Chapter 15

15

Penny had not lied about Rascal being gassed up. The horse had practically floated up the mountain on a cloud of flatulence. Unfortunately, Faith was at the closest end of the source. She'd brokebacked with Penny, clutching her arms around the woman's waist for dear life. Faith had been so terrified of falling and being trampled that she'd gone into some kind of hysterical fugue state. She'd found herself asking existential questions like what kind of planet would her children inherit? and how come Scooby Doo, who is a dog, can't smell the difference between a ghost and a human?

Penny clicked her tongue against her teeth. Faith had buried her face in the woman's shoulder. She looked up and nearly cried from relief. There was a sign on the road. McAlpine Family Lodge. She saw a parking pad with a rusted-out truck and a GBI UTV.

"Hold on," Penny said. She'd probably felt Faith's grip loosen around her surprisingly muscular abs. "Just another second."

The second was more like half a minute, which was too long. Penny whoa'd Rascal beside the truck. Faith put her foot on the hump over the back tire. She half-fell, half-stumbled into the truck bed, landing sideways on her Glock. The metal banged into her hip bone.

Faith let out a loud, "Fuck."

Penny gave her a disappointed look. She clicked her tongue. Rascal pulled away.

Faith looked up at the trees. She was sweaty and bug-bitten and she was very tired of nature. She shifted off of her Glock. She climbed down from the truck. She lifted her purse over her shoulder. She went to the UTV. Rested her hand on the plastic over the engine. It was cold, which meant the vehicle had been parked there for a while. The storage trunk was locked. Hopefully that meant they'd secured some evidence. She looked in the back seat. There was a blue Yeti cooler, an emergency first aid kit, and a backpack with a GBI logo on it. Faith tugged open the zipper. She found a satellite phone.

She clicked the button on the side, engaging the short-range walkie-talkie. "Will?"

Faith released the button. She waited. Nothing but static.

She tried again. "This is Special Agent Faith Mitchell with the GBI. Respond."

Faith released the button.

Static.

She tried a few more times with the same result. She tucked the phone into her purse, then headed to the center of the compound. Faith did a full turn. Not a soul was in sight. Even Penny and Rascal had disappeared. She tried to get a basic lay of the land. Eight cottages spoked out in a semi-circle from a large, higgledy-piggledy house. Trees were everywhere. You couldn't throw a rock without hitting one. Puddles dotted the ground. The sun was like a hammer pounding against the top of her skull. She could see entrances to a few trails. There was no telling where they led because she didn't have a map.

She needed to locate Will.

Faith reversed her three-sixty, checking each of the cottages. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She felt like she was being watched. Why was no one coming out? It wasn't like she'd sneaked into the compound. The horse was snorty and loud. She'd banged into the truck like a mallet hitting a gong. Faith was dressed in her regs: tan cargo pants and a navy shirt with giant yellow GBI letters on the back.

She raised her voice, calling, "Hello?"

One of the cottage doors opened clear across the compound. Faith watched as a balding, unshaven man in a wrinkled T-shirt and baggy sweatpants trotted toward her. He was out of breath by the time he finally got close enough to speak. "Hi, are you with Will? Did you bring Sara? Is she on the horse? That didn't look like her. Will told me she's a doctor."

Faith guessed, "Frank?"

"Yes, sorry. Frank Johnson. I'm married to Monica. We're friends with Will and Sara."

Faith doubted that. "Have you seen Will?"

"Not for a while, but could you tell him that Monica finally turned a corner?"

Faith's cop brain woke up. "What was wrong with her?"

"She had a little too much to drink last night. She's better now, but it was rough there for a while." His laugh was sharp. He was clearly relieved. "She finally managed to keep down some ginger ale. I think she was dehydrated. But it would still be good if Sara had time to look at her, right? Better safe than sorry. Do you think she'd mind?"

"I know she wouldn't. She'll be here soon." Faith had to get away from this chatterbox. "Did Will go into the family's house?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I didn't see where he went. I can help you look if—"

"It's probably best for you to stay with your wife."

"Yes, right. Maybe I could—"

"Thank you."

