Chapter 9

9

Sara read aloud from the brief note that Jon had left on his bed. "‘I need some time. Don't come looking for me.'"

"Well, damn," the sheriff said. "Maybe he'll find Dave and save us the trouble."

She watched the side of Will's jaw jut out like a shard of glass. Sara assumed he was having as bizarre a time on the porch with the sheriff as she'd had inside the house with Mercy's cold, calculating family. None of them seemed affected by her death. All they had talked about, screamed about, railed about, was money.

Sara asked the sheriff, "Do you think Jon went to see Mercy?"

"Didn't mention it in his note," the man said, as if a sixteen-year-old could be relied upon to write down his intentions. "Old truck's still over yonder. Jon would'a passed through here if he was on foot. The trail to the bachelor cottages is way down thataway."

Sara tried, "Does he have a girlfriend? Someone in town he might—"

"Boy's about as popular as a snake in a sleeping bag. We'll hear soon enough if somebody spots him in town. The hike will take him a couple of hours, and that's after the rain clears. No way he'd take a bike out in this weather. End up like Papa tumbling down a cliff."

Nothing he said brought her any relief, but Sara felt like she might as well shout at the rain as try to get the sheriff to show concern for a missing child.

Will told Sara, "If he went to see Mercy, Delilah will be there. She wanted to sit with the body."

Sara felt her eyes sting with the threat of tears. At least someone actually cared.

"Ma'am, I'm Douglas Hartshorne, by the way." The sheriff held out his hand. "You can call me Biscuits."

"Sara Linton." His hand felt weak and clammy when Sara shook it. She glanced at Will, who looked like he wanted to throw the man over the side of the railing. It made no sense that the two law enforcement officers were standing on the porch talking while Mercy lay brutally murdered down by the lake. They should be searching for Dave, taking witness statements, arranging for Mercy's body to be cared for. She could tell by the way Will had his left hand clenched that the lack of momentum was causing him more pain than the wound in his right hand.

She couldn't give up. She asked the sheriff, "Is it possible Jon will try to take revenge on Dave?"

Biscuits shrugged. "Note don't say anything about revenge."

Sara tried yet again, "He's still a minor who lost his mother to a brutal murder. We should look for him."

Will said, "I can help search."

"Nah, the boy was raised in these woods. He'll be fine. Thank you kindly for the offer anyways. I got it from here on out." Biscuits started for the door, but then he seemed to remember Sara. He tipped his hat to her. "Ma'am."

Will and Sara were both speechless as Biscuits gently closed the door behind him. Will nodded for Sara to move toward the corner of the porch. They could only stare at each other. Neither one of them could articulate their feelings.

Finally, Will said, "Come here."

Sara buried her face in his chest as his arms wrapped around her. She felt her body let go of a tiny bit of the anguish she'd been carrying since they'd left the lake. She wanted to cry for Mercy, to yell at her family, to find Dave, to bring back Jon, to feel like she had actually done something on behalf of the dead woman lying inside an abandoned old cottage.

"I'm sorry," Will said. "This isn't much of a honeymoon for you."

"For us," she said, because this was meant to be a special week for him, too. "What can we do now? Tell me how to help."

Will seemed reluctant to let her go. Sara leaned against one of the posts. The late hour had suddenly caught up with her. They both stared at each other again. The only sound was the rain gushing off the roof and slapping the hard ground.

Will asked, "What happened inside?"

"I volunteered to make coffee so I could search the kitchen. If there's a missing knife, I couldn't tell. It looks like they've been hoarding cutlery since the lodge opened. We'll have to find the broken handle before we can try for a match."

"I'm sure Biscuits will get right on it." He rested his injured hand against his chest. Now that the adrenaline had burned off, the pain was probably making itself known.

He asked, "When did Bitty talk to the sheriff?"

Sara felt the surprise register on her face. "I didn't see her on the phone. Probably when I was in the kitchen."

"There was nothing you could've done about it anyway." Will moved his hand higher, like he could put it out of reach of the burning. "I need to find Dave. He could still be on the property."

The thought of him going after Dave injured and without backup sent a chill through her spine. "He could have another weapon."

"If he's still hanging around up here, he wants to get caught."

"Not by you."

"What is it you're always saying? Life makes you pay for your personality?"

Sara felt her throat tighten. "The sheriff—"

"Isn't going to help," Will said. "He told me the coroner should be here in thirty minutes. Maybe they'll treat this murder with some urgency. Did you get anything at all from the family?"

"They were worried about the guests who are leaving and the ones who are due here on Thursday. Could they keep the deposits? Would people still come? Who was going to order the food and handle the staff and book the guides?" Sara still could not believe none of them had said anything about Mercy. "Then things got really heated when they started talking about the investors."

