Standing at the top of the steps, she paused, looking down the length of the runway. Mutt trotted around the corner of the house and stood, looking up, tail curled in a question mark. Across the runway from the house stood a cleared and filled section of land that supported a square, two-story building. A faded sign beneath the eaves read, "Chugach Air Taxi Service, Inc." To the building's right were tiedowns occupied by a dozen small planes, most of them still on skis. Kate came down the steps and crossed the strip to the hangar. The large sliding doors were closed. She went into the office by the side door and through it to the hangar. A man in gray-striped coveralls was bent over the open cowling of a six-seater Cessna 206. The Cessna could have used a paint job, the man a bath. Something metal went crunch. "Shit!" he yelled. He wound up and threw the screwdriver as hard as he could in what turned out to be Kate's direction. She ducked and it whizzed over her head.