Faith turned toward the main house to make it clear the conversation was over. She could hear Frank's plodding footsteps as he headed back the way he'd come. The eerie feeling returned as Faith walked across the open space. The area was quaint with the flowers and benches and pavers, but also someone had violently died here, so Faith was a little nervous that no one was around.

Where was Will? For that matter, where was Kevin Rayman? The agent was in charge of the North Georgia field office while his boss attended a conference. Faith told herself that Kevin wasn't some rookie off the street. He knew how to handle himself. So did Will. Even with one hand. So why had Faith broken out into a cold sweat?

This place was getting to her. It felt like that Shirley Jackson story right before the lottery numbers were called. She made herself take a deep breath and slowly let it go. Will and Kevin were probably at the dining hall. It was always better to isolate people when you interrogated them. Knowing Will, he had already found Mercy's killer.

A brown tabby blocked her way up the porch stairs. He was twisted on his back, front and rear paws going in opposite directions, as a ray of sunshine hit his belly. Faith leaned down to give him some pets. She instantly felt her stress level drop a few notches. She silently made a list of things she needed to do. At the top was locating a map. Faith had to figure out where Mercy's screams had come from and develop a more solid timeline. Then, she needed to figure out the best possible route that Mercy had taken down to the bachelor cottages. Maybe Faith would get lucky and find the broken knife handle on her way.

The front door opened. An older woman with long, stringy gray hair came out onto the porch. She was petite, almost doll-like. Faith guessed this was Mercy's mother.

Bitty stared down at her from the top of the stairs. "Are you a police officer?"

"Special Agent Faith Mitchell." Faith tried to establish a rapport. "I was just consulting with Hercult Purrot here."

"We don't name the cats. They're here for rodent control."

Faith tried not to wince. The woman's voice was high-pitched like a little girl's. "Is my partner inside? Will Trent?"

"I don't know where he is. I can tell you I don't appreciate him and his wife checking in under false pretenses."

Faith wasn't going to get into that. "I'm very sorry about your daughter, Mrs. McAlpine. Do you have any questions for me?"

"Yes, I do," the woman snapped. "When can I talk to Dave?"

Faith would consider Bitty's priorities later. For now, she needed to tread carefully. She didn't know if communications had been re-established to the lodge. Penny had promised to keep Dave's release a secret, but then again, she'd freely rattled a lot of skeletons in the McAlpine closet.

Faith told Bitty, "Dave's still in the hospital. You can call his room if you like."

"The phones are out. Internet, too." Bitty's hands went to her tiny hips. "I will never believe Dave had anything to do with this. That boy has his demons, but he wouldn't hurt Mercy. Not like that."

Faith asked, "Who else would have a motive?"

"Motive?" She sounded appalled. "I don't even know what that means. We're a family business. Our guests are educated, wealthy people. No one has a motive. Someone could've easily come up from town. Have you thought about that?"

Faith had thought about that, but it seemed very unlikely. Mercy seldom went into town. She had told Sara that her enemies were all up here. Plus, she had died on the property.

Still, Faith asked, "Who in town would want to murder her?"

"She's pissed off so many people, there's no telling who. We've had a lot of strangers coming into town lately, I can tell you that. Most of 'em have criminal records back in Mexico or Guatemala. Any one of them's probably a crazy ax murderer."

Faith steered her away from the racism. "Can I ask you about last night?"

Bitty's head started to shake like it didn't matter. "We had a little argument. Nothing unusual about that. We have them all the time. Mercy is a desperately unhappy person. She can't love anybody because she doesn't love herself."

Faith guessed they streamed Dr. Phil up here, too. "Did you hear anything or see anything suspicious?"

"Of course not. What a question. I helped my husband to bed. I went to sleep. There was nothing out of the ordinary."

"You didn't hear an animal howl?"

"Animals howl up here all the time. It's the mountains."

"What about the area you call the bachelor cottages. Does sound travel from there?"

"How would I know?"

Faith knew a dead end when she hit one. She looked up at the house. It was big, probably at least five or six bedrooms. She wanted to know where everyone slept. "Is that Mercy's room?"

Bitty looked up. "That's Christopher's. Mercy is in the middle, then Jon on the opposite side at the back end."

That still sounded close. "Did you hear when Christopher got in last night?"