"You know about the sale?"

"I gathered the details from the screaming match over who would get Jon's proxy vote, particularly if Dave is arrested." She crossed her arms. She felt a strange kind of vulnerability on Mercy's behalf. "Somewhere in the middle of it, Jon disappeared upstairs. I tried to follow him, but Bitty said to give him time."

"That's what his note said—that he needed time."

Sara remembered, "I got onto the Wi-Fi. Open your phone so I can share the connection."

Will tapped in his code with his thumb. Fortunately, he was left-handed, so at least he still had dexterity. Sara made sure he was on the network before retrieving his shirt from the rocking chair. She started to unbutton the ridiculously tight chef's jacket.

Will said, "You know I can do that."

"I know." Sara helped him out of the jacket. He made it clear he was humoring her when she held open the arms so he could dress. Her hands felt clumsy on the buttons. The events of the night had left her shaken. She did the last button, then pressed her hand to his heart. There were a lot of things she could've said to keep him from leaving, but Sara knew above all else that Will wanted to get to work.

So did Sara.

Not many people had cared about Mercy when she was alive, but there were at least two people who cared very much that she was dead.

"You'll need these." She took his earbuds out of her pants pocket and slid them into his. Will could read, but not quickly. It was easier for him to use the text-to-speech app on his phone. "I texted you the names of the kitchen staff along with their phone numbers. I managed to get them off a list taped by the kitchen door. They should come through when your messages load."

He was looking out toward the parking pad. He was ready to go. "I'll start with the cottages, then I want to check that woodpile. Delilah told me Christopher and Chuck were hanging around there earlier. Could be there's a hiding place."

"I can talk to Gordon and Landry, try to figure out what that tattoo means."

"Landry answered to the name Paul, so that's what you should call him until he gives a better explanation." Will pointed to one of the cottages. The lights were on. "The guys are over there. Drew and Keisha are there, but they're refusing to talk. Not that I think they'd have much to say. I doubt they could hear anything inside their cottage. It was basically a wind tunnel. They're really upset we lied to them about who we are."

Sara felt an ache over their lost week. She knew that Will had liked Drew, and she had been looking forward to spending time with Keisha.

He said, "There was something odd that Drew said to Bitty before they stormed off. Something along the lines of, ‘forget that other business. Do what you like up here.'"

"Maybe they had a complaint about their cottage?"

"Maybe." He continued through the rundown. "Monica and Frank are there. Chuck came out of there. Max and Sydney were there. They already left."

"Great," Sara said. The crime scene was washed out and the witnesses were disappearing along with it. "What a shitshow. Does anyone care that Mercy's dead?"

"Delilah does. As least I think she does." He looked down at his phone. His messages had started to load. "According to her, Christopher had a few failed relationships. One woman got pregnant by another guy and left him, another woman was lost. I don't know if that means dead or disappeared or if it even matters. People hide things for their own reasons."

Sara felt a lightbulb clicking on in her head, but not about Christopher's love life. "The argument the app guys had on the trail outside our cottage."

"What about it?"

"Paul said, ‘I don't care what you think. It's the right thing to do,' then Gordon said, ‘Since when do you care about the right thing,' then Paul said, ‘Since I saw how she fucking lives.'"

Will was giving her his undivided attention. "She, meaning Mercy?"

"There are only two women living at this place, and the other one is Bitty."

He scratched his jaw. "Did Gordon have a response?"

Sara closed her eyes, trying to recall. The two men had spent perhaps fifteen seconds arguing in front of the cottage before walking down the trail. "I think Gordon said, ‘You've got to let it go.' Then Paul walked down toward the lake, and I couldn't hear anything else."

"Why would Paul care how Mercy is living?"

"It sounded like he resented it."

The screen on Will's phone lit up. He looked down. "Faith dropped me a pin half an hour ago. She's on seventy-five, about to hit five-seventy-five."

Sara felt a total disconnect between the happy honeymooner who'd made the same car trip yesterday and the woman in the middle of a murder investigation now. "She probably has two more hours until she gets here."

"My plan is to have Dave in custody by then so she can do the interrogation."

"You're still sure it's him?"

"We can talk about who else it could be, or I can go find Dave and settle it once and for all."

Sara got the feeling that Will had more things to settle than he was letting on. "What about the sheriff? He made it clear he doesn't want our help."

"Amanda wouldn't be sending Faith if she didn't have a plan." Will's phone went back into his pocket. "I need you in the house while I check the empty cottages."

Sara couldn't go back into the depressing house. "I'll talk to Gordon and Paul. Maybe I can figure out what's going on there. Do you remember anything about the tattoo?"

