protecting a cub.

From the size of this guy, he could easily pass for a shaved bear.

“Listen, I’ll tell ya what,” Cecil stuffs the picture back in his coat pocket and tugs his wallet from his pants. The Velcro rips open loudly and he tugs a hundred-dollar bill out. “How about this? I would be happy to compensate you for any information you might want to share,” Cecil dangles the money in front of Dave’s face like a carrot on a line.

“It’s time you go checkout,” Dave answers through his teeth.

“Pardon me?” Cecil blinks in surprise. I’m starting to wonder if all the stories that he’s told me about his great people skills and detective work aren’t bullshit. It’s hard to imagine how someone who clearly has no idea about how people operate could have the tremendous success hunting them down that he’s prattled on and on about.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’re deaf or stupid, and I don’t care. You said this girl is your assistant, well maybe she can assist you in pulling your head outta your ass, ‘cause no one here is interested in some outsider snooping around and tryna dig up dirt. Now get your supplies and get the hell outta my store before I pick you up and toss you out!” His voice rumbles. I can’t help but feel like I’m supposed to run for shelter, like his baritone is as powerful as an earthquake. And just as dangerous.

Cecil drops his hand and shoves his bill back in his wallet before stuffing it back in his jeans. His face drops to look at the things in the cart we’ve gathered for our hike. “Fine,” he mutters, without meeting Dave’s intense glare.

I follow him to the checkout and watch as Cecil keeps his eyes downcast on the items being rung in, like a puppy that was scolded for peeing on the floor.

Over my shoulder, Dave is still standing like a Paul Bunyan statue, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, forcing us out the door without moving a muscle or uttering a single word.

Cecil yanks the bag of supplies from the cashier's hand and stomps toward the exit petulantly. As he approaches the door an elderly lady blocks his way out. Clearly, she’s struggling to make her way into the shop. I gasp as Cecil shoves her aside, nearly knocking her to the ground.

“Get outta my way,” he sneers.

I rush behind him and offer the poor woman a hand as she struggles to maintain her balance. I can’t believe the nerve of this guy. He gets told to leave and he takes it out on an old, defenseless woman?

Mama used to tell me that people don’t really show you who they are when everything is sunshine and roses. It isn’t until life gives them a squeeze that you really see what they’re made of.

As we make our way out of the store, I don’t like what Cecil is showing me. This entire mission is beginning to look doomed. Between the entire town stonewalling us and Cecil’s tantrum-like behavior, I’m starting to think this whole thing might be over before we even take our first step into the woods.