Chapter 8

8

Will followed Sara into the dining hall. The lights were off, but someone had left the music playing. He put out his arm to stop her from going toward the kitchen. Dave could be hiding out. He could have another knife.

Will went in first. He hoped that Dave had another knife. Will could take the murdering asshole with one hand. He'd spent nearly ten years at the children's home holding himself back, but they weren't kids anymore. He kicked open the kitchen door. Turned on the overhead lights. He could see clear back to the bathroom and into the office beyond.

Empty.

He scanned the knives hanging on the wall and sticking out of the butcher's block. "Doesn't look like any are missing."

Sara didn't seem to care about identifying the murder weapon. She headed toward the bathroom.

Will asked, "Is there a phone in the office?"

"No." She pulled the first aid kit off the wall. "Wash both of your hands at the sink. You're covered in blood."

Will looked down. He'd forgotten that he'd used his shirt to cover Mercy. His bare chest was coated in red. Crimson lake water had stained his navy cargo pants, leaving darker splotches like a dalmatian. He turned on the kitchen faucet, saying, "We need to call local police, get together a search party. If Dave's on foot, he could be halfway down the mountain by now. We're wasting time."

"We're not doing anything until I stop the bleeding." Sara opened the first aid kit on the kitchen counter. She squirted a liberal amount of dishwashing soap in her hands, then scrubbed at his forearms to get them clean. "Tell me why you're so certain that Dave killed Mercy."

Will hadn't been expecting the question because it seemed obvious that Dave was guilty as hell. "You told me he already tried to strangle Mercy once today."

"But he wasn't at dinner. We didn't see him anywhere in the woods or on the trails." Sara grabbed a dishtowel and started cleaning the blood off his stomach. "Less than two hours ago, Mercy's exact words were, ‘There's hardly a person on this mountain right now who doesn't want to kill me.'"

"You told me she walked that back. Tried to pretend like she was joking."

"And then she was murdered," Sara said. "You're focusing on Dave for the obvious reason, but it could've been someone else."

"Like who?"

"How about the guy who introduced himself as Landry but his partner called him Paul?"

"What does that have to do with Mercy?"

Instead of answering, she told him, "This is going to hurt."

Will clenched his jaw as she poured disinfectant into his open wound.

"The pain will get worse before it gets better," she warned. "How about Chuck? Mercy clearly wanted nothing to do with him. Even after she basically told him to fuck off, he kept staring at her like a stalker."

Will was about to answer when she pinched some gauze around the webbing between his thumb and finger. It felt like she'd lit a match to gunpowder. "Jesus, what is that?"

"QuickClot," she said. "It can cause cutaneous burns, but it'll stop the bleeding. I need to hold pressure for a few minutes. You've got maybe twenty-four hours before it has to come off. Or you can go to the hospital and have the wound properly taken care of."

Will could tell from her clipped tone which choice she wanted him to make. "Sara, you know I can't walk away from this."

"I know."

She kept a steady pressure on the bandage. Neither of them spoke, but they were each thinking their own thoughts. She was probably running through all the ways his hand could get infected or nerves could be damaged or whatever medical thing she was most concerned about. He was thinking about Dave with a singular intensity that took his mind away from the fact that his hand felt like it was exploding from the inside.

"Just another minute." Sara was watching the second hand move around the clock on the wall.

Will watched her to pass the time. She was as sweaty and disheveled as he was. He picked a twig out of her hair. She was barefooted. Mercy's blood in the water had turned Sara's sage-colored cotton dress into a tie-dye version that reminded him of the outfit Mercy's aunt had worn at dinner.

Thinking about the aunt made him think about the rest of Mercy's family. Will had been so focused on tracking down Dave that he hadn't considered what needed to happen first. As of right now, he had no authority in the investigation. At best, he was a witness, at worst, he was just a placeholder until the local sheriff arrived.

It might take a while for the man to reach the lodge. Will would have to do the death notification. Jon would have to be told that his mother had been murdered. The kid would probably want to see her body. Mercy couldn't be left floating in the water, so Will and Sara had managed to carry her into the second cottage. They had barred the door with some of the lumber scattered around the worksite so that an animal couldn't get to her. The coming rain meant the crime scene would be destroyed anyway.

"Cecil's disability presumably takes him off the list." Sara was still going through alternative suspects. "Jon was with me."

"Why was Jon with you?"

"He was still drunk. I think he was trying to run away." Sara kept the bandage on his hand while she opened a pack of gauze. "There was obviously tension between Mercy and her brother. And her mother. God, they were all so awful to her at dinner."

Will knew she was trying to help, but this wasn't a complicated case. "The cabin was set on fire, probably to cover the crime scene. Her jeans were pulled down, probably because she was assaulted. She was dragged to the water, probably so she would drown. Bonus points for washing away any DNA. The attack was frenzied. The killer was angry, uncontrolled, violent. Sometimes, the obvious is obvious for a reason."

"And sometimes, an investigator can develop tunnel vision at the start of a case that ends up leading him in the wrong direction."

"I know you're not questioning my skills."

"I'm always on your side," she said. "But I'm giving you a check on the situation. You understandably hate Dave."

"Tell me how he's not the prime suspect."

Sara didn't have an immediate answer. "Look at us. Look at our clothes. Whoever killed Mercy would've been covered in blood."

"That's why the clock's ticking," Will said. "The crime scene is basically useless. We've got the blade inside Mercy's chest, but we don't know where the broken handle is. I don't want to give Dave a second longer to destroy the evidence, but I'm going to have to wait for the sheriff to get here. He'll have to organize a manhunt and formally start the investigation. I'm not sure how I'd get out of this place anyway. I don't have a legal justification to confiscate a vehicle."

Sara started wrapping his hand with a compression bandage. "We need to find a phone. Or the Wi-Fi password."

"We need more than that. I've got emergency SOS on my phone. All you have to do is find a clear signal. It uses satellites to send a text and location to emergency services and specified contacts."

"Amanda."