"Lots of flowers, a butterfly, a curly script, definitely a word. Arced around his chest here." He touched his hand over his heart. "He put on a T-shirt before he came out. I don't know if that means he didn't want anyone else to see it or maybe he was just putting on a shirt because that's what you do when you get out of the shower."

This was the frustrating part of an investigation. People lied. They hid things. They kept their secrets. They shared others. And sometimes none of it had anything to do with the crime you were trying to solve.

Sara told him, "I'll see what I can find out."

Will nodded, but he didn't move. He was really going to wait until she was safely inside cottage five.

Sara borrowed the large umbrella leaning up against the side of the house. Her hiking boots were waterproof, but there was no stopping the rain from splashing against her legs. By the time she reached the small, covered porch, her pants were soaked from the knees down. So much for the water-resistant material. She folded the umbrella, then knocked on the door.

It was hard to tell if there was any sound inside the cottage over the white noise of rain. Fortunately, Sara didn't have to wait long before Gordon answered the door. He was wearing black briefs and fuzzy slippers.

Instead of asking Sara why she was here or what she wanted, he flung open the door, saying, "Misery loves company."

"Welcome to our sad little party," Paul called from his place on the couch. He was wearing boxers and a white T-shirt. His bare feet rested on the coffee table. "We're just sitting around in our underwear getting hammered."

Sara tried to play along. "Reminds me of college."

Gordon laughed as he walked into the kitchen. "Grab a seat."

Sara chose one of the deep club chairs. The cottage was smaller than her own, with the same style furniture. She could see through to the bedroom. There were no suitcases laid out on the bed, which she took as a sign that they weren't planning to leave. Or maybe they had different priorities. There was an open bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. Two empty glasses were beside it. The bottle was half full.

Gordon put a third glass on the table. "What a fucking night. Morning. Fuck, the sun will be up soon."

Sara could feel Paul studying her.

He asked, "Married to a cop, huh?"

"Yes." Sara wasn't going to lie anymore. "I work for the state, too. I'm a medical examiner."

"I could not touch a dead body." Gordon scooped up the bourbon from the coffee table. "This stuff tastes like turpentine, but you wouldn't know it from the price."

Sara recognized the upscale label. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a hard drink. Will had an aversion to alcohol that dated back to his childhood. Sara had become a teetotaler by default.

Paul said, "It's the altitude, right? Changes your taste buds."

"Hon, that's on airplanes." Gordon sloshed doubles into all three glasses. "We can't be thirty thousand feet up right now."

Paul asked, "What's the elevation here?"

He was looking at Sara when he asked the question, so she provided, "We're about twenty-three hundred feet above sea level."

"Thank God we're not going to get hit by a plane. That would be the cherry on top of this shit sundae." Gordon handed Sara her glass. "What does a medical examiner do? Is that like what's her name who was in that show?"

"What show?" Paul asked.

"The one with the hair. We heard her on Mountain Stage. And then she was on Madam Secretary."

Paul snapped his fingers. "Crossing Jordan."

"That's the one." Gordon downed half of his glass. "Kathryn Hahn was in that. We love her."

Sara assumed their original question had gotten lost. She took a sip of bourbon and tried not to blanch. Calling it turpentine was a compliment.

"Right?" Paul had noticed her reaction. "You've got to hold it in your mouth to get past the gag reflex."

Gordon snorted at the double entendre. "I guess there's none of that for the honeymooners tonight."

"What's Agent McSexy up to?" Paul asked. "Doesn't look like anyone's interested in giving him a statement."

Sara felt a heat wash over her body as she thought about Will searching for Dave on his own. "Did either of you see Mercy after dinner tonight?"

"Oh, cop questions," Gordon said. "Shouldn't you read us our Miranda Rights first?"

Sara had no obligation to read them anything. "I'm not a police officer. I can't arrest you."

She left out the part about how she could give testimony as a witness to anything they said.

Gordon volunteered, "Paul saw her."

Sara guessed that meant the Landry ruse was well and truly over. "Where was she?"

"Right outside our place. This was roughly around ten-thirty. I just happened to be looking out the window." Paul held his glass to his mouth but didn't drink. "Mercy strolled along for a bit, then went up the stairs to Frank and Monica's."

"Monica was probably asking for more booze," Gordon supplied. "Frank said she left a note on the porch."

Paul said, "Not sure how she managed to hold a pen. That bitch was pickled."

"To Monica's liver," Gordon raised his glass in a toast.

Sara pretended to take another drink. She thought it was interesting that Paul knew where Mercy had gone. You couldn't see Frank and Monica's cottage from their windows. You had to actually walk onto the porch, which meant he had been tracking Mercy's progress.

