Chapter 16

16

Sara wasn't happy with Will's guilty expression when he stared at her across the creek. The look was the same one he gave Amanda when she was about to rip him a new one.

Sara was not his boss.

"I'll bite," Faith said. "How can you tell he was poisoned?"

Sara would deal with Will later. Chuck hadn't been her favorite person, but he was still dead and he deserved some respect. "Anaphylaxis is a sudden, severe allergic reaction that causes the immune system to release chemicals that put your body into shock. It's not a quick death. We're talking fifteen to twenty minutes. Chuck would've exhibited chest discomfort and tightness, coughing, dizziness, flushing or redness in his face, skin rash, nausea or vomiting and most importantly, breathing issues. Will, did you notice that Chuck was having any of these symptoms?"

Will shook his head. "His breathing was fine. All that I noticed was that he was sweaty and pale."

"Look at how blue his fingernails and lips are." Sara pointed to the body. "That's caused by cyanosis, which is a lack of oxygen in the blood, which in this case indicates chemical poisoning. Chuck was drinking water before he died, so we can assume that's the source. The substance would have to be colorless, odorless, and tasteless. People with severe allergies know very quickly if the allergy has been triggered. Chuck didn't call for help. He didn't thrash around. He wasn't gasping for air or clawing at his neck for breath. I need to study the scene where he went into the water, but my theory is that he lost consciousness and rolled into the creek."

Faith asked, "What about a heart attack?"

"The lips and fingernails wouldn't be blue like that," Sara said. "Not all heart attacks lead to cardiac arrest. Sudden cardiac death is an electrical malfunction. The heart beats irregularly, or just stops, blood doesn't get to the brain, the person passes out. In a quiet setting like this, even over the sound of water, Will would've heard something before Chuck lost consciousness. Crying out, grabbing his arm in pain, the classic symptoms. At the very least, he would've made a heavy splash from falling into the water."

"I was listening to make sure he didn't come up on me," Will said. "When I turned around, he was just floating."

Faith asked, "What kind of poison would make his fingernails and lips blue like that?"

Sara had some ideas, but she wasn't going to volunteer them from thirty feet away. "Only toxicology can confirm, but I can give you some options once I have a closer look."

"We'll come to you," Will said. "We need to get him across the water. There's a stone footbridge upstream at the mini-falls. You guys okay without me?"

Will didn't wait for Kevin or Faith to answer. He jumped back into the creek to cross now. The current didn't seem to faze him. He climbed up the bank and stood in front of Sara with a resigned look on his face.

She handed him his iPhone and earbuds, asking, "How was the water?"

"Cold."

She wondered if a double-meaning was implied. "My love, I'm not going to lecture you for trying to save a man's life."

He gave her a curious look. "You're not mad?"

"I was worried," she told him. What she didn't add was that the panicked sound of Faith screaming his name had stopped Sara's heart. She had barely breathed until she'd seen that Will was all right. "I should change out the dressing on your hand. It's soaking wet."

He looked down at his hand. "Believe it or not, it saved my life."

Sara didn't know if she could hear specifics right now. "How much water did you swallow?"

"Somewhere between a little and a lot, but it all came back out."

"There's a slight risk of pulmonary embolism." She stroked back his wet hair. "I want you to tell me immediately if you have any trouble breathing."

"That's hard to judge," Will said. "Sometimes I look at my wife and she kind of takes my breath away."

Sara felt her lips turning up into a smile, but she was mindful that there were more important things that needed her attention. Faith and Kevin were already carrying Chuck back toward the crossing.

She walked along the bank, asking Will, "Did Faith tell you about the knife?"

He shook his head.

"Red plastic handle. I'm assuming a steak knife. The red is not typical. Usually, even if the handle is plastic, it's made to look like wood grain."

"Amanda should have the search warrant soon," he said. "I want to turn this place upside-down. I'm hoping the handle's not at the bottom of the lake."

"Any idea if Mercy knew she was pregnant?"

He shook his head again. "And there's no one to ask. She didn't trust anybody up here."

"I don't blame her." Sara started thinking ahead to next steps. "With the road washed out, we need to find a place to store the body until Nadine can safely remove it."

"There's a free-standing freezer behind the kitchen. There's not much in there. They've got another fridge inside they can probably move stuff to." Will had put his hand over his heart. The cold water and adrenaline were clearly no longer numbing the pain. "That reminds me, I told Frank I'd have you check on Monica."

"Already did," Sara said. "I gave her some fluids, but I'd feel better if she was closer to a medical facility. She's going to have to drink again or she'll go into withdrawal. From her symptoms, she was on the precipice of alcohol poisoning last night."

"Frank told me he was surprised she got that sick off what she drank."

"I'm not sure Frank is that reliable. He told me that he lied to you."

Will stopped walking.

"Last night, Monica filled out a request for another bottle of liquor. Frank went out onto the porch to leave it for Mercy, but he stuck the note in his pocket instead."

"And then he told me that Mercy had taken the note, which gave me the timeline we've been going by." Will looked understandably annoyed. "Why the hell did he lie about that?"

"He probably lies a lot to cover for his wife's drinking." Sara reminded him, "Paul said that he saw Mercy around 10:30-ish."

"I trust Paul even less than Frank." Will looked at his watch. "Lunch service is over. Maybe you can approach Drew and Keisha. Amanda ran a background on all the guests. Drew has a twelve-year-old assault charge."

Sara felt her lips part in surprise.

"I had the same reaction, but maybe that ties into what Drew was talking about when he told Bitty to forget that other business."

Faith asked, "What business?"