"She'll be able to talk her way into the investigation," Will said. The GBI wasn't allowed to take over a case. They had to be asked by the locals or ordered in by the governor. "We're in Dillon County. The sheriff's probably dealt with one murder his entire career. We need arson experts, forensics, a complete autopsy. If the manhunt stretches into tomorrow, we'll have to coordinate with marshal services in case Dave's crossed state lines. The sheriff won't have any of that in his budget. He'll be grateful when Amanda shows up."

"I'll get your phone from the cottage and send out the text." Sara tied off the bandage. "Go ring the bell at the main house. That will bring everyone out."

"Unless it's not Dave," he allowed. "Then we'll know pretty fast if someone else is involved. They'll either be covered in blood, or they won't come out. Or they'll have the broken knife handle hidden somewhere. We'll need to search all the cottages and the main house."

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Exigent circumstances. The killer escaped from the scene. There could be other victims. Are you ready?"

"Wait a second." Sara went back to the bathroom and brought out a white jacket that probably belonged to the chef. "Put this on. I'll bring you something from the cottage to change into."

She helped him into the jacket. It was so tight across the shoulders that Sara struggled with the buttons. The thick material gaped open at the bottom, but there was nothing to be done about it. She knelt down and tied the lace on his boot. Will remembered that she was still barefooted. He took his socks out of his pocket and offered them to her.

"Thank you." Sara's eyes stayed on his as she put them on. "Promise me you'll be careful."

He wasn't worried about himself. It occurred to Will that he was sending his wife to their cottage, the farthest cottage from the main compound, alone at night with a killer on the loose. "Maybe I should come with you."

"No. Go do your job." She pressed her lips to his cheek for a second longer than usual. "The family will probably want to make sure Mercy isn't alone all night. Tell them I'll sit with the body until she can be removed."

Will touched his hand to her face. Her compassion was one of the many reasons why he loved her.

He said, "Let's go."

They split up when the Chow Trail hit the Loop. The clouds had shifted with the coming rain, obscuring the full moon. Will felt all of his senses on alert. It was so dark that Dave could be standing ten feet in front of him and Will would have no idea. He picked up the pace, jogging toward the house, ignoring the tweak in his ankle. The burning pain in his hand got pushed down on the list of things he had to worry about.

Sara was right about considering other possible suspects, but not for the reasons she'd stated. One day, Will was going to be called to testify about this night in front of a jury. He was going to make sure he could honestly say he'd considered other suspects. There were going to be no mistakes in this investigation that a defense attorney could use to pry apart a conviction. Will owed that to Mercy.

He especially owed that to Jon.

The wooden post with the ancient-looking bell on top was a few feet from the main house. Will felt like a lifetime had passed since he'd stood by the porch stairs eating brownies and potato chips. The day flashed before his eyes, but instead of the things he'd thought he'd remember from his honeymoon—Sara's smile, the hike to the lodge, holding her in his arms while she fell asleep in the bathtub—he was remembering all the points of tension that had spoked out from Mercy McAlpine on the day she had been brutally murdered.

Dave had strangled her. Chuck had enraged her. Keisha had pissed her off about the water glasses. Jon had humiliated her in front of a crowd. Cecil had been cruel. Bitty had been frosty. Christopher had been cowardly. The horse-crazy woman had clearly pissed off Mercy when she'd asked for a tour of the pastures. The chef had stayed inside the kitchen when Jon had caused a scene. Maybe the lying app guys were hiding something from Mercy. Maybe the dentist or the IT guy or the bartender or—

Will didn't have time for maybes. He reached for the rope and pulled. The sound the bell made was more like a clang than a ring. He yanked the rope a few more times. The noise was obscene in the silence, but what had happened to Mercy at the lake was the definition of depraved.

He was reaching for the rope again when lights started to come on. First inside the main house. The curtain twitched in one of the windows on the top floor. Will saw Bitty dressed in her robe, scowling as she looked down. Another second-story light came on, this one in the far back corner. There was a popping noise as floodlights sparked on around the perimeter of the compound. Will hadn't noticed the fixtures in the trees during the daytime, but he was grateful for them now because he could see the layout of the entire area.

The windows in two of the cottages were glowing like every lamp had been switched on. He saw Gordon come onto his porch. The man was wearing black bikini briefs and nothing else. Landry/Paul was nowhere to be seen. Two cottages away, Chuck stumbled down the stairs wearing a yellow bathrobe with a rubber duck pattern. He cinched the terry cloth material closed, but not before Will saw that he was naked underneath.

The lights clicked on in another cottage. Will expected to see Keisha and Drew, but Frank opened the door in a white undershirt and boxers. He adjusted his glasses. He looked startled to find Will. He asked, "Is everything okay?"

Will was about to answer when he heard the door to the main house groan open.

"Who's out there?" Cecil McAlpine's chair rolled onto the porch. He was shirtless. Deep scars crisscrossed his chest. They were straight slashes, like he'd lain on pieces of sharp metal. "Bitty? Who rang the bell?"

"I have no idea." Bitty stood behind her husband, face twisted by anxiety as she tightened the sash on her dark red robe. She asked Will, "What the hell is going on?"

Will raised his voice. "I need everyone outside."

"Why?" Cecil demanded. "Who the hell are you to tell us what to do?"

"I'm a special agent with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation," Will announced. "I need everyone outside right now."

"Special agent, huh?" Gordon glanced back into his cottage before he casually walked down the stairs.

Still no Landry.

"I'm sorry." Frank had stayed put on the porch. "Monica's out of it. She had a bit too much to drink and—"

"Bring her out here." Will started walking toward Gordon's cottage. "Where's Paul?"

"In the shower." Gordon didn't correct him on the name. "What are you—"

Will pushed open the door. The cottage was smaller than his and Sara's, but basically the same layout. Will heard the shower turn off. He called, "Paul?"

A voice said, "Yeah?"

Will took that as all the confirmation he needed that the two men had lied about Paul's name. He walked into the bathroom. Paul was reaching for a towel. He glanced at Will, then did a double-take, probably because of the small chef's jacket. His mouth went into a smirk. He asked, "Did you get bored with your vanilla wife?"

Will looked at his watch. 1:06 in the morning. Not the usual time for a shower. He saw Paul's clothes piled onto the floor. He used the toe of his boot to move them apart. No blood. No broken knife handle.

