“And?”
“My father accused me of lying and beat me until I couldn’t stand.”
“A five-year-old kid?”
“It wasn’t the first time. He drank a lot. My mother died when I was born. My father let me go to foster care because he didn’t want to take care of me. But when I was four, he took me back. I didn’t know until later that the only reason he kept me around was for the welfare checks. I usually tried to stay out of his way, but I didn’t know how to help Brandy.” She shrugged. “I should have worked it out for myself. But at least when I went to my father and he beat me, I learned what not to say. The next day I went to see Brandy’s owners, the Andersons, and told them their dog was sick. I said I’d seen him throw up a couple times, and he was crying when he did it. They were nice people who liked Brandy and didn’t want to take a chance even if a little kid wasn’t exactly a credible witness. They took him to the vet. It was a tumor, but they got it in time.” She wrinkled her nose. “But the Andersons were grateful and went to my father and told him what a fine, observant little girl he had. He agreed, thanked them, and then when they left, he beat me again for talking to the neighbors. I wasn’t supposed to ever talk to anyone outside the house. He wasn’t stupid. He knew DEFACS relied on interviews with neighbors to make their quarterly reports. After that, I usually did what he wanted, but I was pretty lonely. Until I realized I didn’t have to rely on my father or other people to talk to me. It was much better then.” She smiled. “Of course, most people would say that it was isolation and mistreatment that led to hallucinations. You’re a practical, reasonable man; isn’t that what your first reaction would be?”
He nodded. “Damn right. Unless you can prove first reactions are false. So this so-called gift isn’t inherited?”
She shrugged. “As I said, my mother died when I was born, so I have no idea what she could or could not do. The only thing I’m sure about is that I heard she managed to put up with my father for ten years, so she must have been a saint … or a fool. I only made it until I was a little over eight before I ran away from home.”
“Didn’t they catch you and bring you back home? That’s pretty young.”
She shook her head. “I knew how to take care of myself, and I was ready. I didn’t go near anyone who might turn me back over to him. I was used to the woods by that time, and I lived off the land. Later, I made friends who were willing to take me in and help me get an education. There are good people in the world, and some of them don’t believe you have to go by every rule. You just have to find them.” She paused. “The people on Summer Island are like that. So is Jane. So are you, Joe.”
“I believe in rules.”
“Except where it concerns your family. Then the rules are thrown out the window. Caleb is like that, too. But he’s one of the wild ones who don’t have exceptions, so I can’t really include him in the mix.”
“By all means, let’s not include Caleb,” Joe said dryly. He was silent a moment. “You’re not exactly reserved about your background. I admit I didn’t expect such openness since—”
“I’m traveling with false documents and might be a criminal,” she finished for him. “But that’s another story. I told you what I could. I thought it would help you to trust me a little. Not a lot. But we all take what we can get.” She raised her head and listened. “The grave is over the next hill.”
“Yes. That was easy. No voices but a disturbance in the birds?”
“That’s right.” She nodded. “Caleb told me that you were a SEAL. You’d know the basics.” They had come over the hill, and she saw the yellow tape cordoning off the area. There was a uniformed policeman standing by a pine tree, and he lifted his hand in greeting at Joe when he saw him.
Margaret’s gaze was drawn to the area in the center of the taped enclosure. She felt a wave of sadness. “Poor man. Death comes so swiftly sometimes. How did he die?”
“His throat was cut. Do you want to get closer?”
“No, this is fine. What do you want from me?”
“Anything you can give me. We need to know where Dukes was killed on the property and if there’s any evidence to be found there. There’s a possibility that Dukes might have been trailing Doane when he stole a truck from the Hallet farm several miles from here. We can’t find the farmer or Doane’s vehicle.” He added grimly. “I have search teams all over the property, but there are too many damn acres, and I need to know something now.”
“It’s not going to be that fast,” she said absently. “You’re asking too much. I have to find a carrier with a reason to be concerned.” She dropped down on the ground and crossed her legs tailor fashion. “You’re right; the birds are disturbed. Some of them left when the grave was being dug. Some when you excavated the body. There are only a few left who were here originally, and I don’t sense any who witnessed anything disturbing.” She saw Joe’s skeptical look, and said, “Yes, if they saw Dukes’s throat being cut, they would be particularly disturbed. Death disturbs all creatures. Even if they don’t understand it or empathize with it, there’s a sense of loss.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He hesitated, then fell to his knees beside her. “What’s next?”
“I cast around for an animal I can work with who has been disturbed enough to linger or come back to the grave.” She was gazing down the hill at the grave. “It may take a while.”
He was silent for a few minutes, his gaze on her intent face. “How long?”
He could see the effort she had to use to jerk her attention back to him. “You don’t have to stay. It’s hard for you to believe it’s worthwhile, that I’m worthwhile. I’ll come back to the cottage if I have anything to report.”
The words surprised him with their simple maturity. She gave the impression of cheerful high energy and youthful vigor, but he was beginning to see layers beneath that façade that intrigued him. “I’ll stay. God knows I don’t have anything else to do right now until Venable—” He broke off as his phone signaled an incoming call. “That may be Jane. I told her to call me if Venable showed—Shit!” He was gazing at the ID. “Eve!” He punched the button.
Nothing.
A dial tone.
He was dialing Venable as he jumped to his feet. “I just got a signal that could be a missed call from Eve. It didn’t even ring. What the hell is happening? Did you get a trace on her?”
“They’re working on it,” Venable said. “The call was cut off before it made a connection. But they may have the tower.”
“May?” Joe repeated savagely. “Who the hell knows what Eve risked to make that call. And your tech guys can’t trace it?”
“They’re trying, Joe. If anyone can do it, they can. I’m almost at the cottage. I’ll see you within an hour.” Venable hung up.
Joe whirled and started down the hill toward the path to the cottage.
“Joe.” Margaret called out quietly from behind him, “I know that this seems unimportant at the moment, but I think I’ve found what you were looking for.”
She was right. When he’d gotten the call from Eve, he’d forgotten that Margaret existed, much less for what he’d asked her to search. He looked impatiently over his shoulder. “What, already? You said that it would take—”
“It’s a feral cat. I got lucky.”
“And that means?”
“Cats are clever, and they stalk prey. Feral cats are always looking for food, and this one scavenges the neighboring farms as well as your woods for his next meal. The wife of the farmer who Doane stole a truck from often fed the feral cats on the property.”
“So?”
“The cat was familiar with the farmer as well as his wife. There was often grain in the bed of the farmer’s truck, which he went after when he couldn’t find any other prey.”
“What does that have to do with Dukes’s death?”
“Dukes watched Doane get rid of his blue car and the farmer’s body. But Dukes mustn’t have been too good at his job because Doane turned stalker and went after him. He cut his throat, then took the body away to bury it. Probably because he didn’t want anyone to discover his car or the farmer before he took Eve.”