"I took a sleeping tablet. Believe it or not, I don't like to argue with people. I was very upset about Mercy's behavior lately. She only ever thought of herself. She never considered what would be good for the rest of the family."

Will had prepared Faith for their apathy, but it was still equal parts sad and alarming. Faith would be on the ground if one of her children had been murdered.

Bitty seemed to pick up on the disapproval. "Do you have children?"

Faith was always careful with her personal information. "I have a daughter."

"Well, I'm sorry for you. Sons are much easier." Bitty finally walked down the stairs. She was even smaller up close. "Christopher never complained. He never threw a tantrum or pouted when he didn't get his way. Dave was an absolute angel. They let him run wild down there in Atlanta, but from the moment he stepped foot in my house, he was sweet as honey. That boy is my heart. I never wanted for anything when he was around. Took care of me when I was sick. Even washed my hair. Still to this day, he won't let me lift a finger."

Faith guessed Dave knew how to ingratiate himself. "Mercy wasn't like that?"

"She was terrible," Bitty said. "When she hit middle school, I was down at the principal's office every other week because Mercy had stirred up trouble with the other girls. Gossiping and fighting and acting like a fool. Spreading her legs for anybody who looked her way. How old is your girl?"

Faith lied to keep her talking. "Thirteen."

"So you already know that's when it starts. Puberty hits and everything is about boys. Then there's all the drama about their feelings. I tell you who had a right to complain, and that was Dave. What he went through down in Atlanta was unspeakable. They were not delicate with him, to put it politely. But he never used it as a crutch. Boys don't whine about their feelings."

Faith's boy had, but only because his mother had worked very hard to make him feel safe. "How did Mercy seem to you lately?"

"Seem?" she asked. "She seemed like her usual. Full of piss and vinegar and angry at the world."

Faith didn't know how to broach the pregnancy. Something told her to hold back. She doubted Mercy had ever confided in her mother. "Dave was thirteen when you and your husband adopted him?"

"No, he was only eleven years old."

Faith had been watching the woman's face closely when she'd answered. It had to be said that Bitty was a world-class liar. "How did Mercy and Christopher respond to having an eleven-year-old brother?"

"They were overjoyed. Who wouldn't be? Christopher had a new friend. Dave treated Mercy like a little doll. Would've carried her around in his arms all the time if he could'a. As it was, her feet never touched the ground."

"It must've been surprising when they ended up together."

Bitty lifted her chin in defiance. "It brought Jon into my life, and that's all I'll say about that."

"Has Jon come home?"

"No, and we're not looking. We're gonna give him the time he asked for." She patted her fingers to her chest. "Jon is a thoughtful boy. Kind and considerate, exactly like his daddy. He's going to break hearts just like his daddy, too. You should see how handsome he is. All the guests go crazy at the sight of him. I watch them out the window when Jon comes down the stairs. He likes to make an entrance. Your Sara looked like she wanted to eat him up."

Faith assumed Sara had asked him what subjects he enjoyed in school.

"My poor baby boys." Bitty patted her fingers to her chest again. "I did my best to keep Dave away from Mercy. I knew she would drag him down with her, and look at where he is now."

Faith struggled to keep her tone even. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Well, don't think I won't get him back. I've already reached out to a lawyer from Atlanta, so good luck keeping him in jail." She sounded very sure that the legal system would work. "Is that all?"

"Do you have a map of the property I can have?"

"Those maps are for guests." Her head turned toward the parking pad. "For the love of God, who's here now?"

Faith heard an engine rumbling. Another UTV had pulled up. Sara was behind the wheel.

"Another liar come up here to lie." Bitty ended the conversation with that. She walked up the stairs, went into the house, and shut the door behind her.

"Jesus." Faith hooked her purse over her shoulder and made her way to the parking pad. This place wasn't The Lottery. It was Children of the Corn.

"Hi." Sara was lifting a heavy duffel bag out of the UTV. She smiled at Faith. "Did you fall?"

Faith had forgotten she was covered in mud and horse farts. "A bird attacked my car and I ended up in a ditch."

"I'm sorry." Sara didn't look sorry. "I saw you were talking to Bitty. What do you think?"