"Is there a reason you're in my bathroom looking like you just left a Taylor Swift concert?" Paul was drying his hair with the towel. Will could see a tattoo on his chest, an ornate flowery design around a looping script. Paul clocked that he'd noticed. He draped the towel over his shoulder, covering the word. "I'm not generally into the strong, silent type, but I could make an exception."

"Get dressed and come outside."

Will's bad feeling about Paul just got worse. He glanced around the bedroom, then the living room on his way out. No bloody clothes. No broken knife handle.

More people had assembled while he was inside the cottage. As Will crossed the compound, he saw Cecil's chair at the top of the main stairs. Christopher was standing beside Chuck, also in a yellow patterned bathrobe, this one with fish. They were all tracking him with their eyes, taking in the dark stains on his cargo pants, the tight-fitting chef's jacket.

No one asked any questions. The only sound came from Frank, who made a tutting noise as he helped Monica sit down on the bottom stair. She was wearing what looked like a black silk slip, and was so drunk that her head kept lolling to the side. Sydney, the horse lady, was with her husband, Max. They were still wearing the matching jeans and T-shirts they'd had on at dinner, but Sydney was in flip-flops instead of her riding boots. Of all the people assembled, the wealthy couple looked the most agitated. Will didn't know if it was guilt or privilege that made them wary of being called out of bed in the middle of the night.

"Are you going to explain yourself?" Gordon was leaning against the bell post, still dressed in only his briefs. Paul was slowly making his way across the compound. He'd put on a pair of boxers and a white T-shirt. The smirk had left his face. He looked like he was worried.

Will turned at the sound of footsteps on the family's front porch. Jon walked down the stairs with none of his earlier bravado. His hair was wet. Another late-night shower, probably to sober up. The kid was dressed in pajamas, no shoes. His face was bloated. His eyes were glassy.

Will asked, "Where's Keisha and Drew?"

"They're in three." Chuck pointed to the cottage that lined up to the corner of the front porch. The windows were closed, curtains drawn. No lights were on.

Will asked Chuck, "Is there a phone inside the house?"

"Yes, in the kitchen."

"Go inside. Call the sheriff. Tell him a GBI agent asked you to report a code one-twenty-two, needs immediate assistance."

Will didn't hang around to explain himself. He jogged toward cottage three. Every step brought him a feeling of dread. Again, he thought about his conversation with Sara in the kitchen. Had Will developed tunnel vision? Was Mercy's attack a random event? The lodge was in the foothills of the Appalachian Trail, which stretched 2,000 miles up the eastern seaboard from Georgia to Maine. At least ten murders had taken place on the trail since they started recording them. Rapes and other crimes were rare, but not uncommon. That Will knew of, at least two serial killers had stalked victims on the trail. The Olympic bomber had spent four years hiding in these woods. It was exactly like Sara had said: scratch a little bit under the surface and all sorts of bad things came out.

Will made his footsteps heavy on the stairs to cottage three. Like the other cabins, there was no lock. He threw open the door so hard that it banged against the wall.

"Jesus Christ!" Keisha screamed. She sat up straight in bed, blindly reaching for her husband. She shoved up her pink eye mask. "Will! What the fuck?"

Drew moaned. He was pinned under the octopus of a sleep apnea mask. The machine was making a loud mechanical sound that competed with a spinning box fan by the bed. He pushed the mask away, asking, "What's wrong?"

"I need you both outside. Now."

Will left, silently running through the count, trying to see who was missing. The group was still assembled by the stairs. Chuck was in the house calling the cops. Sara was hopefully on the trail heading back this way. He asked Christopher, "Where's the kitchen staff?"

He provided, "They go home at night. They're usually off the mountain by eight-thirty."

"Did you see them leave?"

"Why does that matter?"

Will squinted at the parking pad. Three vehicles. "Who drives the—"

"Enough of your questions," Bitty said. "Why didn't you tell us you're a police officer? Your registration form said you're a mechanic. Which one is it?"

Will ignored her, asking Christopher, "Where's Delilah?"

"Up here." She was leaning out of a window on the second floor. "Do I really have to come down?"

"What the hell, man?" Drew strode toward Will with an aggressive look on his face. He and Keisha were dressed in matching blue pajamas. The man's previously friendly face was filled with a simmering anger. "You got no right scaring the shit out of my wife like that."

"Hold up," Keisha said. "Where's Sara? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Will told her. "There's been a—"

"I called the sheriff." Chuck trotted down the stairs. "He said it'd take fifteen or twenty minutes to get up here. I couldn't offer any details. I told him you're a cop and gave him the code and said that he needs to hurry."

"You're a cop?" Drew's anger kicked up several notches. "You told me you work on cars, man. What the fuck is going on?"

Will was about to answer when Delilah walked onto the porch. She asked the only question that should matter right now—

"Where's Mercy?"

Will's eyes found Jon. He was sitting on the stairs a few treads up from Monica. Bitty was standing beside him. She was so small that his shoulder came up to her waist. She kept his head pinned to her hip with a fiercely protective arm. With his curly hair slicked back, Jon looked young and vulnerable, more like a boy than a man. Will wanted to take him aside, to gently explain to him what had happened, to assure him that he would find the monster who had taken his mother away from him.

But how could he tell this child that the monster was probably his own father?

"Please," Delilah said. "Where's Mercy?"

Will swallowed down his emotions. The best thing for Jon right now was for Will to do his job. "There's no easy way to say this."

"Oh, no." Delilah's hand went to her mouth. She had already figured it out. "No-no-no."

"What?" Cecil demanded. "For godsakes, spit it out!"

"Mercy's dead." Will ignored the gasps from the guests. He was watching Jon as he delivered the news. The kid was stuck somewhere between shock and disbelief. Either way, it hadn't hit him yet. Maybe in a few years Jon would remember this moment and wonder why he had felt paralyzed sitting there with his head pressed against his grandmother's side. The recriminations would flood in—he should've demanded answers and screamed and howled over the loss.

For now, all that Will could offer him were details. "I found Mercy down by the water. There are three buildings—"

"The bachelor cottages." Christopher turned toward the lake. "What's that smell? Is there a fire? Was she in a fire?"