They had reached the mini waterfall. She was walking across the stone footpath with her arms out for balance. Will waited for her at the edge of the water. Sara tuned out their conversation. Neither one of them seemed interested in helping Kevin. Sara thought to help, but he was already crossing the creek with Chuck's full weight on his shoulder. Will was watching, too, but more out of envy than concern. He wanted to be the one balancing two-hundred pounds on his shoulder while he navigated what was basically an obstacle course.

Faith asked, "Could Monica be a poisoning victim, too?"

Sara realized the question was meant for her. "If so, the poison would've been a different agent by a different route. I can ask Monica's permission to draw blood, but we'll have to—"

"Wait for toxicology," Faith finished. "What about suicide?"

"With Chuck?" Sara shrugged. "Unless he left a note, I can't tell you."

"Except for the sweating, he wasn't acting guilty," Will said. "He seemed pretty confident Dave was the murderer."

Faith said, "I would be, too, without all the evidence that says he's not."

Sara remembered, "Wasn't Chuck wearing glasses?"

Will provided, "The current is fast. They're probably downstream."

"Thanks, guys." Kevin had made it across the creek. He went down on one knee, then he rolled Chuck onto the ground, then he sat back to catch his breath.

"Let's stay away from the bank over here." Sara indicated the point where she thought Chuck had gone into the water. "We'll need to bag the gaff and water jug, then start an inventory of anything that's found in his pockets."

"I'll get the supplies." Kevin pushed himself back up. "I need some water anyway."

"Make sure it's from a sealed bottle." Faith had found her purse on the ground. She took out her diabetic kit. "Can you guys start without me? I need to do my insulin thing."

Sara caught Will's eye as Faith walked a few feet up the trail and sat down on a fallen log. Faith was very good at her job, but she'd never been comfortable around the dead.

Sara asked Will, "Ready?"

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. "The creek was over the bank when I got here. We should video the area where Chuck went in before it's gone."

"Let's do it." Sara waited for him to start recording, then gave the date, time and location. "I'm Dr. Sara Linton. In attendance are special agents Faith Mitchell and Will Trent. This video is to document the scene where we believe the victim, Bryce Weller, also known as Chuck, went into Lost Widow Creek and subsequently expired."

She waited for Will to slowly pan across the area, starting with the base of the trail and making a broad sweep of the creek bank. Sara took the time to develop a theory about what had happened. There were three distinctive sets of shoe prints, one of which was made by a pair of sneakers. She looked at the bottom of Chuck's hiking boots. The soles were worn to the outsides where he pronated his feet. She already knew what Will's distinctive HAIX treads looked like. The elements had worked against them in preserving Mercy's crime scene, but the mud here had done them a favor. Chuck's last moments might as well have been set in stone.

"Okay," Will said. "Ready when you are."

Sara said, "The soles of the victim's boots match this W-shaped pattern in the mud. You can see where the victim's weight shifted to his toes here, facing the water. The heel imprint is more shallow than the toe. These two spots here indicate where the victim went down to his knees. They're not deep or irregularly shaped, which indicates it was a controlled action, not a sudden fall. There are two handprints on either side, here and here, so he was eventually on all fours."

Will said, "It must've hit him fast. I only took my eyes off of him for a minute. I didn't hear him call for help or cough or anything."

"Chuck's resources would've been directed toward staying conscious, not asking for help," Sara said. "My theory is that his blood pressure dropped, literally bringing him to his knees, then forcing him to put his hands down for balance. The right-side imprint is deeper than the left. You can see this long oval shape is probably where his right elbow buckled and he fell onto his right shoulder, then collapsed onto his right side. From there, my guess is that he rolled onto his back, but he was too close to the edge of the bank. Gravity took over from there, pulling him into the water. The current took him out to the boulders."

"His hand was caught when I saw him," Will said. "By the time I jumped in, he was already moving downstream."

"Did you see him twitch or make a gesture under his own volition?"

"No. He was floating. His arms and legs were straight out. There was no resistance."

"He must have been unconscious or already dead. I could be wrong, but my guess is that his lungs will show that he died by drowning." Sara looked into the water. She saw a pair of familiar-looking glasses stuck in the creek bed. "These are identical to the ones Chuck was wearing."

Will avoided the footprints as he leaned over the water with his phone to record the placement of the glasses.

Sara turned toward the body. Chuck was on his back, face up. She had barely looked at him the night before. Now, she took in his features. He was plain, though not unattractive, with black wavy hair he wore to his shoulders, olive skin, and dark brown eyes.

She asked Will, "When you were talking to Chuck, did you notice if his pupils were dilated?"

Will shook his head. "There's not a lot of sunlight down here with the trees. I was more focused on making sure he didn't grab that gaff and come after me."

"Can't you tell?" Faith was keeping her distance up the trail, but she was clearly listening. "Wouldn't his pupils still be dilated?"

"The iris is a muscle," Sara told her. "Muscles relax in death."

Faith looked queasy. "There's some gloves in my purse."

Sara located the gloves and put them on while Will did a full-body capture from the top of Chuck's head to the bottom of his hiking boots. The flash was on. Under the bright light, she could see the blue tint wasn't confined to Chuck's lips and fingernails. His face had a blue cast to it, particularly in the periorbital areas.

She told Will, "Make sure you focus in on his upper and lower eyelids and the eyebrows."

Sara waited until Will was done before she knelt beside the body. Chuck was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. She saw no scratch marks or self-defense wounds on his arms or neck. She unbuttoned his shirt. His chest and belly were hairy, but absent even a stray mark. She took a closer look at his fingernails. She studied his face. She tried to remember what Chuck had looked like the night before. For obvious reasons, Sara's attention had been firmly on Will.

She asked him, "Did you notice anything strange about how Chuck looked last night?"