"I think she's more worried about Dave than her murdered daughter." Faith still couldn't wrap her head around it. "What is it with these Boy Moms? She sounded like Dave's psycho ex-girlfriend. And don't even get me started on the Jon part. I hate when grown women speak in that breathless girlie voice. It's like Holly Hobby fucked the Devil."

Sara laughed. "Any progress?"

"Not on my end. I was about to go down to the dining hall to find Will." Faith glanced around, making sure they were alone. "Do you think Mercy knew she was pregnant?"

Sara shrugged. "It's hard to say. She was nauseated last night, but I assumed that was sequela to the strangulation. Mercy didn't tell me otherwise, but she wouldn't necessarily share that information with a stranger."

"My period is so irregular I can barely keep up with it." Faith wondered if Mercy had used an app on her phone or marked a calendar. "Who did you tell?"

"Only Amanda and Will. I think that Nadine, the coroner, figured it out when I did the manual exam to assess the uterus, but she didn't say a word. She knows that Biscuits is close to the family. She probably didn't want it getting out."

"Biscuits didn't see the X-ray?"

"You have to know what you're looking for," Sara said. "Normally, you would never X-ray a woman at any time during pregnancy. The risk of radiation exposure outweighs the diagnostic value. And at twelve weeks, there's not a lot to see. The fetus is roughly two inches long, so around the length of a double-A battery. The bones haven't calcified enough to show up on film. I only knew what I was looking at because I've seen it before."

Faith didn't want to think about how she'd seen it before. "I can't remember what it felt like to be twelve weeks along."

"Bloating, nausea, mood swings, headache. Some women mistake it for PMD. Some miscarry and assume it's just a bad period. Eight out of ten miscarriages happen before twelve weeks." Sara rested the duffel on the UTV. "When you look at who was around Mercy during conception, keep in mind that it's twelve weeks from the last reported period, not twelve weeks from the sexual encounter. Ovulation happens two weeks after your period, which puts the timeline around ten weeks, so you're talking two to two and a half months ago, if we're being picky."

"We definitely need to be picky." Faith got to the hard part. "What about rape?"

"I found trace amounts of seminal fluid, but that only indicates she had sexual contact with a man forty-eight hours prior to death. I can't rule out sexual assault, but I can't rule it in, either."

Faith could only imagine how annoyed Amanda had been with the equivocation. "But, between us?"

"Between us, I honestly don't know," Sara said. "She didn't have defensive wounds. Maybe she made the decision that it's safer to not fight back. There's a clear finding that Mercy suffered a high level of abuse. Broken bones, cigarette burns. I'm assuming a lot of it was at the hands of Dave, but some of the damage dates back to her childhood. If there was any fight in her, she used it judiciously."

Faith was struck by a profound sadness at the thought of Mercy's tortured life. Penny was right. She had never stood a chance. "Anything on the murder weapon?"

"That part I can help you with," Sara said. "So, in the design of a knife, you know that in a full tang, the metal extends all the way through from the tip of the blade to the butt of the handle."

Faith did not know this, but she nodded.

"The blade inside Mercy was a five-inch-long half-tang, which is a cheaper, less durable construction used in steak knives. With a half tang, you get a skeleton inside the handle, basically a horse-shoe-shaped piece of thin metal that helps keep the handle attached to the blade. You following?"

"Half-tang skeleton inside the handle. Got it."

"The killer sank the blade in to the hilt. I could tell from the marks that were left on her skin that there wasn't a bolster. That's the metal collar at the transition between the blade and the handle. I found slivers of plastic around some of the deeper wounds. Under the microscope, the color skewed red."

Faith nodded again, but this time because she understood. "We're looking for the red handle of a cheap steak knife with a thin metal strip sticking out of it."

"Correct," Sara said. "All the cottages have kitchens, but ours didn't have any knives in it. And I don't remember seeing anything that would match a red-handled knife in the family kitchen. It would be worth searching again with this new information. I'd say it's about four inches long, maybe one quarter inch thick."

"Okay, I should talk to Will to see how we're going to proceed. You can run down the knife details for him." Faith started to go, but she caught herself. "I ran into Frank. He's worried about his wife. Apparently, she's more hung over than usual."