"So," Gordon said. "What'd she look like?"

Sara shook her head. "Who?"

"Mercy," Gordon said. "She was stabbed to death, right?"

"Pretty gruesome," Paul said. "I bet she was terrified."

Sara looked down at her glass. The two men were treating this like a reality show.

Paul asked, "Do you know if our hike is still on for tomorrow?"

"Hon," Gordon said. "That's a bit ruthless."

"It's also valid. We paid a fuckton of money to get up here." He looked at Sara. "Any idea?"

"You'll have to ask the family." Sara couldn't keep up the pretense any longer. She returned her glass to the table. "Paul, Will told me he saw the tattoo on your chest."

Paul's laugh sounded forced. "Don't worry, sweetheart. He's totally into you."

Sara wasn't worried. "I've learned in my job that every tattoo has a story. What's yours?"

"Oh, it's a stupid one," he said. "A little too much tequila. A little too much melancholy."

Sara looked at Gordon. He shrugged. "I'm not a tattoo person. I hate needles. What about you? Any tramp stamps you want to tell us about?"

"None." She tried to come at this from a different angle. "Have you guys been at the lodge before?"

"First time," Gordon said. "Not sure we'll be repeat customers."

"I dunno, hon. We could probably get a deal if we book right now." Paul reached for the bourbon as he sat up on the couch. He poured another double, then asked Sara, "You want more?"

"She's barely touched the first one." Gordon reached out his hand. "May I?"

Sara watched Gordon dump her glass into his.

She asked, "What about Mercy?"

Paul slowly sat back.

Gordon asked, "What about her?"

"It seemed like you knew her. Or at least knew of her." She said this to Paul. "And like you weren't happy to find her living a nice life up here at the lodge."

Sara caught a flash of something in Paul's eyes, but she couldn't tell if it was anger or fear.

Gordon said, "She was a strange bird, don't you think? A bit rough around the edges."

"And what about that scar on her face?" Paul asked. "I bet that could tell you a story, too."

"I wouldn't want to hear it," Gordon said. "The whole family is a bit suss if you ask me. The mother reminds me of that girl from that movie, but her hair was dark, not stringy white like a witch's pubes."

Paul asked, "Samara from The Ring?"

"Yes, but with an evil child's voice." Gordon looked at Sara. "Have you seen it?"

Sara wouldn't let them sidetrack her. "So you'd never met Mercy before you checked in?"

Gordon answered, "I can honestly say today was the first time that I ever laid eyes on the poor woman."

"That was yesterday," Paul said. "It's already tomorrow."

Sara pressed a little harder. "Why did you lie about your name?"

"We were just having a little fun," Gordon said. "Like you and Will, right? You lied, too."

Sara couldn't argue with that logic. This was one of the many reasons she hated lying.

"Let's have a toast." Paul raised his glass. "To all the liars on the mountaintop. May they not all share the same fate."

Sara knew it was pointless to ask if he was including Mercy in their liars' club. She watched Paul's throat work as he drank the entire contents of his glass. He slammed it down on the coffee table for good measure. The sound echoed in the silence. No one spoke. Sara could hear a dripping sound outside. The rain had passed for now. She hoped that Will had kept his bandage dry. She hoped that he wasn't lying on his back with a knife sticking out of his chest.

She was about to take her leave when Gordon broke the tension with a loud yawn.

He said, "I'd better go to bed before I turn into a pumpkin."

Sara stood. "Thanks for the drink."

There were no pleasant goodbyes, just a pointed silence as Sara left the cottage. She looked up at the sky. The full moon had moved toward the ridgeline. Only a few clouds remained. Sara left the umbrella on the porch and walked down the stairs. She scanned the compound looking for Will. The floodlights were still blazing, but there was only so far they could reach.

Movement near the parking pad caught her eye. No false Big Foot sightings this time. She recognized Will by his shape. His back was to her. Both his hands were down at his sides. She assumed his bandage was soaking wet. There was no sign of Dave, which shouldn't have brought her any relief, but it did anyway. She thought Will must have been looking at the woodpile Delilah had mentioned, but then a set of headlights broke through the darkness.

Sara put up her hand to block the light. Not a car, but a dark-colored sprinter van. She assumed the coroner had arrived. She hoped the man would be glad to have a state medical examiner already on scene, but considering the unexpected reactions Sara had witnessed tonight, she wasn't taking anything for granted. At the very least, she hoped the coroner knew the limitations of his job.

People often confused the role of medical examiner with that of a county coroner. Only the former position required a medical doctor. The latter could be, and tended to be, anything but. Which was unfortunate, because county coroners were the gatekeepers of death. They were in charge of overseeing the collection of evidence and officially ruling whether or not a death was suspicious enough to ask the state medical examiner to perform an autopsy.