He shook his head. "I wasn't really paying attention at cocktails until he grabbed Mercy's arm and she yelled at him. Then we went inside for dinner and the lights were low. I honestly don't remember looking at him again."

"Neither do I." Sara hadn't had much time for Chuck. "We need to talk to everyone who was at dinner. I want to know if anybody noticed this blue tint to Chuck's skin last night. Or even before that."

"You think Chuck was being poisoned before we got to the lodge?"

"It's hard to tell without the proper resources. When he was talking to you earlier, how much did he drink from the jug?"

"It was half-full when we started. He finished all of it while we were talking, which was approximately half a gallon in roughly eight minutes."

"Can't that kill you?" Faith asked. "Drinking a lot of water?"

"It can if you drink enough to dilute the sodium in your blood, but a half gallon won't do that. A two-hundred-pound man needs at least one hundred ounces as a baseline per day. One gallon is one-hundred-twenty-eight ounces. At worst, drinking half a gallon that rapidly might make you vomit it back up."

Will said, "It looks like there's still some water at the bottom of the jug."

Sara wanted to see the analysis of the jug's content, but that would take weeks. She asked Will, "Was his belt undone when you were talking to him?"

"No. I assumed it came loose in the water."

For the benefit of the camera, Sara pulled back the belt to show that the top button and part of the zipper of Chuck's cargo shorts was undone. She leaned down to smell his clothing. "What was his affect toward the end of your conversation?"

"He was really sweaty," Will said. "And really anxious for me to go."

"He might have been worried about diarrhea. Maybe he was trying to take down his pants when the other symptoms hit."

Faith said, "That explains why he didn't yell for help. You don't want another dude witnessing a blow-out."

Will asked, "Do you see any defensive wounds?"

"None, but I want to look at his back. I'll check his front pockets before I roll him." Sara gently patted the material, trying to see if there was anything sharp before she put her fingers into the upper and lower pockets of Chuck's cargo shorts. She called out her findings. "A tube of Carmex lip balm. A half-ounce bottle of Eads Clear eye drops. A folding line management tool. A folding fisherman's multi-tool. A retractable tether. A pocketknife."

Faith asked, "Is all that stuff normal for fishing?"

"Most of it." Sara had spent a lot of time with her father on the lake. He wore the equipment on his belt, but everyone was different. "Are you ready for me to turn him?"

Will moved back a few feet, then nodded.

Sara stabilized her hands on Chuck's shoulder and hip, then turned him onto his side.

Will made a noise. The back of his injured hand went to his nose. Sara took that as a confirmation on the state of Chuck's bowels. She was glad Faith was upwind.

Sara could only breathe through her mouth as she removed Chuck's wallet from his right back pocket and opened it flat on the ground. The black leather was polished. She laid out a Visa card, an American Express, a driver's license and an insurance card, all in the name of Bryce Bradley Weller. There was no cash in the inner compartment, just a single condom in a faded gold packet. Magnum XL lubricated and ribbed. Sara turned over the wallet. By the circular wear mark, she guessed that the condom had been there for quite a while. Something told her Chuck wasn't using one every night and replacing it.

Will said, "The seminal fluid you found in Mercy, could that have been lube?"

"No. The slide showed traces of spermatozoa under the microscope. And keep in mind that's not evidence of assault, just proof of intercourse." She lifted the back of Chuck's shirt. There were no scratch marks or signs of recent trauma. The only surprising discovery was a tattoo. "There's a large tattoo on the left shoulder blade, approximately four inches by three, of what appears to be a square whiskey glass with amber-colored liquid sloshing over the rim. Instead of ice, there's a human skull."

"Wow," Faith said. "Was he big into scotch?"

"I have no idea." Sara had deliberately avoided any small talk. "Will?"

He shrugged. "I didn't see him drinking anything but water all night."

"If I was going to poison him," Faith said, "I'd definitely spike the jug."

Sara gently rolled Chuck onto his back. "That's all the preliminary findings. We'll have to wait for the autopsy and tox screens to give us the full picture."

Will stopped the recording. He asked Sara, "What's your theory?"

Sara nodded for him to follow her away from the body. She didn't like talking over victims as if they were problems to solve rather than human beings.

She waited for Faith to join them, then said, "Given our surroundings, my first thought was something natural, like atropine or solanine, which are found in nightshade. I've seen it before. The solanine is incredibly poisonous, even in small amounts. There's also horse nettle, pokeweed, black cherry and cherry laurel."

"Jesus, nature is so bad for you," Faith chimed in. "What was your second thought?"

"I'm wondering about the eye drops. There's an ingredient called tetrahydrozoline, or THZ, that's an alpha-1 receptor used to decrease redness by constricting blood vessels. By oral ingestion, it rapidly passes through the intestinal tract and absorbs into the bloodstream and central nervous systems. In higher concentrations, it can cause nausea, diarrhea, low blood pressure, decreased heart rate, and loss of consciousness."

Faith asked, "You're talking about the stuff you can buy over the counter?"

"The dose makes the poison," Sara said. "If THZ is the culprit, then you're looking for a few bottles."

Will said, "All of the garbage gets taken up the hill. We can search the bags for empty bottles, but we'll have to send anything we find to the lab to process for fingerprinting."

"Wait," Faith said. "There was a case in Carolina with this, right? The wife slipped the husband eye drops in his water? But it took some time for him to die."

Sara had read about the case, too. "The THZ could be a contributing factor in Chuck's death. The actual cause could be drowning."

"Suicide is probably out," Will said. "That doesn't sound like something you'd use to kill yourself."

"Unless you wanted to shit yourself to death," Faith added. "Wasn't there a movie where the guy gave it to the other guy so he could get the girl?"

"Wedding Crashers," Will said. "Are we looking for one person or two? Who would have a motive to kill both Mercy and Chuck?"