"I'll check on her now." Sara patted the duffel. "I brought up some medical supplies from the hospital in case we need them. Cecil's in a wheelchair, but I didn't see a van."

Faith hadn't realized that until now. "How do they get him into the truck?"

"I'm sure there are plenty of people around to help," Sara said. "Should I meet you guys at the dining hall when I'm finished?"

"That works."

Faith followed the wooden sign with the plate and silverware. She kept her eyes on the ground. The path was clear, but there was a lot of overgrowth on either side that could hide snakes and rabid squirrels. Or birds. Faith looked up. Branches hung down like fingers. A stiff wind rustled the leaves. She was certain an owl was going to attack her hair. She was relieved when the trail took a turn, but there was only more trail.

"Fucking nature."

She continued down, her eyes pivoting from the ground to the sky for possible danger. The path did another bend. The trees were less on top of her. She smelled the kitchen before she saw it. Emma's father was a second-generation Mexican-American whose spiteful mother loved cooking as much as she hated Faith, which was to say a lot. Coriander. Cumin. Basil. Cilantro. Faith's stomach was growling by the time she made it to the octagonal-shaped building. She bypassed the platform that was hanging dangerously over a gorge and walked through the door.

Empty.

The lights were off. There were two long tables, one already laid for lunch. Giant windows on the far wall showed more trees. She was going to be sick of the color green by the time she left this place.

"Will?" she called. "Are you in here?"

She waited, but there was no response. All she could hear was cooking noises behind the swinging door to the kitchen.

"Will?"

Still nothing.

Faith pulled out the satellite phone again. She pressed the walkie button. "This is Special Agent Faith Mitchell with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Anybody out there?"

She silently counted to ten. Then twenty. Then she felt herself starting to worry.

Faith dropped the phone back into her purse and walked into the kitchen. The sudden light was almost blinding. Two boys were at the long stainless-steel table that went down the middle of the room. One was cutting vegetables. The other was hand-mixing batter in a large bowl. The chef had his back to Faith as he cooked on the stove. The radio was tuned to Bad Bunny, which was probably why they hadn't heard her.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" one of the boys asked.

Faith felt her heart clench at the sight of him. He was just a kid.

"What do you need, officer?" the chef had turned around. This had to be Alejandro. He was incredibly handsome, but he also seemed incredibly irritated to see Faith, which was also reminiscent of Emma's father. "I'm sorry to be abrupt, but we're preparing lunch service."

Faith needed to find her partner. "Do you know where Agent Trent is?"

The boy said, "He went down Fishtopher Trail."

She let out a sigh of relief. "How long ago?"

His shoulders went up in an exaggerated shrug because he was a kid and he didn't understand time.

Alejandro provided, "I saw him outside the window about an hour ago, I think. Then there was a second man dressed like you about half an hour later. The trail is behind the building. I'll show you."

Faith felt some of her tension lessen over the Will and Kevin sighting. She followed Alejandro toward the back, checking out the rest of the kitchen on her way. The knives looked expensive and professional. No red plastic handles. She saw a bathroom that connected to an office. She wanted to go through those papers, see if she could get into the laptop.

"Lunch starts in half an hour." Alejandro opened the door and let Faith go first. "They usually shovel it down in twenty minutes. I could talk afterward."

Faith felt her attention snap to the chef like a rubber band. "Why do you think I want to talk to you?"

"Because I was sleeping with Mercy." He seemed to realize this conversation was happening now. He closed the door behind him. "We tried to be discreet, but obviously someone told you."

"Obviously," Faith said. "And?"

"It was casual. Mercy wasn't in love with me. I wasn't in love with her. But she was very attractive. It's lonely up here. The body wants what it wants."

"How long were you sleeping together?"

"From the moment I got here." He shrugged. "It was infrequent, particularly lately. I don't know why, but that was the nature of things with us, an ebb and flow. She was under a lot of pressure with her father. He's a very hard man."

"Did Dave know about you two?"

"I have no idea. I rarely spoke to him. Even when he was extending the viewing platform, I kept my distance. I suspected he was hurting Mercy."

"Why is that?"

"You don't get bruised like that from falling." He wiped his hands on his apron. "Let's just say if Dave had ended up murdered, you would be talking to me for very different reasons."