The state of Georgia was the first to recognize the office of coroner in its 1777 constitution. The position was elected, and there were only a few requirements to run for office: candidates must be at least twenty-five years of age, registered to vote in the county in which they were running, have no felonies on their record and have a high school diploma.

One coroner out of the state's 154 counties was an actual physician. The rest were funeral directors, farmers, retirees, pastors, and in one case, a motor-boat repairman. The position paid $1200 a year and required the coroner to be on call 24/7. Sometimes, you got what you paid for. Which was how a suicide could be ruled a homicide and an act of domestic violence could be coded as a slip-and-fall.

Sara's hiking boots snicked against the mud as she walked toward the parking pad. The driver's side door opened. She was surprised to see a woman get out. She was even more surprised to see the woman was dressed in coveralls and a trucker hat. Sara had been expecting a funeral director because of the van. The floodlights caught the logo on the back panel. Moushey Heating and Air. Sara felt her stomach grip itself into a fist.

"Yeah," the woman was saying to Will. "Biscuits told me y'all were trying to horn in on the case."

Sara had to bite her lip to keep her mouth closed.

"Don't worry," the woman had clocked her expression. "Multiple stab wounds, right? Gonna say homicide is an easy call on that one. State's gonna get the body eventually. No harm in starting out with you here. I'm Nadine Moushey, Dillon County coroner. You're Dr. Linton?"

"Sara." The woman had an uncomfortably firm grip. "What have you been told?"

"Mercy was stabbed to death, probably Dave did it. Heard it's your honeymoon, too?"

Sara felt Will's surprise. He still didn't know how small towns worked. Every person within fifty miles probably knew about the murder by now.

Nadine said, "That sucks big time. Though if I'm looking back at my honeymoon, probably would've been lucky if somebody had killed the bastard."

Will said, "It seems like you know the victim and the main suspect."

"My little brother went to school with Mercy. I knew Dave from hanging out at the Tastee Freeze. He's always been a violent prick. Mercy had her troubles, but she was okay. Not mean like the rest of 'em. Which was to her detriment, I guess. You don't wanna be dropped into a snake pit unless you've got the sharpest fangs."

Will asked, "Is there anyone other than Dave who would want Mercy dead?"

"I was thinking on that the whole drive up," Nadine said. "I haven't run across Mercy since Papa's accident a year and a half ago, and then I only saw her once at the hospital. Town's a hard place for her. She mostly stays up the mountain. Place is real isolated. Not a lot for folks to gossip about if you're not mixing it up in town a little."

Sara asked, "What about the scar on her face?"

"Car accident. Drunk driving. Hit a guard rail. Metal split up the middle, pretty much sliced off one side of her face. There's a long, sad story behind that, but Biscuits can tell you the nitty gritty. It was his pa, Sheriff Hartshorne, who handled it, but Biscuits worked the scene, too. The families have always been close."

Sara wasn't surprised by the information. It helped explain why Biscuits was in no hurry.

"The sheriff told me Dave's license got revoked off a DUI," Will said. "He mentioned that Dave has a female driver who brings him up to the lodge and back so that he can work."

Nadine gave a belly laugh. "That female would be Bitty. Dave's burned about every woman in the tri-county area. Nobody would get out of bed for him. Or in bed, if you ask me. I've already raised two boys. Don't want to take care of another. What happened to your hand, you don't mind my asking?"

Will looked down at his bandaged hand. "You didn't hear about the murder weapon?"

Sara supplied, "Will attempted CPR. He didn't realize that the knife blade was broken off inside Mercy's chest."

Will said, "Locating the knife handle should be a priority. I didn't see anything laying around when I searched the cottages for Dave, but it's worth a more thorough search."

"Fuck me, that's grim. Let's head on down while we're talking." Nadine reached into her van and pulled out a flashlight and a toolbox. "First light's not for another couple'a three hours. We got more rain coming mid-morning, but I'm not gonna try to bring her out until the sun's up. For now, let's see what's the what."

Nadine walked ahead with the flashlight. She kept the beam pointed at the ground, illuminating a few yards at a time. Will waited until they were on the bottom part of the Loop Trail to start briefing the coroner on the events of the evening. The fight at dinner. The screams in the night. Finding Mercy clinging to the last seconds of her life on the lake shore.

Hearing it all said aloud put Sara at the scene again. She silently added her own perspective. Rushing through the forest. Desperate to find Will. Finding him kneeling over Mercy. The look of anguish on his face. He'd been so overcome with grief that he hadn't even noticed Sara, let alone the blade sticking out of his right hand.