"No," Will said. "There was a fire, but the flames burned themselves out."

"Did she drown?" Christopher's tone was hard to decipher. He spoke with an odd air of detachment. "Mercy's a good swimmer. I taught her in the Shallows when she was four years old."

"She didn't drown," Will said. "She sustained multiple injuries."

"Injuries?" Christopher's tone was still flat. "What kind of injuries?"

"Hush," Bitty said. "Let the man speak."

Will debated how much to give away in front of all the guests, but the family had a right to know. "I saw stab wounds. Her death will be ruled a homicide."

"Stabbed …?" Delilah clutched the railing to keep herself upright. "Oh, my Lord. Poor Mercy."

"Homicide?" Chuck repeated. "You mean she was murdered?"

"Yes, you idiot," Cecil answered. "You don't get stabbed multiple times by accident."

"Poor baby." Bitty wasn't talking about Mercy. She pulled Jon closer, pressing her lips to the top of his head. He clutched at her in anguish. His face had disappeared into the material of her robe, but Will could make out his muffled sobs. "You'll be okay, my sweet boy. I'm here."

Will kept addressing his words toward the family: "We secured her body inside one of the cottages. Sara has offered to sit with her until she can be removed."

"This is awful." Keisha had started to cry. "Why would anyone want to hurt Mercy?"

Drew pulled her close, but he still managed to pin Will with a look of unbridled hatred.

Will tuned him out. He was more interested in the family. He'd expected a collective sense of grief, but as he studied each person, he saw nothing even close. Christopher's earlier detachment was still visible on his downturned face. Cecil's expression was one of a man who'd been incredibly inconvenienced. Delilah had her back to Will, so he had no clue what she was thinking. Bitty was understandably focused on Jon, but the woman had shed no tears for her daughter, even as her grandson shook with grief beside her.

The thing that struck Will the most was that none of them had any questions. He had done countless death notifications. Families wanted to know: Who did it? How did it happen? Did she suffer? When could they see her body? Was he sure it was her? Could this be a mistake? Was he absolutely certain? Had he caught the murderer? Why wasn't he out catching the murderer? What was going to happen next? How long would it take? Would they seek the death penalty? When could they bury her body? Why had this happened? For godsakes, why?

"You assholes." Delilah's bedroom slippers thumped on the boards as she slowly walked down the stairs. She was talking to her family. "Which one of you did this?"

Will watched her stop in front of Bitty. The aunt's anger had sparked like lightning. Her lower lip trembled. Tears streamed from her eyes.

"You." She jammed her finger in Bitty's face. "Did you do it? I heard you threaten Mercy before dinner."

Chuck barked a nervous laugh.

Delilah turned on him. "Shut your filthy mouth, you disgusting pervert. We all saw you pawing at Mercy. What was that about? And you, you feckless pantywaist."

Christopher didn't look up, but it was clear he knew Delilah was talking to him.

Delilah said, "Don't think I'm not on to you, Fishtopher."

Cecil said, "Dammit, Dee, stop this bullshit. We all know who did this."

"Don't you dare." Bitty's voice was soft, but it carried weight. "We don't know at all."

"For fucksakes." Delilah's hands were on her hips as she loomed over Bitty. "Why are you always protecting that worthless piece of shit? Didn't you just hear the man? Your daughter has been murdered! Stabbed multiple times! Your own flesh and blood! Don't you care?"

"Like you care?" Bitty demanded. "You've been gone for thirteen years and suddenly you know everything about it?"

"I know about you, you goddam—"

"That's enough." Will had to get them separated before they tore each other apart. "You should each go back to your bedrooms. Guests, please go back to your cottages."

Cecil said, "Who put you in charge?"

"The state of Georgia. I'm standing in until the sheriff arrives." Will addressed the group. "I'm going to need to get statements from all of you."

"Fuck no." Drew turned toward Bitty, saying, "Ma'am, sorry for your loss, but we'll be gone when the sun comes up. You can ship our bags back home. Charge our credit card. Forget about that other business. Do whatever you want up here. We don't care."

"Drew," Will tried. "I need a witness statement, that's all."

"Oh hell no," Drew said. "I don't have to answer your questions. I know my rights. As a matter of fact, you don't say shit to me or my wife from now on, Mr. Police Officer. You think I haven't seen this Dateline before? It's the people who look like us who end up going down for shit they had nothing to do with."

Drew dragged Keisha back toward their cottage before Will could think of a reason to stop them. The door slammed so loudly that it sounded like a shotgun going off.

No one spoke. Will looked down the trail that led to cottage ten. The low lights showed the path was empty. He shouldn't have let Sara go off on her own. This was taking too long.

"Officer?" Max, the wealthy lawyer from Buckhead, waited for Will's attention. "While Syd and I firmly back the blue, we'll also decline to be interviewed."

Will had to stop this. "You're all witnesses. No one has been designated a suspect. I need statements about what happened at dinner, and where everyone was after dinner."

"What do you mean ‘where everyone was'?" This question came from Paul. His eyes shifted toward Gordon. "Are you asking us for alibis?"

Will scrambled to keep them from bolting. "Jon told us someone walks the Loop at eight in the morning and ten at night. Maybe they saw something."

"It was Mercy," Christopher said. "She was on the ten o'clock loop this week. I was on the eight."

Will remembered Jon telling them the details, but he wanted to keep them talking. "What does that look like? Do you knock on doors?"

"No," Christopher said. "People flag us down if they need anything. Or they leave notes on the stairs. There's a rock you place over the paper to keep it from blowing away."

"Look." Monica had temporarily revived. She was pointing at their cottage. "We left a note under a rock on our porch around nine o'clock. It's gone."

Will guessed that was confirmation of life. "Did Mercy bring the thing you asked for?"

"No," Frank glanced at Monica.

Will assumed from the look the request had been for more alcohol. "Did anyone see Mercy after ten o'clock?"

No one answered.

"Did anyone hear any screams or shouts for help?"

Again, he was met with silence.

"I hate to interrupt again," Max said, though he wasn't interrupting anything. "But Syd and I need to get back into town."