A lot of people kept saying that, but no one had done anything when Mercy was alive. "You said you weren't in love with her, but you also would've murdered for her?"

His smile showed all his teeth. "You're very good at this, detective, but no. It's my sense of duty."

"What did Mercy say when you noticed the bruises?"

The smile disappeared. "I asked her once, and she told me that we could either talk about it and never have sex again, or we could just keep having sex."

"Forgive me, but you don't seem conflicted by your choice."

He shrugged again. "It's different up here. The way they treat people—they just wear them out and throw them away. Maybe I did the same thing with Mercy. I'm not proud of myself."

"Was she seeing anyone else?"

"Maybe?" he asked. "Do you think Dave got jealous? Is that why he killed her?"

"Maybe," Faith lied. "What made you think Mercy could've been seeing someone else?"

"A lot of things, really. Like I said, the ebb and flow. Plus—" He shrugged. "Who am I to judge her? Mercy was a single mother with a demanding job, a difficult employer, and very few outlets for enjoyment."

Faith had never felt so seen. "Did she mention anyone in particular?"

"She wouldn't volunteer, and I wouldn't ask. Like I said, we fucked. We didn't talk about our lives."

Faith had enjoyed a few of those relationships herself. "But if you had to guess?"

He let out a short breath of air. "Well, it would have to be one of the guests, right? The butcher is older than my grandfather. Mercy hates the vegetable guy. He's from town. He knows about her past."

"What's there to know about her past?"

"She was very honest with me in the beginning," he said. "She did some sex work when she was in her early twenties."

"Did she do some sex work with you?"

He laughed. "No, I didn't pay her. I might have if she'd asked. She was very good at keeping things separate. Work was work and sex was sex."

Faith could see where that would be worth the money. "How was she yesterday?"

"Stressed," he said. "We cater to very demanding guests up here. Most of our conversations yesterday were like, ‘don't forget Keisha doesn't like raw onions and Sydney doesn't do dairy and Chuck has a peanut allergy.'"

Faith watched him roll his eyes. "What do you think of Chuck?"

"He's here at least once a month, sometimes more. I thought he was a relative at first."

"Did Mercy like him?"

"She tolerated him," Alejandro said. "He's a lot to deal with, but then so is Christopher."

"Are Christopher and Chuck together?"

"As in lovers?" He shook his head. "No, not with the way they look at women."

"How do they look at women?"

"Desperately?" He seemed to struggle for a better description, then shook his head. "It's hard, because the problem is, they're both very awkward in general. I'll occasionally have a beer with Christopher, and he's an all right guy, but his brain is wired differently. Then you throw a woman into the mix, and he freezes up. Chuck has the exact opposite problem. You put him within ten feet of a woman and he's going to recite every line from Monty Python until she runs from the room."

Unfortunately, Faith knew the type well. "I heard about the fight Mercy had with Jon."

Alejandro winced. "He's a sweet kid, but very immature. Not a lot of friends in town. They know who his mother is. And his father. It's not right, but the stigma is there."

"Have you seen him drunk like that before?"

"Never," Alejandro said. "Honestly, I was like—no. Don't let this kid go down the addiction trail. He's got it in his blood. Both sides. It's just sad."

Faith silently agreed. Addiction was a lonely road to travel. "What time did you leave here last night?"

"Around eight, eight-thirty. The last conversation I had with Mercy was about clean-up. She let Jon have the night off, so she was doing it by herself. I didn't offer to help. I was tired. It was a long day. So I saddled up Pepe and I rode to my house, which is about forty minutes over the ridge. I was there all night. I opened a bottle of wine and watched a crime show on Hulu."

"Which show?"

"The one about the detective with the dog. You can probably check those things, right?"

"I can." Faith was more interested in the fact that he had anticipated all of her questions. It was almost like he'd crammed for the test. "Is there anything else you want to tell me about Mercy and her family?"

"No, but I'll let you know if I think of something." He pointed down a steep incline. "That's Fishtopher Trail. It's very muddy, so be careful."

He'd already opened the door, but Faith stopped him with a question. "Can you get to the bachelor cottages from Fishtopher Trail?"