The memory threatened to bring tears again. When the two of them had been standing alone on the McAlpines' front porch, Sara had been so relieved to feel his arms around her, but now she realized that Will had probably needed comfort, too.

She reached down to hold his left hand as they started down a winding path. Sara had seen Lost Widow Trail clearly marked on the map, but her logical brain had failed her when she'd dashed off into the woods, barefooted and panicked by the sound of Will's pleas for help.

The terrain started to drop precipitously. The trail meandered back and forth as they spiraled down. The path wasn't as well maintained as the Loop. Nadine mumbled a curse when a low-hanging branch knocked back her hat. She raised the flashlight higher to keep it from happening again. They went single file as they zigzagged down into the ravine below the dining hall. The string lights around the railing were off. Sara guessed the staff had left shortly after dinner. She tried not to think about standing on the observation deck with Will. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Will slowed his pace as the trail widened. Sara hung back, too. She knew he wanted to know what had happened with the app guys. If they were even app guys. Both men had proven they were adept liars.

But then, so had Sara and Will.

She kept her voice low, telling him, "Paul saw Mercy walking to Frank and Monica's porch around ten-thirty."

"He didn't think to mention that before?"

"He didn't mention a lot of things," Sara said. "I couldn't get anything out of him about the tattoo, why he gave a fake name, whether or not they knew Mercy, or what the argument on the trail was about. I don't think it was just the alcohol. They came across as incredibly blasé about everything."

"Fits the theme of the night." Will cupped her elbow as they walked down a particularly steep slope. "I didn't find anything in the woodpile. No sign of Dave in the cottages. No broken knife handle. No bloody clothes. We're already three hours into this. Dave's probably crossed state lines by now."

"Did you talk to Amanda?"

"She didn't pick up."

Sara looked up at him. Amanda always picked up when Will called. "What about Faith?"

"She got behind a pile-up on the interstate. It'll be another hour minimum before they can clear out the accident and open the road back up."

Sara bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. There was no way she would be able to persuade Will to wait for Faith now. Once they turned Mercy's body over to Nadine, he was going to find a way to get a car and drive down the mountain to find Dave.

"Nadine," Sara called. She couldn't change Will's mind, but she could at least do her job. "How long have you been the county coroner?"

"Three years," Nadine said. "My dad used to do it, but old guy problems caught up with him. Congestive heart failure, kidney failure, COPD."

Sara was familiar with the trio of co-morbidities. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. He had his fun earning it." Nadine stopped to face them. "Y'all are probably used to a bit of anonymity down there in Atlanta, but up here, you should know, everybody knows everybody's business."

Neither Will nor Sara told her that at least one of them knew small towns very well.

"Thing is, it's boring as shit up here, and when you're young, you get into things." Nadine leaned her hand against a tree. She had clearly been thinking about this on the hike down. "The thing about Mercy is, she was wilder than all of us put together. Knocking back booze. Taking pills. Shooting dope. Stealing shit from the store. Breaking car windows. TP-ing houses. Egging the school. You name a petty crime, she was part of it."

Sara tried to square the troubled woman she'd spoken to in the kitchen bathroom with the wild picture Nadine was painting. It wasn't a hard connection to make.

"Y'all know how parents will say their kid is good, they're just hanging around with the wrong people? That was Mercy. She was the wrong people for every kid in town." Nadine shrugged. "Maybe they were right back then, but that ain't how it was now. The thing about small towns is, you're basically born into Elmer's glue. Whatever your reputation is when you're a kid, that's how folks are gonna think about you for the rest of your life. So even though Mercy cleaned herself up, started doing right by Jon, turned this place around when her daddy tumbled himself down a cliff, Mercy was still stuck in that Elmer's glue. You following me?"

Sara nodded. She knew exactly what the woman was saying. Her own little sister had enjoyed an active sex life in high school that still earned her sideways glances, even after Tessa had married, given birth to a beautiful daughter, and served as a missionary overseas.

"Anyway, I'm guessing that was a question you had about why folks aren't more torn up about her murder," Nadine finished. "They think Mercy deserved it."

Will said, "That's exactly what I picked up on from the sheriff."

"Yeah, well, you'd think a man who's been called Biscuits for nearly twenty years of his miserable life would understand that people can change." Nadine did not sound like a fan of the sheriff. "Dave gave him the nickname in high school. Poor sap was a real roly-poly back then. Dave said his belly was popping out of the top of his pants like a can of biscuits."

Nadine turned back down the trail. Sara watched her flashlight dance across the trees. They walked in silence for another five minutes until they reached a terraced area. Nadine went first, then turned around to offer the benefit of her flashlight.

