Chapter 7

"Hi, what're you drinking today?" the dark-haired young woman asked him. Nero thought her name was Tilly but didn't want to freak her out by asking. No one liked strange old white men—ancient at nearly forty—asking their names. Today, possibly-Tilly was bundled up in a thick sweatshirt and knit cap and only opened the order window about halfway to keep out the chill.

"A triple cappuccino, extra foamy." He peered at the menu posted on the side of the wood-shingled building. "And one of those veggie burritos."

"Coming right up." She turned from the window to the gleaming espresso machine that Nero could see from the driver's seat.

When he'd first arrived, the tiny town of Cooper Springs had appeared to Nero to be tired and run-down. But he knew better now. More than a few residents drove newer model cars, which meant decent jobs were within driving distance.

Martin Purdy continued to upgrade the rest of the cabins at Cooper Springs Resort —a much-needed remodel that would give visitors a place to stay in town for at least a few days. And he'd heard from a guy at the Steam Donkey that there were more plans in the works for new businesses, a new winter festival—something beyond the Cooper Springs Chainsaw Art Festival—and reviving something called Shakespeare on the Beach in August.

But most importantly on this late morning, this drive-through espresso stand had recently opened up on one end of town. It was within walking distance of his cabin, but he'd chosen to take his SUV over instead, planning to drive by the Blass home afterward and then to the station to report the weird break-in.

He crossed his fingers. Hopefully, Amy Blass would be home and willing to speak with him. Of those related to the teens who'd gone missing in the 1980s, she was the only parent who still lived in town as far as Nero knew. The third teen, Kaylee Fernsby, had been found eventually, yes, and all three young women deserved justice, but he had to start somewhere.

Nero normally dealt with older cold cases, but he'd wondered if there was a chance that Blair Cruz's case could somehow be connected to those earlier ones. She was around the same age as Morgan and Sarah had been when they vanished. Stranger things had happened.

"That was some fire last night," he commented just to say something while she ground the coffee beans and poured milk into a stainless steel pitcher.

"Yeah, it was. I've always thought that place was creepy," possibly-Tilly said with the sangfroid of a longtime resident. "When I was a kid, we pretended it was haunted."

A kid. Nero managed not to laugh. Tilly couldn't be much more than twenty. While waiting for his coffee drink, he listened to the raspy buzz of several power tools starting up at once, like they were warming up for a concerto.

The sound of chainsaws was something else he'd found himself getting used to since he'd arrived. From the many yard signs, posters, and banners around town, the chainsaw art festival was a lot bigger than he had first thought and was set to happen in just a couple of weekends. Nero had to give the town credit; all the signage had sparked his curiosity from the moment he'd arrived.

Nero debated how to best approach Amy Blass. He hadn't wanted to leave a phone message that might be misunderstood and give false hope that there were new leads about Morgan's case, so he'd decided approaching her in person was for the best. Finding her address had been easy, but the rest was making Nero edgy. He did not want to get this wrong.

While he idled at the order window, a battered postal vehicle drove past the stand, heading north along the main road, probably ready to deliver the day's mail. It turned in at the backside of Cooper Springs, where the town came up against the timberland.

The forest was doing its best to take back the land Cooper Springs occupied. The battle was between man and nature, and he didn't think it would take much for nature to win.

"Here you go." Tilly interrupted his thoughts by holding out first his burrito and then his coffee. "Have a great day."

Leaving the coffee stand, Nero crossed the highway and drove slowly down the smaller residential streets that led toward where Morgan Blass had grown up, left from one day for school or possibly work, and then never returned to.

Because of last night's wind, the roads and sidewalks were covered with branches and pine needles. A bundled-up blond man walking toward his car waved to Nero. Nero realized that the man had been the source of at least some of the power-tool rumbling he'd heard over the past few days, so he slowed down and pulled over to the curb. He wasn't on that much of a schedule, so maybe checking out the chainsaw art that populated the man's front yard would help him see what the big deal was about the art form. Nick Waugh's penis forests hadn't shown him much.