"What do we know about Chuck?" Faith asked. "He was weird. He liked scotch enough to get a tattoo. He fished. He carried around a jug of water."

Will said, "He was Christopher's best friend. He had an unrequited obsession with Mercy. He was an incel or incel-adjacent."

"He had a condom in his wallet, so he hadn't completely given up all hope." Faith let out a heavy sigh. "Who had access to the jug?"

Sara looked at Will. "Everybody?"

Will nodded. "Chuck wasn't careful with it on the viewing deck during cocktails. He set it down on the railing a few times and walked away."

"It would be heavy to carry all the time," Sara said. "At capacity, a gallon of liquid is just under eight-and-a-half pounds."

"Emma was almost eight pounds when she was born," Faith said. "It was like carrying around an X-Box."

"Or a gallon of milk," Will said.

"So we're back to the suspect being everybody up here," Faith summarized. "And anybody who had access to Eads Clear eye drops, which is in every store."

Sara added, "And is fairly well-known as a poisoning agent."

"Let's take Mercy out of the equation," Faith said. "Who would have a motive to kill Chuck? He didn't have anything to do with the sale of the lodge. If someone was going to kill him because he was creepy and annoying, that would've happened a long time ago."

Will said, "Before I followed him down here, I heard Chuck talking about the investors with Christopher. They were on the part of the trail behind the kitchen. Christopher said he was going to be late for a family meeting that was probably about the sale. Chuck asked if the investors were still interested. Christopher said he didn't know, but he was out of the business. He never wanted to do it in the first place, and without Mercy, it didn't work. He said they needed her."

"That's odd," Sara said. "Did he mean out of the lodge business or another business?"

Faith supplied, "Mercy was running the place after Cecil's bike accident. According to Penny, she was doing a great job, turning a big profit, investing back in the property."

Will didn't seem persuaded. "One of the last things Chuck said to Christopher was something like, ‘This is a good thing we've got going here. A lot of people are depending on us.'"

"Maybe Chuck was involved in the lodge?" Faith asked. "A silent partner?"

Will said, "It didn't sound like they were talking about the lodge."

The sound of footsteps drew their attention up the trail. Kevin was back with evidence bags and collection kits.

Faith said, "Agent Dogsbody has returned."

Kevin didn't seem to like the joke, probably because it cut too close. He told them, "I swung by the dining hall. I asked the chef to clear out the free-standing freezer, but I didn't tell him why."

Faith asked, "He couldn't figure that out when you told him to make a man-sized space?"

"I told him we needed to store evidence but didn't want to contaminate the food."

"Okay," Faith relented. "That was smart."

Kevin asked, "What's the plan on Chuck? Do we tell people? Do we keep it a secret?"

Sara said, "I have to notify Nadine of the death, but she won't be able to transport the body down until the road is accessible. I trust her to keep it quiet."

"The chef and waiters will see us taking the body into the freezer," Will said. "But if they stay in the dining hall and nobody from the house comes down, then the information won't make it to the compound."

Sara said, "If the lodge is still on the same schedule, guests won't come down for cocktails until six."

Kevin asked, "What about the Dave-didn't-do-it part? Still keeping that under wraps, too?"

"I think we have to," Faith said. "It's not like the family is crying out for the name of the murderer."

Sara asked, "What about Jon? He'll turn up eventually. Right now he thinks his father murdered his mother. Are we going to let him continue to believe that?"

"That's a complicated conversation," Will said. "You can't ask him to keep it a secret, and he might tip off the real murderer. We still need to find that missing knife handle. The killer might get sloppy because he thinks he got away with it."

Kevin said, "My vote is we keep it all under wraps—both Chuck and Dave."

"Agreed," Will and Faith said in unison, which made Sara's vote moot.

"Let's make a plan," Faith said. "We can use one of the empty cottages to conduct interviews so nobody is on their home turf. Start with Monica and Frank, figure out what else they're lying about. We need to get solid on the timeline. Then go for the app guys. I want to know why they lied about Paul Peterson's name."

"It's Ponticello," Will said. "Amanda found a marriage certificate. Paul Ponticello is married to Gordon Wylie."

Faith asked, "Why lie if you're married?"

"That's at the top of the list of questions," Will said. "I'm not sure how to handle Christopher."

"Because he was the last person to see Chuck and he had access to the water jug?" Faith snorted. "I mean, come on. He's suspect numero uno."

"What's his motive?"

"Fuck if I know." Faith let out a long, labored sigh. "We're just going around in circles. Let's stop talking and start doing things."

"You're right," Will said. "Kevin, I'll help you get Chuck to the freezer. I'm going to check the garbage pile while you process the scene down here. Faith, go ask for permission to use an empty cottage. If you can, rattle Christopher's cage. See if he asks where Chuck is. Sara, there's another satellite phone back at the UTV so you can call Nadine. Keep it on you in case I need you. Amanda told me she would call when the warrant is being sent, but check the fax machine anyway. Do you mind seeing if Drew and Keisha will talk?"

"I can try." Sara was more worried about the sutures in Will's hand. She'd brought antibiotics just in case. "I left the duffel with some medical supplies back at our cottage. I want to change out your dressing."

"Might as well wait until I'm finished going through the trash."

"Sounds good." Sara wasn't going to fight the infection battle, particularly in front of an audience. There was nothing for her to do but start back up the trail. The call to Nadine would be easy, but she wasn't sure how to approach Drew and Keisha. They seemed like genuinely nice people. They had every right to refuse to answer questions. But Sara would be lying if she told herself that Drew's assault charge didn't raise a giant red flag. He had been to the lodge twice before, maybe even as recently as ten weeks ago.

