She relaxed, back on secure ground. "I'm going to be busy earlier, but how does nine o'clock sound?"
"That'll work." He reached across the table and grabbed her hand, holding it lightly in his. "Cat?" He ran a finger across the angry red scratch that showed up starkly against her white skin.
"No, I was out in the woods."
He sensed her discomfort with physical contact and held her hand a little more tightly. "You've never struck me as the outdoor type. Does this sudden interest have anything to do with the current case?"
"No."
"What about Fiona Portman?"
She pulled her hand away and, to discourage any attempt to renew contact, moved it to her lap under the table. "What do you know about Fiona?"
"That she was a friend of yours who was murdered when you were seventeen. Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Sometime?"
"It's over. It happened years ago."
The longer you were around somebody, the easier that person got to read. Mary was hiding something. "Are you sure it's over?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"Then why were you in the woods?"
She tossed down her napkin and got to her feet. "I have to go to the ladies' room."
Anthony watched her walk away. Blythe had given him a general explanation of Fiona Portman's death, but he had the feeling she'd left out some important details. He and Blythe should have another talk, he decided. After all, getting information was his specialty.
Chapter 14
"I'm going into the woods tonight," Mary announced.
She and Blythe were sitting in the warm kitchen with its terra-cotta color-washed walls, drinking a horrendous green tea her mother claimed would reduce inflammation and speed healing. A CD was playing, something ambient, mysterious, and exotic. In the corner, a small fountain flowed soothingly over layered rocks while a scented candle burned.
Mary knew what her mother was doing-trying to create a relaxing environment to boost her immune system. Earlier she'd tried to talk Mary into visiting one of her friends-a healer who worked with crystals and heated rocks. Mary declined. She wasn't going to discount the benefits of such a strategy, but she felt the subject of such healings had to have a measure of faith and mental participation-something Mary didn't have the patience for. She had too many other things on her mind.
"You're going into the woods when it's dark?" Blythe put down her mug-one she'd made years ago. It was thick and heavy, with a burnt-umber glaze. "Why not wait until daytime? Do you FBI agents always have to do everything in the dark?" She reached across the table and gave Mary's hand a gentle squeeze. "It doesn't make sense, sweetheart. And why do you want to go at all?"
"It's strange that you and Mrs. Portman have never seen anyone coming or going. That means whoever is visiting the site doesn't want to be seen, which makes me think they have to be visiting at night. And yes," she said with a smile. "FBI agents like the dark. We're a gloomy bunch."
"Don't go," Blythe pleaded. "Not where Fiona died."
"I have to."
"It can't be good for you. I don't like to think about you out there, especially by yourself." That thought seemed to make up her mind. "If you're going, I'm going with you."
"It'll be cold and possibly muddy in places," Mary warned, appreciating her mother's offer. Not that she was afraid to go by herself, but the company would be nice.
"Look at these." Blythe held out hands with square, damaged nails and skin that was dry and prematurely wrinkled from years of working with clay. "I play in the mud all day long."
"This will be your first FBI stakeout," Mary joked.
They cleared the table, blew out the candle, went to their rooms, and changed into outdoor clothes and sturdy boots. It was getting dark by the time they convened downstairs.
Mary handed her mother a miniature flashlight and another small device. "It's a thermal scanner. It can detect a temperature change from over a hundred yards away. Push this button-" She demonstrated. "The reading is seventy-one, which is the temperature of the walls. Now point it at me."
"Ninety-eight point six," Blythe said. "That's amazing. Aren't these the things used by parapsychologists?"
Leave it to her mother to ask a question like that. "Yes, but we're looking for living, breathing human beings."
Blythe looked around as if she were missing something. "What about night-vision goggles?"
"Unfortunately, I left those at home."
"I was kidding."
"I actually have a pair," Mary said, laughing. "With the scanner, we won't be able to see what it's picking up. We can only determine the location."
With their flashlights off and stashed in their pockets, they headed out the kitchen door, through the backyard and side gate. The street ended in a cul-de-sac. Where the yellow sign said dead end, they continued down a dirt path people used to cut through a ditch in order to get to the adjoining street. At the bottom of the ditch Mary swung to the left, toward the woods. She plunged ahead, into the darkness.
"No flashlights," Mary whispered as her mother collided with her from behind.
"I can't see a damn thing," Blythe whispered.
Mary pulled out a key chain with a tiny orange squeeze light. Holding it toward the ground, she pressed the soft button. It created a small glow of light around her feet. "Hang on to me."
"I feel like Nancy Drew." Blythe grabbed her arm, and they began moving slowly through the woods, Mary keeping her eyes and ears tuned for anything unusual. Darkness was almost complete when, minutes later, they reached the area where Fiona had died.
"There it is." Mary directed the small glow of light on the cross.
"I can't believe I never knew this was here," Blythe said, peering at it. "Who's taking care of it? And why?"
"That's what I want to know. People leave crosses and flowers where people have died in car wrecks, but the secretive nature of this memorial makes me suspicious."
Mary found a spot beneath the curved branches of some bushes where they could wait and see if anyone made a nighttime appearance.
Blythe switched on the thermal scanner and began monitoring the readings, turning it in different directions. The temperature hovered around fifty-five unless she pointed it at the sky. In that case, it dived below zero.
They soon discovered that fifty-five wasn't too cold for Minnesota mosquitoes. Mary tried not to slap too loudly.
Fifteen minutes into their vigil, Mary heard something moving through the leaves. Blythe trained the heat detector in the direction of the sound, where it registered a temperature above one hundred. Mary's flashlight picked up the glowing eyes of a raccoon or possum.
"People say they've seen coyotes in these woods," Blythe whispered. "Sometimes in the winter I hear them at night. It's so eerie. They sound like people- like tortured souls."
"Mom, we're going to have to be quiet."
"Oh. Sorry."
Mary patted her back. "That's okay," she whispered.
They stuck it out for two hours. By the time Mary checked her watch and announced that Anthony would soon be stopping by, their teeth were chattering and their legs were stiff.
Thinking about Anthony reminded Mary of that afternoon in the pub. Had she read him wrong? Had he been slightly flirtatious? No, she thought, quickly dismissing the idea.
Silently they got to their feet.
Blythe, who continued to keep an eye on the scanner, suddenly pulled in a tight breath and tugged Mary's sleevse. Mary looked down at the readout in her mother's hand. Pointing away from them, in the opposite direction of the cross, it read 98.6.
Human.
They dropped back to the ground and stared at the glowing green numbers. As the person came nearer, their ears began to pick up the sounds of movement- the shushing of leaves, the snagging of thorns on cloth. A beam of light cut through the branches, bouncing off tree trunks and a mist that had moved in.
Mary was aware of her own breathing, of her mother's fingers digging into her arm.