He looked surprised, like he'd put together why she was asking. "You can if you follow the creek past the waterfalls, then walk along the lake, but the quicker route is down the Rope Trail. It goes around the side of the gorge. They call it the Rope Trail because there's a series of ropes you have to grab so you don't slip and break your neck. Only the staff uses it. It's not on the map. I only went down once because it scared the shit out of me. I'm not big into heights."

"How long did it take?"

"Five minutes?" he guessed. "Sorry, I really need to get back to work."

"Thank you," Faith said. "I'll need to get a written statement later."

"You know where to find me."

Alejandro disappeared into the kitchen before Faith could say anything else. She stared at the closed door. She tried to get a read on how the conversation had gone. In her experience, there were four ways a suspect could approach an interview. He could be defensive. He could be combative. He could be disinterested. He could be helpful.

The chef fell roughly between the last two. She would have to get Will to weigh in. Sometimes suspects were disinterested because they really weren't interested. Sometimes they were helpful because they wanted you to think they were innocent.

Faith started down Fishtopher Trail. Alejandro had not been lying about the mud. The going reminded her of a slip-n-slide. The angle was severe. She saw large footprints with heavy treads. Men going up the trail. Men going down.

She took a chance, shouting, "Will?"

The only response was a bunch of birds chirping, probably discussing a plan of attack.

Faith sighed as she continued her downward trajectory. Only a few seconds had passed before she was wrenching a boot out of the muck. This was why concrete had been invented. People weren't meant to be outdoors like this. She batted away dangling limbs as she navigated the steep slope. Part of her just accepted that she was going to end up on her ass at some point, but she was still annoyed when it happened. The trail was no less steep when she stood up. Faith had to go into the woods to avoid a slippery-looking section.

"Fuck!" she jumped away from a snake.

Then she cursed again because it wasn't a snake. A rope was lying on the ground. One end was attached to a boulder by a hook. The other end disappeared down the trail. Faith probably would've left it there if Alejandro hadn't told her about the other ropes on the Rope Trail. She let out a few more fucks as she grabbed on and continued down. She was sweating like a motherfucker by the time she heard the rush of water over rocks. Thankfully, the temperature had dropped as the elevation lowered. She swatted away a mosquito that was circling her head. She wanted air conditioning and phone service and most of all, she wanted to find her partner.

"Will?" she tried again. Her voice didn't echo so much as compete with the forest racket. Insects and birds and venomous snakes. "Will?"

Faith grabbed a tree limb to keep her foot from slipping as she made her way down to the bank. Then her other foot slipped and her ass was on the ground again.

"Jesus," she hissed. She couldn't catch a break. She grabbed her satellite phone off the ground. She pressed the walkie button. "This is Agen—"

Faith let go of the button when an awful squealing sound nearly broke her eardrums. She shook the phone, then pressed the button again. The squeal returned. It was coming from her purse. She opened her bag. She saw her satellite phone.

She looked at the phone in her hand, then the phone in her bag.

How did she get two phones?

Faith stood up. She walked down a few feet. She could see the creek now. The water was swirling around large rocks. Faith took another step. The toe of her boot hit something heavy. She saw a paddle holster with a Smith and Wesson snub-nosed five-shot. Weirdly, it looked like Amanda's side piece. She searched the ground. Earbuds still in the case. Farther along, there was an iPhone. Faith tapped it awake. The lock screen glowed: a photo of Sara holding Will's dog.

"No-no-no-no …"

Faith's Glock was in her hands before her brain could fully process what she had seen. She did a three-sixty, wildly scanning the forest, panicked that she would find Will's body. There was nothing out of place but an empty half-gallon jug and a rod with a lethal-looking hook at the end. Faith rushed to the edge of the creek and looked right, then left. Her heart stopped until she was sure his body wasn't in the water.

"Will!"

Faith jogged along the creek. The terrain dropped. The water was flowing faster. In another fifty yards, it took a sharp turn to the left, bowing around some trees. Faith could see more rocks, more churning water. Something could've gotten swept up in the roiling current. Something like her partner. Faith started running toward the bend.

"Will!" she screamed. "Will!"

"Faith?"