Sydney said, "Horses have to be fed and watered."

Will would've expected a better excuse, but there was no point in challenging them. Legally, they couldn't be compelled to talk, let alone stick around.

"Cecil, Bitty." Max turned to the McAlpine family. "We're both so sorry about your daughter. It was a lovely evening spoiled by an unspeakable tragedy. We understand your family needs time to grieve."

Cecil didn't look like he wanted time for anything. "We're still ready to go forward. Now more than ever."

"Sure," Max said, not sounding sure at all.

Sydney added, "We'll hold your family in our thoughts and prayers."

The pair walked off shoulder-to-shoulder. Will wondered what Cecil was ready to go forward with. The Buckhead couple had gotten special treatment from the beginning. The Wi-Fi password was the least of it. Will assumed the $150,000 Mercedes Benz G550 parked between an ancient Chevy and a dirty Subaru meant they'd been allowed to bypass the hike into the lodge.

"Fuck this," Gordon said. "I need a drink."

He headed back toward his cottage. Paul joined him, but not before glancing back at Will. The look sent up a red flag. In the bathroom, Paul had clearly noticed the blood on Will's pants, but hadn't been fazed. Now, he was visibly nervous. Obviously, the news of Mercy's death had changed his demeanor. Figuring out why would have to wait until Will was sure the property was secure.

Six of the cottages were occupied, which left four empty. Dave could be hiding in any of them. Will silently debated the pro of checking them versus the con of giving the family time to regroup. His gut told him to stay put. There was something deeply wrong with how they were behaving. Paul wasn't the only person making him suspicious. Maybe Sara had a point about tunnel vision.

"Excuse me, Will?" Frank and Monica were the only guests remaining. "I don't care that you lied about being a cop. It's lucky that you were here. And Monica and I don't have anything to hide. What do you want to know?"

Will wasn't going to start with Frank and Monica. "Could you both return to your cottage? I need to speak to the family first. There are some private details we need to address."

"Oh, right." Frank helped Monica stand. The woman could barely walk on her own. "Just give a knock when you're ready. We'll do whatever we can to help."

Will saw that none of the McAlpines had moved. No one would look at him. No one had started in on the questions. Except for Delilah, no one had expressed a hint of grief. The air felt heavy with calculations.

"Will?"

Sara had finally joined them. Will was relieved to see that she was safe, but he was also relieved to have some assistance. He jogged toward her so they could have some privacy away from the McAlpines. She had changed into a T-shirt and jeans. She was carrying one of his button-down shirts under her arm.

She handed him his phone, then passed him the shirt. "It took a while to get a signal, but I sent the text and got a confirmation. Everyone's been notified. How's your hand?"

His hand felt like it was caught in a bear trap. "I need you to get the family inside and babysit them while I check the other cottages. Don't let them get their stories straight. The sheriff should be here soon. See if there's a missing knife in the kitchen. If you get a chance, Paul has a tattoo on his chest. I want to know what it says."

"Got it." Sara walked ahead of him toward the house. She addressed the family using her professional tone. "I'm very sorry for your loss. I know this is a traumatic time for all of you. Let's go inside. Maybe I can answer some of your questions."

Bitty was the first to speak. "Are you a cop, too?"

"I'm a doctor and a medical examiner with the Georgia Bureau of Investigation."

"You're a couple of liars is what you are." Bitty seemed even more concerned than Drew that they were both law enforcement. Will watched her grab Jon by the arm and drag him back into the house. Christopher took over pushing Cecil's chair. Chuck quickly followed. Only Delilah hung back. Will needed her to go inside. If Dave was hiding in one of the empty cottages, he could be armed with a knife or a gun. Will didn't want to risk Delilah getting caught in the crossfire. Or being taken hostage.

He placed his shirt on the stairs, then slipped his phone into his pocket. He put his hand to his chest to help with the pain. Delilah was watching him carefully. She hadn't gone inside with the family.

He asked, "Did you have something to tell me?"

She clearly had a lot to say, but she dragged it out, pulling a tissue from her pocket, sniffing, wiping her eyes. He didn't think it was for show. She was truly shaken by Mercy's death. Unless you were Meryl Streep, you couldn't fake that kind of despair.

Finally, she asked, "Did she suffer?"

Will kept his answer neutral, "I got there at the end."

"You're sure—" her voice caught. "You're sure she's gone?"

Will nodded. "Sara pronounced her at the scene."

Delilah dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. "I've stayed away from this godforsaken place for over a decade, and the second I'm back, I'm mired in their bullshit."

He got the feeling she was referring to more than the murder. Will double clicked the button on the side of his iPhone to start his recording app. "What bullshit are you mired in?"

"More than is dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio."

"Let's skip the Shakespeare," Will said. "I'm an investigator. I need facts."

"Here's one," she said. "Every person inside of that house is going to lie to you. I'm the only one who's going to tell you the truth."

In Will's experience, the least honest people were the ones who went out of their way to announce that they were being honest, but he was eager to hear the aunt's version of the truth. "Run it down for me, Delilah. Who has a motive?"

"Who doesn't?" Delilah asked. "Those rich jackasses from Atlanta—they're here to buy the lodge. There has to be a family vote to approve the sale. Twelve million dollars split seven ways. Mercy gets two votes, her own as well as Jon's, because he's still a minor. She told the family in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't let the sale happen."

Will felt some of his calculations start to shift. "When was this?"

"During the family meeting at noon today. I hid in the sitting room to listen because I'm nosey and I love drama. Finally, it pays off." Delilah took another tissue from her pocket to wipe her nose. "Cecil tried to browbeat Mercy into voting to sell, but she turned on him. Turned on all of them, really. Mercy said she wasn't going to let them take the lodge from her. Or Jon. That she would ruin every one of them if it came to that. She told them if she lost this place, she was going to take them all down with her. And she meant it. I could tell from her tone that she meant it."

Will found himself recalculating again. Money motives were at the root of most crimes. Twelve million bucks was a lot of motive. "What did she threaten to do?"

"Expose their secrets."

"Do you know their secrets?"