"Sara?" Will had clearly been making these same calculations. "Faith is going to come with you. She needs the map of the property."

Sara put on a smile just for him. "I can bring it back after I talk to Drew and Keisha."

Will put on a smile, too. "Or you could take Faith with you while you talk to them."

"For fucksakes." Faith wrapped her purse around her shoulder like a feedbag and started up the trail.

Sara went ahead of her up the trail. Faith didn't say much other than to complain about the mud, the trees, the undergrowth and nature in general. The path was narrow and the going was not easy because of the mud. Instead of worrying about Will's hand, Sara focused her attention in areas where she could be more effective. Nadine might have some information about Chuck. Small towns were notoriously wary of strangers. Barring that, a man like Chuck would stick out. There had to be stories about him around town.

"Jesus." Faith sounded more like she was praying as they finally reached the Loop Trail. "I have no idea why Will was so excited about this place. I'm covered in sweat, mud, and horse. Something bit me on my neck. My entire body feels sticky. Birds are everywhere."

Sara knew that Faith hated birds. "I've got some clothes you can change into."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but my body type is more husky teenage boy than tall and willowy supermodel."

Sara laughed. She was tall, but the other two adjectives were a stretch. "We'll find something."

Faith mumbled under her breath as they walked along the Loop. "Have you talked to Amanda?"

"Not about what she wants to talk about."

"I dunno, she kind of has a point about Will sticking his nose into things. He's on his honeymoon and he ends up running into a burning house, getting stabbed in the hand, and now he almost went over a waterfall."

Sara had to swallow before she could speak. The waterfall detail was new to her. "I didn't marry him to change him."

"Your level of healthy interaction can be really annoying sometimes."

Sara laughed again. "How's Jeremy?"

"Oh, you know, ready to become an FBI agent and throw himself on a dirty bomb."

Sara glanced down at her. Faith was generally easy to read, mostly because she volunteered whatever came into her head, but she was fiercely guarded about her children. "And?"

"And," Faith said, "I don't know what to do. Before this, the most shocking thing he ever said to me was that the United States keeps 1.4 billion pounds of cheese stored in a cave in Missouri."

Sara smiled. She loved Jeremy's random facts. "Have you tried talking to him?"

"I'm going to keep yelling a little longer to see if that works, then maybe I'll try the silent treatment, then I'll sulk for a while and use it as an excuse to eat too much ice cream." Faith crossed her arms as she looked up at the sky. "It's weird here, right?"

"You mean all the birds?"

"Yes, but I keep coming back to Mercy's mom," Faith said. "The way Bitty talked about her own daughter …"

Sara shared her disgust. "I can't imagine what kind of person you'd have to be to hate your own child. What a miserable human being."

"Kids can teach you who you are," Faith said. "With Jeremy, I tried so hard to be perfect. I wanted to prove to my parents that I was adult enough to take care of him on my own. I made schedules and spreadsheets and kept all the laundry done, and then one morning, I realized it's okay to eat food off the floor if it's closer to your mouth than the garbage can."

Sara smiled. She'd watched her own sister make these same calculations.

"Emma is teaching me how good a mother my own mother is. I wish I'd listened to her more. Not that I'm going to start listening to her now, but the thought is what counts." Faith's smile didn't last for long. "Talking to Bitty, all I could think is that she didn't learn anything. She had this beautiful little girl, and she could've made the world a wonderful place for her, but she didn't. Worse, she chose Dave over Mercy and Christopher. And now, Mercy is dead, and Bitty hasn't learned anything from that, either. She can't stop shitting on her own daughter. I know I joked about her acting like Dave's jealous, psycho-ex, but it feels pathological."

"I wouldn't say she's done any better by Christopher," Sara pointed out. "She basically ignored him at cocktails. I saw her slap his hand when he tried to get more bread."

"What about Cecil?"

"Mercy said something to me last night that's really been in my head a lot today," Sara said. "She asked me if I had married my father."

Faith looked at Sara. "What did you say?"

"That I did. Will is a lot like my dad. They have the same moral compass."

"My dad was a saint. No man will ever measure up, so why even try?" Faith shrugged, but she hadn't really given up. "What made her ask the question?"

"She was telling me that Dave is like her father. Which makes sense after seeing her X-rays. She suffered a tremendous amount of childhood abuse." Sara wondered how much Will had told Faith about Dave. She didn't want to overstep. "From what I've heard, Dave has two sides. Like Cecil, he can be the life of the party. Then there's the other side that can hurt the mother of his child."

"Most abusers are like that. They groom their victims, they don't come in showing their entire asshole. But don't let Bitty off the hook," Faith said. "She could've physically abused her kids, too."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Sara said. "In my experience, women like that take more pleasure in psychological torture."

"I know finding Mercy was hard for Will, but I'm glad she wasn't alone when she died."

"She was worried about Jon," Sara said. "She told Will to make sure that Jon knew she forgave him for what happened at dinner. Her last words, her last thoughts were only about her son."

Faith rubbed her arms like she was cold. "It would kill me all over again if I thought Jeremy had to carry that kind of guilt around for the rest of his life."

"Jeremy has a lot of people who would look after him. You made sure of that."

Faith clearly didn't want to get emotional. She looked up the trail. "Fuck me, is that your cottage?"

Sara felt a pang of sadness when she saw the beautiful flower boxes and the hammock. They had lost their perfect week. "It's really sweet, isn't it?"

"Are you kidding me?" Faith sounded ecstatic. "It's like something Bilbo Baggins would live in."

Sara hung back as she watched Faith bolt toward the stairs. There was a familiar, sickly sweet odor in the air that she couldn't quite place. "Do you smell that?"