His voice was faint. She couldn't see him. Faith holstered her Glock. She jumped into the water to cross to the other side. It was deeper than she'd calculated. Her knees bent. Her head dropped below the surface. Water swirled around her face. She pushed herself up, gasping for air. The only thing that kept her from going downstream was luck and a giant tree root sticking out from the side of the bank.

"Are you okay?"

Will was standing above her. His bandaged hand was pressed to his chest. His clothes were soaked. Kevin Rayman was behind him with a man's body slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Faith saw a pair of hairy legs, black socks and yellow hiking boots.

She didn't trust herself to speak. She used the tree root to pull herself out of the water. Will held out his hand and practically lifted her up the bank. Faith didn't want to let go of him. She was breathless. She felt sick with relief. She'd been sure that he was lying dead somewhere. "What happened? Who is that?"

"Bryce Weller." Will helped Kevin lower the body to the ground. The man flopped onto his back. His skin was pale. His lips were blue. His mouth was open. "Also known as Chuck."

Kevin said, "Also known as heavy."

Faith turned on Will. "What the fuck are you doing coming down here without telling me where you were going?"

"I wasn't—"

"Shut your mouth when you're talking to me!"

"I don't think that's—"

"Why did I find Amanda's gun and your phones on the ground? Do you know how terrifying that was? I thought you'd been murdered. Jesus, Kevin."

Kevin held up his hands. "Whoa."

"Faith," Will said. "I'm okay."

"Well, I'm not." Her heart was clanging like a cow bell. "Jesus Christ."

"I was talking to Chuck," Will said. "He was sweaty and pale, but I didn't think anything about it other than maybe he was feeling guilty. I walked back up the trail. I got about twenty feet above him. I turned around and he was in the water. I got rid of the gun and my electronics because I knew I would have to go in."

Faith hated his calm and reasonable tone.

He continued, "The current took both of us downstream. I went after him. We almost went over a waterfall, but somehow, I managed to pull us both back. I couldn't leave his body down there, so I started carrying him toward the lodge."

"That's when I showed up," Kevin said. "I came looking for Will. Obviously, I carried the body farther than he did."

"I don't think that's true."

"Agree to disagree."

"I was actually in the water."

Faith was not up for bro jokes. She tried to focus her mind back on the case instead of the fact that she was standing dripping wet in the forest losing her shit because she'd thought that her partner was dead.

She looked down at the body. Bryce Weller's lips were dark blue. His eyes were like glass marbles. The current had pulled at his clothes. His shirt was open. His belt had come loose. More importantly, another person was dead. They could be searching for a killer with two motives instead of just one. Or Chuck could've murdered Mercy, then killed himself.

She asked Will, "What did Chuck say when you talked to him?"

Will said, "He used incel terminology. He was guarded. He acted like he wasn't into Mercy when he clearly was. I was liking him for the murder by the time we finished talking. He was hyper-focused on Dave. Openly jealous that Mercy wouldn't get rid of him. He kept rubbing his back. I wondered if she'd gotten some punches in."

Kevin said, "We can roll him over to check in a minute. I need to catch my breath."

Will told Faith, "Chuck described his altercation with Mercy before dinner in a weird way. He said, ‘She screamed at me like I had raped her'. And I could tell he really regretted putting the word rape out there."

"Was that why he was sweating?" Faith asked. "He was nervous?"

"I don't think so. That would be some kind of flop sweat. It was dripping down his skull. His hair was plastered to his head. Looking back, I think he wasn't feeling well. He burped like his stomach was coming out of his mouth."

"Suicide?" she asked.

"If he drowned himself, he did it fast. No struggling. No splashing. It took me about a minute to get up that hill. By the time I turned around, his body had already floated out to the middle of the creek."

Faith looked at Chuck's face. She had attended more autopsies than she'd ever wanted to. She had never seen a corpse with lips that blue. "Was he eating something before he went in?"

"He was drinking water from a jug," Will said. "It was half-full when we started. He drank the rest while we were talking. What are you thinking?"

"Alejandro said that Chuck has a peanut allergy. Maybe someone slipped some peanut powder into his water."

"No," Sara said.

They all turned around. Sara was on the opposite side of the creek.

She said, "It wasn't peanuts. He was poisoned."