"If I did, I would tell you all of them. My brother is an abusive asshole, I'll give you that much, but his days of hurting people are over. Physically, at least." Delilah glanced back at the house. "Mercy's threats had more teeth, if you catch what I mean. She said some of them could go to prison. Some of them would never get their reputations back. I wish I could remember more of the details. At my age, I'm lucky I can still find my way home, but those are the two things that stuck."

Will recalled something she'd said earlier. "You told Bitty you overheard her threatening Mercy before dinner."

"She fired her, is what Bitty did." Delilah angrily shook her head. "Then, she told Mercy if she didn't vote to sell the lodge, she'd end up with a knife in her back."

That felt like a remarkable coincidence. But Bitty was small. She couldn't drag Mercy to the lake. At least not without help. "What about Dave?"

"Greedy bastard." Her mouth twisted in disgust. "He was voting to sell, too."

That hadn't been the question Will was asking, but now he wanted to know, "Why does Dave get a vote?"

"Cecil and Bitty legally adopted him twenty-odd years ago, which unfortunately means he's part of the family trust. If you're in the trust, you get a vote."

Will needed another moment to reset, but for personal reasons. Dave hadn't just gotten one family. He'd gotten two. "How did the adoption come about?"

"They found him slinking around the campgrounds like a feral cat. Cecil wanted to hand him over to the sheriff, but Bitty took a shine to him. She's normally a cold fish, but Bitty's got a very unhealthy relationship with that boy. She comes down on Mercy like a ton of bricks, she treats Christopher like a red-headed stepchild. Meanwhile, Dave can do no wrong. I dare say she's the same way with Jon, probably because he's the spitting image of his father. They all act like this is perfectly normal, by the way."

Will didn't question her about the fact that Dave was the equivalent of a half-uncle to his own son. He was uniquely qualified to understand the strange relationships that came out of the foster care system.

Instead, he asked, "What about Christopher? You called him something else."

"Fishtopher. It's a nickname Dave gave him. I was trying to be an asshole because he used to hate the name, but I guess he's gotten used to it. That's how Dave works. He wears you down until you just let him do what he wants to do."

Will tried to steer her away from Dave. "Would Christopher hurt Mercy?"

"Who knows?" she asked. "He's always been reclusive. Not eccentric-reclusive, more like serial-killer-collecting-women's-panties-reclusive. And Chuck—they seem like two peas in a pod, lurking around the woods doing God knows what."

"You said you haven't been here in over a decade. How do you know they lurk around?"

"I spotted them colluding near the woodpile when I drove up to the house this morning. Faces close together, shooting furtive looks. They saw my car and Chuck scampered off like a startled squirrel, while Christopher ducked down as if the tall grass could make him invisible. Something was definitely up." She sniffed again. "Then, after the family meeting, I saw both of them back in that same spot with their heads together again."

Will would need to add the woodpile to his list of areas to search. "Are they in a relationship?"

"You mean are they like the two exhibitionists in cottage five?" She gave a vacant laugh. "Christopher should be so lucky. He's had terrible luck with women. His high school girlfriend got pregnant by another boy. Then that awful business happened with Gabbie."

"Who's Gabbie?"

"Just another girl he lost. It was a long time ago. He never really dated after that. At least not that I know about. Then again, it's not like I've been kept in the loop."

Will felt a drop of water hit his head. The rain was coming, but he stood there in the open waiting for her to speak.

She said, "Listen, Dave is probably your best bet. They all had a reason to want her dead, but Dave used to beat the hell out of Mercy. Broken bones. Bruises. No one ever said or did anything to stop it. Except for me, and a lot of good that did. You can't change people by telling them they're wrong. They have to come to it themselves. And I guess—I guess this means she never will."

Will saw her throat work. Fresh tears welled into her eyes. He asked, "What about you? Did you have a reason to want Mercy dead?"

"Are you asking for a motive?" She let out a heavy sigh. "I was glad Mercy finally had her life on track. I even offered to help her block the sale of the lodge, but Mercy's proud. Was proud. Jesus, she was so young. I don't even know what to say to Jon. He never had a father, and now to lose his mother like this …"

Will tested her honesty. "What are those people inside the house going to tell me when I ask them whether or not you have a motive?"

"Oh, they'll definitely throw me under the bus." Delilah shoved the folded tissue back into her pocket. "They'll say that I wanted revenge because Mercy stole Jon away from me. I raised him from the day he was born until he was three, nearly four, years old. Mercy sued to get permanent custody restored in January 2011. This was a year after the car accident."

Will guessed, "That's how she got the scar on her face?"

Delilah nodded. "I gather it put the fear of God into her. Made her re-examine her life, decide to grow up a bit. I was dubious. Heroin is a hell of a monkey to have on your back. Her sobriety felt tenuous to me. The custody battle was akin to a street fight. Dragged on for half a year. We tore each other apart. I was heartbroken when she won. Told her on the courthouse steps that I hoped she died. She cut me entirely out of Jon's life. I wrote letters, tried to call. Bitty stopped me at every turn, but I'm sure Mercy knew she was doing it. So, that's my motive. If you believe it took me thirteen years to snap."

"Where was Dave in all this?"

"Mercy was with him. Then she wasn't. Then she was. Then she was in the hospital, and it was over. Then she was out of the hospital, and it was back on." Delilah rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Dave never attended any supervised visitations. Too drunk or stoned, I assumed. Or terrified of me. Which he should've been. If that was Dave lying dead at the lake right now, you'd rightly put me at the top of your list."

"What's going to happen to Jon now?"

"I have no idea. He doesn't really know me anymore. I think it's probably best he stays with Cecil and Bitty. They're the lesser of the evils. He's lost his mother. He'll lose his father if there's any justice. Jon needs things to stay as familiar as possible. Maybe one day I can have a relationship with him, but that's what I want. Right now is about what Jon needs."

Will wondered if that was her real answer or the one that she thought made her look good. "Where were you tonight between ten and midnight?"

She arched an eyebrow, but answered, "I read in my room until around nine-thirty or ten. No alibi. I was asleep in bed when the bell started to clang. You get to my age, moisture is a stranger. I've got a bladder like a steel trap."