"It's probably me. You don't want to know what came out of that horse." Faith slapped at the side of her neck. "Another mosquito. Look, do you mind if I take a quick rinse off? I can't tell you how gross I feel."

"Let yourself in. Check the chest of drawers for some clothes. I'll wait for you outside. It's too pretty to be indoors."

Faith didn't ask questions. She dashed up the stairs.

"Faith!" Sara's heart had shot into her throat. "Stay out of my suitcase, okay?"

Faith gave her a look, but said, "Okay."

Sara watched her disappear. She prayed this would be the one time Faith wasn't nosey. Will would quit his job and move to a deserted island if she found the giant pink dildo Tessa had packed in Sara's suitcase.

She waited until the door had closed to turn back to the view. Her body felt shaky from exhaustion. Neither she nor Will had slept the night before. And not for the reason you shouldn't sleep on your honeymoon. Sara took a deep breath. The sickly sweet odor was still there.

On a hunch, she continued around the Loop Trail. Most of the guests had been assigned cottages close to the main house, but she remembered from the map that cottage nine was tucked away between her own cottage and the rest of the compound.

Sara had only walked along the top side of the Loop Trail twice, once with Will and Jon and the second time in darkness. On neither occasion did she see the ninth cottage. Sara was wondering if she was on a fool's errand when she finally spotted a footpath winding up another hill. The sweet smell got decidedly stronger as she walked the path. Sara knew from Jon that the odor was from a cartridge of Red Zeppelin. She also knew that he had lied about only having one vape pen. The one he held to his mouth now was silver.

Jon was sitting on the porch swing staring into the woods. His face was swollen, his eyes bloodshot, from mourning the loss of his mother. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice Sara until she stood on the porch. He didn't startle. He just looked at her. Judging by his heavy eyelids and the glassy look in his eyes, he'd smoked more than Red Zeppelin today.

She said, "This is a nice place to hide out."

Jon used the excuse of putting the pen back to his mouth to quickly brush away his tears.

Sara asked, "Do you have enough food?"

He nodded as he blew smoke into the air.

"I'm not going to tell you to go home, but I need to make sure you're safe."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm—" He cleared his throat. "I'm safe."

She could see what the admission had taken out of him. Jon's mother was dead. For all he knew, his father was the murderer. He was probably feeling completely alone.

Sara asked, "Were you on the path by my cottage just now?"

He cleared his throat again. "The lookout bench was the last time … I mean, not the last time, but the last place …"

Sara watched a tear slip down his face. She wasn't going to inundate him with questions, but she sensed that he needed someone to listen. "You sat with your mother on the bench?"

His face looked pained by the memory. "She wanted to talk. We used to do that a lot when I was little. I thought I was in trouble, but she wasn't mad. She was real sad, though."

Sara leaned against the railing. "What was she sad about?"

"She told me Aunt Delilah was here." Jon rested the vape pen on the swing beside him. "She told me to ask Papa what was going on. It was about the sale. She wanted me to hear it from Papa instead of her. But not because she was a coward."

Sara's heart ached at the protective tone in his voice.

"I was mad at her, though. After I talked to Papa, I mean. Cause why did she want to stay up here? What was the point? We could all get a house in town and she could do her thing and I could … I don't know. Make some friends. Go out with …"

Sara listened to his voice trail off again. "It's a beautiful place. It's been in your family for generations."

"It's boring as shit." He tucked his chin into his chest. "Sorry, ma'am."

Sara said, "I don't imagine there's a lot for you to do up here."

"Work is all there is." Jon used the tail of his shirt to wipe his nose. "At least Bitty started paying me some a few years back. Papa never gave us a dime. I didn't even have a phone till Bitty sneaked me one. Papa said everybody I need to talk to is on this mountain."

Sara watched him start playing with the vape pen, turning it end-over-end. "When you were on the bench with your mother, did she say anything else to you?"

"Yeah, she gave me the night off. Then told me to get some liquor for the lady in seven. Only, I forgot."

Sara wondered if he'd really forgotten. "Did you drink it yourself?"

Jon's expression told her the truth.

Sara said, "I'm very sorry she's gone. Mercy seemed like a nice person."

His eyes cut toward her. She could tell he wasn't sure whether she was joking. Jon obviously wasn't used to hearing Mercy painted in a positive light.

Sara continued, "I didn't have much time with your mother, but we talked a bit. The one thing that was clear to me is that she loved you very much. She wasn't upset about the argument. I think like all mothers, she just wanted you to be happy."

Jon cleared his throat. "I said some awful things to her."

"It's what kids do." Sara shrugged when he looked up at her. "All of those emotions you were feeling last night are perfectly normal. Mercy understood that. I promise you she didn't blame you for being mad at her. She loved you."

Jon's tears started back in earnest. He started to put the pen to his mouth, then changed his mind. "She didn't want me vaping."

Sara wasn't going to lecture him about quitting right now. "When you're ready, I want you to talk to Will. He has some things he wants to tell you."

Jon wiped his eyes. "He's not mad at me for calling him Trashcan?"

Sara had almost forgotten about the exchange. "Not even the littlest bit. He would be very glad to talk to you."

"Where's my—" his voice caught. "Where's Dave?"

"He's in the hospital." Sara chose her words carefully. She knew that she couldn't tell him the truth right now, but she wasn't going to lie. "Your father is fine, but he was injured when he was taken into custody."

"Good. I hope he's hurting the same way he always hurt her."

Sara heard the bitterness in his tone. His fist had clenched around the vape pen.

Jon said, "A while back, he told me that he'd probably end up dying in prison. He was looking for pity, but I guess he was right, huh? It was gonna happen eventually."

"Let's talk about something else," Sara said, as much for her own sake as for Jon's. "Did you have any questions about what's going to happen with your mother?"