There was a lot of it. Mixed in with the obligatory bears, eagles, and Bigfoot renderings were an owl in flight, a merman, and several intricate sea monsters, including a huge kraken. The artist was obviously very talented. Nero felt a pang of regret that he didn't have space for one of the gorgeous carvings.

Irritated with himself—he was, after all, the one who put himself in the position of not having a permanent home—he waved back to the stranger, stepped on the gas, and pulled back into the street, continuing toward the address he'd jotted down.

Absentmindedly, Nero lifted his to-go cup out of the cup holder and took a big sip of his espresso. It was a close thing, but he didn't spew it all over the car.

"Oh my god," he gasped after swallowing the molten liquid. "Because I want to cold-knock on someone's door while covered with coffee. Good job there, Nero."

The drive took him to the oldest residential part of town. What was left of the Cooper Mansion was just two blocks away, along with several other historic homes. The miniscule town library was the next block over too. All of them were luckily undamaged. The smell of smoke and ash was strong, still hanging in the air and reminding everyone of the tragedy. Nero wondered how Fernsby and the rest of the library staff were dealing with the loss of historic documents.

Nero grumbled to himself as he tried to navigate the tangle of roads that curved around the forest, many of them ending in dead ends. He spent at least ten minutes driving up and down the various streets, trying to figure out addresses.

"Where the hell is this place?"

The house numbers seemed to make no sense, with even and odd addresses sometimes on the same side of the street. There were a couple of addresses only differentiated by an A or B. He saw the same postal van parked along the road, but the mail person was not inside. If he ran across him, he'd ask for help. Surely the postal carrier would know where Nero wanted to be.

"The town founders must have been smoking some funny stuff when they planned this out. More likely not planning at all."

Turning yet another corner, he discovered another dead end. By his reasoning, the house should have been down that way, but it wasn't. He'd already come across one place where he'd seen numbers painted on the curb but no discernable entrance. It turned out the front of that house was on an alley, which made no sense at all.

"Come on 1109 Yew, where are you? Ha, ha."

He picked up the scrap of paper again, checking for the fifth time that he had the address right. Maybe he had it written down wrong. He pulled over to check on his phone even though the chances of having a cell connection in this spot was somewhere between zero and nothing.

Nothing.

Frustrated, he stared out the windshield at nothing and sipped at his espresso while the burrito grew cold beside him.

Thump. A bang on the driver's side window startled the fuck out of him. He flinched so hard he spilled the remainder of his coffee on his lap and hit his head on the roof of the car.

Because when disaster struck, Nero always managed to go full bar. It was always the worst outcome.

Twisting around, he looked out the window—banging his forehead on the glass as he did—to see what had hit it. Nero was even more shocked to see a stunned raven on the concrete a few feet away. Ignoring his damp jeans, he hastily opened the door and climbed out.

"Shit, do you need help?" he asked the bird. "What the fuck am I doing asking a bird if it needs help?"

Was there a vet around that would take a raven?

He carefully approached the bird, not wanting to scare it. After a moment, it seemed to gather its wits and then struggled to its feet. Shooting him an almost haughty glance, the big bird tottered off toward the looming stand of trees before testing its wings and flying up to a branch over Nero's head.

"Are you okay?" he asked the bird again. Why was he still talking to the bird? Maybe he needed to go home and take a nap before trying to talk to Amy Blass.

Surprisingly, the bird seemed to answer him with a loud, raspy caw.

"Are you being chased? Why did you bang into my car?" Again, stupid question, as the bird still wasn't going to answer him. At least not in a language Nero understood.

Moving closer, Nero peered up at the raven. It seemed unhurt and it had been able to fly up to the tree. It cocked its head, its intelligent black gaze downward, and Nero instinctively did the same.

That was when he saw the boot.

The boot with a foot still in it. A foot attached to a leg and a body. A man's body lay half obscured by brambles, and he didn't appear to be breathing.

"Oh my god."