Will heard a car. The sheriff had finally arrived. The brown car pulled into the parking pad just as Sydney and Max were rolling their suitcases toward the Mercedes. If they noticed the sheriff, they didn't react. They were too busy getting the hell out of here. Will thought it said a lot about the couple that they hadn't offered to give anyone else a ride back into town.

Delilah let out a disgusted groan when the sheriff got out of the car. They both watched him reach back to grab a large umbrella.

Delilah mumbled, "Never fear, Biscuits is here."

"Biscuits?"

"Nickname." She looked up at Will. "Agent whatever-your-name-is, I don't know you from Adam's housecat, but I wouldn't trust that man as far as I can throw him. And I'm pretty damn good at throwing things."

Will felt more rain drops hit the top of his head as he watched the sheriff walk across the compound. The man was probably five-eight, and slightly pudgy underneath his brown sheriff's uniform. The fit wasn't flattering to anyone, but the sheriff looked particularly uncomfortable in the tight pants and stiff collar. He was also in no hurry. He stopped to open his umbrella when the rain started to come down in earnest. Will picked up his folded shirt and jogged up the stairs. He dropped it in a rocking chair. He waited with Delilah under the cover of the porch.

The sheriff slowly climbed the stairs, then stood at the top looking out at the compound while he shook out his umbrella. He leaned it against the house by the front door. He looked up at Will.

"Sheriff." Will had to shout over the shush of rain on the metal roof. "I'm Will Trent with the GBI."

"Douglas Hartshorne." Instead of asking Will for the rundown, he scowled at Delilah. "You show up after thirteen years on the night Mercy gets stabbed to death. What about that?"

Will didn't let Delilah answer. "How do you know she was stabbed?"

His smile had an arrogant quality. "Bitty called me on the road."

"How surprising." Delilah told Will, "They call her Bitty because she's got fools like him wrapped around her bitty finger."

The sheriff ignored her, asking Will, "Where's the body?"

Delilah said, "Down by the bachelor cottages."

"Did I ask you?"

"For godsakes, Biscuits. It's not like you're going to do a thorough investigation."

"Don't call me Biscuits," he shouted. "And if I was you, Delilah, I'd shut the hell up. You're the only one up here with a history of stabbing people."

"It was a goddam fork." Delilah explained to Will, "This was back before Jon was born. Mercy was living in my garage. I caught her trying to steal my car."

The sheriff countered, "So you say."

Will felt his teeth grit as they continued to bicker. This bullshit was burning through time they didn't have. The sheriff seemed more focused on scoring points than the fact that he had a murder on his hands. Will looked at his watch. Even if Amanda woke up to read the emergency text, it would take her a minimum of two hours to drive up from Atlanta.

"Go fuck yourself." Delilah walked down the stairs, oblivious to the pouring rain. "I'm going to go sit with my niece."

"Don't touch anything," the sheriff called.

She raised a middle finger to let him know what she thought about the order.

The sheriff told Will, "Some things don't get better with age."

Will needed this man to focus on what mattered. "Should I call you Sheriff or—"

"Everybody calls me Biscuits."

Will's teeth gritted again. No one in this place went by their actual name.

Still, he ran down the last two hours for the sheriff. "Roughly around midnight tonight, I was at the lake with my wife. We heard three screams. The first was about ten minutes apart from the second two, which were closer together. I ran through the woods and located the area with the three bachelor cottages. The last one was on fire. Mercy was located at the lake shore. Her upper body was in the water, but her feet were on dry land. I discovered that she was stabbed multiple times. Blood loss was severe. We spoke, but her only concern was Jon, her son. I wasn't able to get any information about her attacker. I tried to administer CPR, but the blade of the knife was still inside of her chest. It subsequently pierced my hand. The handle must have broken off during the attack. I was unable to locate it at the scene. There doesn't seem to be any missing knives in the commercial kitchen. We should check the family kitchen and all of the cottages. As soon as the sun comes up, we can begin a grid search. I recommend starting at the main compound and moving in the direction of the crime scene. Do you have any questions?"

"Nah, you covered everything. That was a damn good briefing. Gonna need to run it down one more time for the coroner. The roads are getting dicey. Shouldn't be more than another half hour." Biscuits looked down at Will's bandaged hand. "I was wondering what happened to your paw."

Will wanted to shake some urgency into the man. Mercy was dead. Her son was in the house grieving. "I can take you to see the body."

"She'll still be dead when the rain passes and the sun comes up." Biscuits looked out at the compound again. "Delilah ain't wrong about nothing to investigate. Mercy's got an ex. Dave McAlpine. Long story on how they all got the same name, but them two have been beating on each other since they were teenagers. My baby sister used to see 'em walloping on each other back in high school. What happened this time was, they took it too far and she ended up dead."

Will had to take a slow breath before he responded. It sounded a hell of a lot like the sheriff was blaming Mercy for being a murder victim. "My boss—"

"Wagner? Is that her name?" He didn't wait for confirmation. "She offered to send some of her field agents to take over, but I told her to cool her jets. Dave will show up eventually."

Amanda didn't have a cool setting on her jets. "We should search Mercy's room."

"Who's the ‘we' here, fella?" Biscuits was smiling, but not really. "My county, my case."

Will knew he was right. "I'd like to volunteer to help look for Dave."

"Don't waste your time. I already had my deputy swing by his trailer and all the bars he hangs out at. He ain't around. Probably sleeping it off in a ditch somewhere."

Will pivoted. "He might be hiding in one of the empty cottages. I don't have my weapon, but I can give you backup for the search."

"Don't bother," Biscuits said. "Dave ain't allowed up here after six. Papa banned him from the compound a while back. The only reason he's been up this last month is to work on the bachelor cottages."

Will wondered if the man understood the words coming out of his own mouth. Dave was a murder suspect. He wasn't sticking to a curfew. Will tried another angle, asking, "What kind of vehicle does he drive?"

"He ain't allowed to drive. DUI. I think he's gotta woman brings him up and down the mountain. Dave's real good at talking people into doing things for him."

Will waited for the man to suggest they speak to this woman, or consider other possible places to search, or even the fact that Dave could still drive without a license, but Biscuits seemed content to watch the rain come down.