"Papa said we're gonna cremate her but—" His lip started to tremble. He turned his head away, looking into the forest. "What's that like?"

"Cremation?" Sara gave the answer some thought. She never talked down to children, but Jon was in a delicate place. "Your mother is being transported to GBI headquarters now. Once the autopsy is complete, she'll be taken to a crematorium. There's a specially designed chamber that uses heat and evaporation to render the body to ash."

"Like an oven?"

"More like a funeral pyre. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, ma'am. Bitty let me watch Vikings on her iPad." Jon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You don't need to do the autopsy if they already know who did it, right?"

"We still have to. It's part of the procedure. We need to collect evidence to legally establish a manner of death."

He looked startled. "It wasn't because she was stabbed?"

"Ultimately, yes." Sara skipped the explanation on cause vs. manner vs. mechanism of death. "Remember what I said. This is part of a legal procedure. Everything will have to be documented. Evidence will have to be collected and identified. It's a lengthy process. I can walk you through the steps if you like. You're still at the beginning."

"But if my dad would go ahead and confess to murdering her, then you wouldn't have to do any of that?"

Sara felt the guilt start to well back up for hiding Dave's innocence. She still kept strictly to the truth. "Jon, I'm sorry. That's not how it works. An autopsy has to be performed."

"Don't say you're sorry." He was crying in earnest now. "What if I don't want it? I'm her son. Tell them I don't want it."

"Legally, it's still required."

"Are you kidding me?" he yelled. "She's already been stabbed to death and now you're gonna cut her up some more?"

"Jon—"

"How is that fair?" He stood up from the swing. "You said you liked her, but you're just as bad as the rest of them. Hasn't she been hurt enough already?"

Jon didn't wait for an answer. He walked into the cottage and slammed the door.

Sara longed to follow him inside. He had a right to know about Dave. But he was also a sixteen-year-old kid who was angry and hurting. Ultimately, finding the person responsible for killing his mother would give him some sense of peace. For now, Sara could only ensure the bare minimum was being met. He was sheltered. He had food. He had water. He was safe. Everything else was out of her control.

Instead of going back to her cottage, she decided to find the satellite phone in the UTV. Sara had a duty to report Chuck's death to Nadine. That, at least, was one task she could complete. She put Jon's pain to the back of her mind. She called up the details from Chuck's crime scene so her report to Nadine would be succinct. Analyzing the contents of the water jug would be key. Motivation would also play a factor in the prosecution. If Sara's theory was correct, the eye drops would be listed as the cause of death, but the mechanism would be drowning, and the manner would be homicide. Any mitigating factors were for the jury to decide.

She took a deep breath to clear her lungs. Cottage six came into view. A little farther on, she found herself in the compound, passing the other cottages. When Will and Sara had first arrived, Sara had thought of the clearing as idyllic, almost like a painting from a storybook. Now, she felt a heavy weight on her shoulders as she got closer to the main house. Cecil was sitting on the porch. Bitty was beside him. Both of them had angry expressions on their faces. No wonder Jon hadn't wanted to go home.

"Sara?" Keisha was standing in the open doorway of her cottage. Her arms were crossed. "What the hell is going on? You need to get us off this mountain."

Sara walked toward her, trying to swallow back her dread. Drew was a legitimate suspect. Sara had to keep up the lie a little while longer. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I would if I could."

"There's two off-road vehicles over there with four seats each. You could let us borrow one. We could take Monica and Frank. They're ready to go, too."

"That's not my decision to make."

"Well whose decision is it?" Keisha asked. "We're scared of hiking down because of mudslides. God knows what the road is like. We can't call an Uber. There's no internet or phones. You've got us trapped up here."

"You're not technically trapped. You can leave at any time. You're just choosing not to because of valid reasons."

"Goddam, did you always talk like you're married to a cop or am I just noticing?"

Sara took a deep breath. "I'm a medical examiner with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation."

Keisha looked surprised, then impressed. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Sara said. "Can you tell me anything about Mercy's family?"

Keisha's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"This is your third time up here. You and Drew know the McAlpines better than we do. Their response to Mercy's death seems very guarded."

Keisha crossed her arms as she leaned against the doorjamb. "Why should I trust you?"

Sara shrugged. "You don't have to, but I think you cared about Mercy. We need the case against her killer to be airtight. She deserves justice."

"She sure as hell didn't deserve Dave."

Sara swallowed down her guilt. She had been outvoted. What's more, she wasn't an agent. This wasn't her case to solve. "Do you know Dave well?"

"Only well enough to despise him. Reminds me of my lazy piece of shit ex-husband." Keisha's gaze had settled on the main house. Bitty and Cecil were looking at them, but the couple was too far away to hear anything. "The family has always been reserved, but you're right. They're all acting strange. The McAlpines have a lot of secrets up here. I guess they don't want them getting out."

"Secrets about what?"

Keisha narrowed her eyes again. "Being a medical examiner—does that mean you're a cop, too? Because I don't know how it works."

Sara returned to an honest approach. "I can still be a witness to anything you say."

Keisha groaned. "Drew doesn't want me getting involved in this."

"Where is he now?"

"Looking for Fishtopher down at the equipment shed so he can fix our damn toilet. It's been acting up since we got here, and Drew doesn't know the difference between a faucet and his asshole."

"What's it doing?"

"Making a dripping sound."

Sara spotted a way to earn back some of her trust. "My father is a plumber. I used to help him out every summer. Do you want me to take a look?"

Keisha's eyes went to the main house again, then back to Sara. "Drew told me the cops don't have a right to search anything without a warrant."

"He's not completely correct on that," Sara said. "The McAlpines own the property. Ultimately, they're the ones who are responsible for granting permission. And if I see anything laying around your place like a murder weapon, then I'm obviously going to tell Will."