She said, "Watch out, the going's tricky."

Sara felt Will's hand at the small of her back as she carefully walked down. The wind had shifted, bringing a smokey scent from the burned out cottage. She could feel a mist on her skin. The temperature had dropped from the rainstorm. The cooler air was pulling condensation off the surface of the lake.

"I heard Dave was fixing up the old cottages," Nadine said. "Looks like he was doing his usual bang-up job."

Sara watched Nadine's flashlight bounce over the sawhorses and discarded tools, the empty beer cans, smoked-down joints and cigarette butts. Having learned quite a bit about Dave McAlpine, she was not surprised he'd trashed his own worksite. Men like that only knew how to take. They never considered what they were leaving for others.

"Hello?" a tense voice called. "Who's there?"

"Delilah," Will said. "It's Agent Trent. I'm here with the coroner and—"

"Nadine." Delilah had been sitting on the stairs that led up to the second cottage. She stood up when they approached, wiping dirt from the back of her pajama bottoms. "You took over for Bubba."

"I'm out all hours fixing busted compressors anyway," Nadine said. "I'm real sorry about Mercy."

"So am I." Delilah used a tissue to dab under her nose. She asked Will, "Have you found Dave?"

"I searched the empty cottages. He's not there." Will glanced around the area. "Have you seen Jon? He ran away."

"God," Delilah breathed. "Can things get any worse? Why did he run away? Did he leave a note?"

"Yes," Sara answered. "He said he needed time and that we shouldn't try to find him."

Delilah shook her head. "I have no idea where he'd go. Is Dave still living in the same trailer park?"

"Yep," Nadine answered. "My granny lives across the way. I told her to keep an eye out for Dave. I'm sure she's sitting up in her chair by the window. She watches that place like it's one of her shows on TV. If she sees Jon, she'll call me."

"Thank you." Delilah's fingers played with the collar of her pajama top. "I was hoping Dave would show up here. I would gladly drown him in the water."

"Wouldn't be much of a loss, but you probably won't get the chance," Nadine said. "Those bully-bitchy types, they kill their wives, then they usually kill themselves. Am I right, doctor?"

Sara couldn't say that she was completely wrong. "It happens."

Will didn't seem happy with the prospect of Dave committing suicide. He clearly wanted to drag him away in handcuffs. Maybe he was right. Everyone was treating it as a foregone conclusion that Dave had killed Mercy.

"Whelp," Nadine said. "Might not be a good idea to yap in front of a cop about how you want to murder somebody who might wind up dead. Should we get started?"

Will took her down to the shore. Sara stayed back with Delilah because they didn't need another set of footprints on the already compromised scene. She tried to conjure up any memory of what the ground had looked like when she'd first arrived. The moon had been partially obstructed by clouds, but still offered a spray of light.

There had been a large pool of blood at the base of the stairs. More blood had puddled into the drag marks that made a straight line toward the shore. Blood had turned the water red as Mercy's life had drained away. Her underwear and jeans had been pulled down. She had likely been assaulted before she was stabbed. There had been too many wounds to count.

Sara mentally prepared herself for the autopsy. Mercy had been strangled earlier in the day by Dave. She had accidentally sliced open her thumb on a broken piece of glass during dinner. Sara imagined there would be multiple signs of injuries past and present. Mercy had told Sara that she had married her father. Sara assumed that meant that Dave was not the first man to abuse her.

She turned to look at the closed cottage door. The body had already started to decompose. There was the familiar odor of bacteria breaking down flesh. The door was still barred with the two-by-four Will had taken from a pile of lumber by the worksite. They had laid Mercy's body in the center of the room. There was nothing to cover her but Will's bloodied shirt. Sara had resisted the need to make her more presentable—smooth back her tangled, wet hair. Close her eyelids. Straighten her clothes. Pull up her torn underwear and jeans. Mercy McAlpine had been a complicated, troubled, and vibrant woman. She deserved respect, even if it only came in death. But every centimeter of her body could bear witness to the person who'd murdered her.

Delilah said, "I should've fought harder to stay in her life."

Sara turned to look at the woman. Delilah gripped the tissue in her hand. Her tears flowed unabated.

"After I lost custody of Jon, I told myself that I walked away because he needed stability. I didn't want him to feel pulled between me and Mercy." Delilah looked out at the lake. "In truth, it was my pride. The custody battle turned deeply personal. It stopped being about Jon and started being about winning. My ego couldn't accept the loss. Not to Mercy. I saw her as a worthless junkie. If I'd only given her time to prove that she was more than that, I could've been a port in the storm. Mercy needed that. She always needed that."