"Whelp." The man turned back to Will. "I should probably go in and check on Bitty. Been a hard couple of years for the poor little gal."

Will kept his mouth shut and made himself accept the obvious. The sheriff was too close to the family. He was blinded by their same disregard for Mercy's life. He wasn't interested in searching for the main suspect or collecting evidence or even talking to witnesses.

Not that the possible witnesses were going to help. Two of them had already driven away in their Mercedes. Two more had refused to be interviewed. Two were acting suspicious while they walked around in their underwear. Two of the least important ones were eager to help. One was an enigma wrapped up in a duck bathrobe. The victim's immediate family was behaving like a stranger had died. Add to that the fact that part of the murder weapon was missing. Their prime suspect was in the wind. The body had been partially submerged in water. The cabin had been burned to the ground. The rest of the crime scene was at this very moment being washed away.

Maybe Biscuits was right about Dave showing up eventually. The sheriff was clearly relying on a rural jury's belief that cops were the good guys who only arrested people if they were guilty, but Dave wasn't a typical defendant. He would know how to manipulate the jury. He would put on a vigorous defense. Will wasn't going to let a man called Biscuits be the reason Dave got away with murder. Neither was he going to stand around with his thumb up his ass while he waited for the next bad thing to happen.

"Will?" Sara had opened the front door. "Jon left a note on his bed. He ran away."

January 16, 2011

Dear Jon—

It's probably stupid to be writing you a letter I'm not even sure you're ever gonna read, but here I am doing it. People in AA say it's good to put your thoughts down on paper. I started doing that when I was twelve but I stopped cause Dave got ahold of my diary and made fun. I shouldn't of let him take that from me, but people been taking things from me my whole life. I guess what made me start back writing is I want some kind of record in case something bad ever happens to me. What I'm gonna tell you first is this. Today I filed court papers to get you back so I can start being what I should of been from the get-go. Your mama.

Delilah doesn't have a lot of money, but she told me to my face that she would spend every last dime she had just to hold on to you. She's got her reasons and I won't go into them. One day you'll learn the story of my ugly face and understand why she hates me so much. Why everybody does, I guess. And you got it written down right here that I never said it ain't for no reason.

I've pretty much fucked up every day of my eighteen years on this planet except for one, and that's the day I gave birth to you. I'm trying to unfuck my life right now by getting you back. I'm sorry for my cursing. Your grandma Bitty would be on my ass about it, but I'm talking to you like a man cause you're not gonna read this when you're still a boy.

I gave you up. That's the truth. I was going through withdrawal and chained to a hospital bed cause I was under arrest for driving drunk again. Delilah was there and it don't cost me nothing to admit I was glad to see her. The doctor wouldn't give me any pain medication cause I was a junkie. The cop wouldn't loosen the handcuff, that's the kind of asshole he was. It's not like I could run off with a baby coming out of me, but this is the world you were born into.

I guess you could say it's a world I created for myself, and you wouldn't be wrong. That's why I gave you up to Delilah that day. I wasn't thinking about you or how lonely I would be without you. I was thinking about where I was gonna get my drink on or find some pills to hold me over until I could score, and that's the honest truth. When I was a kid, I started drinking to drown away my demons but what I did was create a prison for myself trapped with the demons inside.

But that is over for real now. I been a whole six months without anything and that's a fact. I've stopped partying and I'm even going to night classes to get my GED so when you're in school you can't say nothing about me not finishing as an excuse for you to drop out. Your daddy's been giving me hell for spending all that time studying when I should be taking care of him, but I'm trying to change my life. I'm trying to make things better for you cause you are worth it. He'll see that one day. He just doesn't know you like I do.

I guess this letter seems like I'm being hard on your daddy. I'm not gonna say anything bad about him but one thing. I know in my heart that he's gonna take money from Delilah to turn on me in the custody case. It's just his way because there ain't never enough money or enough love in the world that are ever gonna be enough for him. And I'm pretty sure the rest of my family will turn on me, too, but not for money, just for making things easy on themselves. It's not that they for real hate me. At least I don't think so. It's just that they all tend to go to ground when things are messy, like rabbits burrowing deep into a hole. It's for survival, not out of spite. At least that's what I'm holding on to, cause if I took it personal, I don't think I'd be able to get out of bed every morning.

That's what I'm doing now. Getting out of bed every morning. Showing up at the motel down the mountain to clean rooms. Same thing I've been doing at the lodge for as long as I can remember, but nobody whipping me if I do it too slow. And nobody telling me the roof over my head and food on the table is my only reward for hard work.

The motel don't pay much, but if I manage to keep saving, it'll be enough one day to get us a little apartment to live in. I'm not gonna raise you in your daddy's trailer down the holler where half the world drops by every night to party. You and me are gonna live in town and you're gonna see the world. Or at least more of the world than what I did.

This is the first time in my life I've had cash money in my pocket that belongs to me. I was always having to beg Papa or Bitty for change so I could buy a pack of gum or go to a movie. And then your daddy made me beg. But now I don't have to beg nobody. I just work at the motel and they pay me and that's a honest living. Even your daddy can't take that away. Lord knows he tries. If he knew how much I was really making, I wouldn't have a dime.

Like I told you, I'm not saying your daddy is a bad man, but what I will tell you is that even though he wasn't born into us, he's a McAlpine, sure enough. Maybe even worse, cause he's got different skins he slips in to depending on what he needs to get out of somebody. You'll have to decide for yourself when you're grown up whether that's a problem. You're a McAlpine, too, so who knows? You might end up exactly like all the rest of them.

Baby, if that's what happens, I will still love you. No matter what you do or if Delilah wins and I have to accept that spending two hours with you at the community center every other weekend is all I'm ever gonna get, I will always be there. I don't even care if you end up being the worst McAlpine in the bunch. Even worse than me, a person with blood on her hands. I'm always gonna forgive you, and I'm always gonna stand up for you. I will never be a rabbit hiding in a hole. At least not where you're concerned. The skin you see on me, even the ugly parts, maybe especially the ugly parts, is the same skin through to my heart.

I love you forever,

Mama