"Obviously." Keisha took a second to think about it, then she let out a loud groan as she threw open the door. "I can't be trapped up here with that dripping noise. Don't mind the mess."

Sara guessed the two drinking glasses and half-eaten pack of crackers on the coffee table were the mess that Keisha was referring to. Cottage three was smaller than ten, but the furnishings were similar. A set of French doors off the living room offered spectacular long-range views. Sara glanced through the open door to the bedroom. The bed was made, unlike what Faith would find at Sara and Will's. There were two suitcases waiting by the front door. The backpacks were overstuffed where they'd been hastily packed. To her great relief, there were no empty bottles of Eads Clear eye drops in the trash can.

"Come on back." Keisha walked through to the bathroom. Two sets of toiletries were lined up by the basin, but still no eye drops. "Have you tried the liquor up here?"

"No." Sara had really wanted to after the last twelve hours, but she said, "Will and I don't drink."

"I'd keep it that way. Monica had a rough night." Keisha lowered her voice, though they were alone. "I saw Mercy talking to the bartender. I'm sure they were trying to cut her off. That shit is dangerous. You get somebody really sick up here, that's a helicopter trip to Atlanta, and insurance doesn't pay if you're the one serving."

Sara guessed that Keisha knew about liability from her catering business. "Did you hear anything last night? A noise or a scream?"

"Not even the damn toilet leaking." Keisha sounded exasperated. "This was supposed to be a romantic escape, but we're at that sexy stage in our marriage where I sleep with a fan on so I don't have to hear Drew's CPAP machine."

Sara laughed, trying to keep things light. "When were you up here last?"

"When the leaves started to come out. I guess that was two and a half months ago, give or take. It's beautiful that time of year. Everything's in bloom. I'm really sad we're not coming back."

"Me, too." Sara couldn't help but do the math. Drew was squarely in the frame for Mercy's pregnancy. "Did you guys ever spend any time with Mercy?"

"Not much this last trip because the place was packed," she said. "Now, during our first stay, we had drinks with Merce after dinner maybe three or four times. She drank seltzer water, but she could be fun once the tension drained away. I know how that feels. When you're in the service industry, people are always pulling at you. All day, you're getting nibbled to death by ducks. Mercy understood how that feels. She let her hair down with us. I was glad we could give that to her."

"I bet she appreciated it," Sara said. "I can't imagine how lonely it must be up here."

"Right?" Keisha said. "All she's got is her brother and that weirdo. Drew calls him Chuckles."

"Did you notice anything between Mercy and Chuck?"

"Same thing that you saw last night," Keisha said. "Chuck was here the first time we came. I guess the second time all the cottages were full, so he slept in the house. Papa was not happy with that, let me tell you. Neither was Mercy, come to think on it. She said something about keeping a chair against her door."

"That's strange."

"It is now, but you know how you joke about those kinds of things."

Sara did know. A lot of women used dark humor as a talisman to downplay fear of sexual assault. "Why doesn't Papa like Chuck?"

"You'd have to ask him, but I doubt there's any one reason," Keisha said. "Being honest, Papa doesn't have a neutral. He either loves you or hates you. No in between. I'd hate to be on the wrong side. He's a hard man."

"Did you ever get a chance to talk to Chuck?"

"What would I talk to him about?"

Sara had felt the same way. "And Christopher?"

"He's sweet, believe it or not," Keisha said. "Once you get past his shyness, he's easy to be around. Not to have a drink with, but as a guide, he knows his shit. That boy loves fishing. He can tell you everything about the water, the fish, the equipment, the science, the ecosystem. He bored me to tears, but Drew loves that stuff. It's good for him to get outside of himself every now and then. That's why I'm so sad this place is ruined for us. I doubt they'll be able to hold on to it without Mercy."

"Can't Christopher run the business?"

"You get a chance to see that equipment shed of his?" She waited for Sara to nod. "Drew calls it the Fish Palace. Everything nice and neat in its proper place, and that's fine, because it makes Fish happy, but you can't run a business like that unless you're the only employee. People are unpredictable. They want to do their own thing. Shit goes crazy on a minute-by-minute basis. You're juggling all these balls, freaking out about making payroll, dealing with customers who pull at you all day long, and then in the middle of it all the van breaks down or the toilet starts leaking. You've gotta roll with that shit or roll on out the door."

Sara was familiar with the pressure. She had owned a pediatric practice in her former life.

"Let me tell you this, one time, Drew went into the shed to put his fishing pole back on the rack, trying to be nice and help out, right? And Fishtopher comes running in there all bent out of shape because he wants to make sure it's put back correctly." She shook her head at the memory. "The only business he can run is fishing in the morning and drinking scotch at night."

Sara remembered Chuck's tattoo. "Is he into scotch?"

"I don't know what they're into, and I don't care. Once we get off this mountain, I'm never looking back."

Sara found it interesting that the question had been about Christopher, but Keisha had thrown Chuck in there, too.

"What about my toilet?" Keisha asked. "You figure out the dripping noise?"

Sara had figured out Keisha knew more than she was letting on. "It's probably the rubber flapper around the flush valve. It can wear out over time and let water seep through. If they don't have a spare, you could move to one of the empty cottages."

"I already told Drew that we should move, but he wouldn't listen to me. Said we were staying right here in the same cottage we're always in. You know how men can be."

"I do." Sara lifted the lid off the tank. Then she felt like she'd been kicked in the throat. She was right about the source of the leak, but wrong about the flapper being worn out.

A jagged piece of metal was keeping the rubber from making a seal. It was attached to a piece of red plastic that was about four inches long and approximately one-quarter of an inch thick.

She had found the broken knife handle.