"I'm sorry that things ended badly." Sara spoke carefully, not wanting to pick at a fresh wound. "It's a lot to take on, the raising of someone else's child. You must've been close to Mercy when Jon was born."

"I was the first person to hold him," she said. "Mercy was carted off to jail the day after he was born. The nurse put him in my arms and I … I had no idea what to do."

Sara heard no bitterness in her dry laugh.

"I had to stop by Walmart on my way home. I had an infant in one hand and a cart in the other. Thank God some woman saw me looking perplexed and helped me figure out what I needed. I spent the entire first night reading message boards about how to take care of a baby. I never planned on raising a child. Didn't want to. Jon was—he is a gift. I have never loved anyone as much as I loved that boy. Still do, actually. Haven't seen him in thirteen years, but there's a giant hole in my heart where he belongs."

Sara could tell the loss was weighing on Delilah, but she still had questions. "Jon's grandparents didn't want to take him?"

Delilah gave a sharp laugh. "Bitty told me I should leave him outside the fire station. Which is something, considering Dave was abandoned by his own mother at a fire station."

Sara had seen evidence of Bitty's cold-bloodedness toward her own daughter, but this was an unconscionable thing to say about an infant.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Delilah asked. "You hear all this talk about the sanctity of motherhood, but Bitty has always hated babies. Particularly her own. She would let Mercy and Christopher sit around in their own shit and piss. I tried to intervene, but Cecil made it clear I wasn't to interfere."

Sara hadn't thought it was possible to be more disgusted with Mercy's family. "You lived here when Christopher and Mercy were babies?"

"Until Cecil chased me off," Delilah said. "One of my many regrets was not taking Mercy when I had the chance. Bitty would've gladly handed her over. She's one of those women who says she gets along better with men because she doesn't like other women, but the truth of the matter is other women can't stand being around her."

Sara was very familiar with the pick-me type. "You seem convinced that Dave is guilty."

"What was it Drew said? I've seen this Dateline before? It's always the husband. Or the ex-husband. Or the boyfriend. And in the case of Dave, my only surprise is that he took so long to get to this point. He was always an angry, violent little thug. He blamed Mercy for everything bad in his life when the fact is, she was honestly the only good." She folded the tissue before wiping her nose again. "Besides, who else could it be?"

Sara didn't know, but she had to ask, "Do any of the guests seem familiar to you?"

"No, but I haven't been here in a really long while," Delilah said. "If you're asking my opinion, the caterers were nice, but not as easy-going as I like. I didn't talk much to the two app guys. They're not my kind of gay. The investors, well, not my kind of assholes. Monica and Frank were lovely, though. We talked about travel and music and wine."

Sara must have looked surprised, because Delilah laughed.

"Monica should be forgiven for being so deep in her cups. They lost a child last year."

Sara felt a tinge of guilt for her ungenerous thoughts. "How awful."

"Yes, it's wrenching to lose a child," Delilah said. "It wasn't the same when I lost Jon, but to have something taken from you that's so precious …"

Sara listened to her voice trail off. She could see Will walking toward the burned-out cottage with Nadine. They were deep in conversation. Sara was relieved to see that the coroner, at least, was taking the investigation seriously.

Delilah picked up where she had left off. "The thing about losing a child is that it either tears a couple apart or it brings them closer together. I blew up a twenty-six-year relationship when Jon was taken away from me. She was the love of my life. It was my own damn fault, but I would certainly like the chance to go back and do things differently."

"Sara?" Will waved her over. "Come see this."

Sara couldn't think of a way to keep Delilah from following her, but at least the woman kept her distance. Nadine was shining her flashlight onto the charred remains of the third cottage. One wall was still standing, but most of the roof was gone. Smoke wafted off the chunks of charred wood that had fallen through what was left of the floor. Even with the deluge of rain, Sara could still feel heat coming off the rubble.

Will pointed to a pile of debris in the back corner. "Do you see it?"

Sara could see it.

There were several types of backpacks on the market, ranging from the style that every child carried to school to the ones designed for serious hikers. The second category tended to offer features specifically designed for outdoor use. Some were extra lightweight for day hikes or climbing. Others had internal frames to keep them rigid for heavier loads. Still others had external metal frames that could be expanded in order to carry larger items such as tents and bedrolls.

Every variation was constructed with nylon, a material that was rated by denier, a unit of density based on the length and weight of the fiber. The closest corollary would be the thread count in sheets. The higher the denier, the more durable the fabric. Add to that the various coatings that were meant to make the material weather resistant, weatherproof, and sometimes, if a silicone and fiberglass mixture was used, fire resistant.

Which was apparently the case with the backpack in the corner of the burned-out cottage.