Realizing what she was doing, acknowledging silently that it was not, after all, so easy to forget, Cassie pushed thoughts of the killer firmly from her mind. "Enough," she said out loud.
Max dashed up to her with a stick, and she spent the next fifteen minutes or so throwing it for him. She tired of the game before he did; he was still carrying the stick in his mouth when Cassie started back toward the house.
He dropped it the instant he saw the Jeep parked in the driveway, and his full-throated barks rang out across the field, oddly hollow in the cold, still air. Cassie saw Ben come down the steps from the porch and look in their direction, and caught Max by the collar to keep him by her side.
"Max, heel," she told him firmly. He stopped barking but was growling low in his throat by the time they got within a few feet of the visitor.
"Hi," she greeted Ben.
"Hi." He was eyeing the dog. "Well, he's big enough. Does he bite?"
"I don't know yet, though the shelter said he was gentle as a lamb the whole time they had him." Cassie glanced down at the still-growling dog. "Abandoned by people who apparently just didn't want to move him along with the furniture."
"It happens, sad to say. At least our shelter doesn't put them to sleep."
"That's what they told me." And that the younger Judge Ryan had been partly responsible for the shelter's policy of never euthanizing healthy animals – an interesting insight into his character. "Abby adopted one too, did you know?"
"Matt mentioned it." Ben smiled. "A very large Irish setter who loves to sleep with Abby. Matt wasn't entirely happy about that."
"I'll bet." Cassie wondered if Abby had confided in the sheriff about the prophecy but decided not to ask.
Max's growl got louder.
"You'd better introduce us," Ben said.
Cassie had little experience with dogs, but knew instinctively how it needed to be done. She told Max to sit, keeping one hand on the dog, and gestured for Ben to step closer. When he did, and after only the slightest hesitation, she reached out and took his hand. It was very warm, even on this cold winter day.
"Max, this is Ben," she said steadily. "He's a friend." She guided Ben's hand close enough for the dog to sniff. Max either liked the way this new person smelled or else accepted Cassie's reassuring touch; his tail thumped against the frozen ground and the growling stopped.
Ben petted the dog with a casual yet experienced ease and spoke to him kindly. By the time he straightened, Max was completely relaxed.
"So far so good," Cassie said. She released the collar, and they watched as he went to investigate the tires of the Jeep.
"We'll see how he greets me next time." Ben paused. "Does he sleep with you?"
Cassie decided not to take the question too personally. "He has a bed of his own beside mine. So far, he's stayed in it."
Ben nodded. "I'm glad you got him."
"So am I." It was the truth. She had discovered it was pleasant to have an attentive and undemanding companion who listened when she talked. And it had surprised her how much she had talked to the animal.
"I'm sorry to drop in on you without calling." Ben's voice held that same restless note she had heard when he had called the previous night. "But I was out this way, and – "
Cassie allowed the silence to last only a moment. "It's cold out here. Why don't we go inside? It'll just take a few minutes to warm up the coffee."
"That sounds good. Thanks."
Max left off investigating the Jeep to accompany them, and as usual followed Cassie into the kitchen.
"He sticks close," Ben observed from the doorway.
"So far." She glanced at Ben, reading more tension in his posture, and said, "I was planning to light a fire in the living room fireplace. How are you at getting them started?"
"Fair." He smiled.
"Then you get the job. It always takes me way too much newspaper and kindling."
"I'll see what I can do."
By the time Cassie came into the living room carrying a tray, Ben had the fire going briskly. He had shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and was standing by the fireplace, loosening his tie. Cassie put the tray on the coffee table and sat down at one end of the sofa.
"I think there's a knack to lighting fires," she said, pouring the coffee. "I don't have it. You obviously do. Thanks."
"My pleasure." Ben watched Max carry a rawhide bone in from the kitchen, eye the fire distrustfully for a moment, then collapse on a rug not too far from Cassie.
"We're getting into a routine," she said. "I give him a rawhide bone about this time, and it takes him the rest of the night to demolish it." She held out Ben's cup, and when he came to take it, added, "Have a seat."
He chose the other end of the sofa, and sat half turned so he could look at her. "I hope I'm not disrupting your routine."
"No. I've been sorting through some of Aunt Alex's things, but taking my time." She gestured toward a large box occupying a nearby chair. "That's mostly papers, correspondence and the like. I'll probably go through it tonight. But there's no hurry."
"So you haven't been bothered by anything else?"
Cassie shook her head and sipped her coffee. "No, nothing. I would have called the sheriff and offered to try again, but I imagine he's determined to try all the normal lines of investigation first. He won't look to me until he gets really desperate."
Ben didn't smile. "Do you think he will?"
"If you mean do I think the killing is over – no, I don't."
"Why not? Maybe three satisfied him."
"I don't think so. There's a… need in this one, a hunger. Killing appeases something inside him. The terror of his victims appeases something inside him. But he isn't sated yet. He'll kill again."
"It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop," Ben said. "Mart's investigation hasn't uncovered anything new, or at least not anything helpful. No witnesses have come forward. There are no viable suspects. And the whole town is holding its breath."
Cassie refused to say it for him. She merely waited.
Ben shook his head. "Maybe Mart's willing to wait and depend on traditional police methods, but I'm not. Not when there's another option. Cassie, would you try again? See if you can pick up any new information, something that might help us catch this bastard before he kills again?"
"What would the sheriff say about that?"
"He said plenty," Ben replied with a grimace. "Especially when I said I didn't want to bring you to his office and draw attention with everybody in town so edgy and watchful. He refused to come out here, and didn't want to let me bring something you could touch. But he finally gave in, probably to get me out of his office."
"So you weren't just in the neighborhood, huh?"
He hesitated. "I would have called first, but I wanted to see you before I asked you to try again, make sure you weren't as drained as you were before. To be honest, I drove around for half an hour before I could convince myself I had to ask you."
Cassie could believe that. It explained his disquiet since arriving; he was beginning to understand how much it took out of her, and he was torn between need and the reluctance to cause hurt.
"It's all right, you know," she said. "I did agree to try to help."
He gave her a quick look. "You wanted to stop, Cassie, we both know that."
"And we also both know I don't have a choice. Not if I stay here." She paused. "And I'm staying here. So let's see whatever it is you've brought for me to touch."
Ben set his cup on the coffee table and went to get his jacket from a chair near the fireplace. When he came back to the sofa, he was holding a small plastic bag labeled evidence. Inside the bag was a scrap of drab-colored cloth.
"Matt said this might tell you something."
Cassie put her cup on the coffee table and then took the bag from him and opened it. She braced herself mentally, closed her eyes, then held the scrap of cloth between her fingers.