A Hummingbird Dance by Garry Ryan

side of the wall up to where one round had shattered a roof tile at the south peak of one gable. Lane counted five bullet holes.
    â€œDidn’t hit any windows.” Harper looked at Blake before looking back at Lane with his best “I don’t buy it” look.
    â€œThat’s why I didn’t notice it last night,” Blake said.
    Lane walked north to the stacked round bails about twenty metres from the north end of the house.
    â€œThere’s a guy who cuts the hay for us. He takes a percentage for his cattle. Duds liked to feed it to his horse.” Blake followed along behind Lane.
    Harper followed Blake.
    Lane turned and studied the ground.
    Blake said, “What you lookin’ for?” “Whatever is here.” Lane said the words without looking back at Blake.
    â€œDoes Rosco do this often?” Lane looked at the ground while listening intently to Blake’s tone of voice.
He’s not so cocky all of a sudden
, Lane thought.
What’s caused the change in behaviour?
    â€œWhat? What are you talkin’ about?” Blake asked.
    â€œDoes Rosco often disappear for a day or two?” Harper asked.
    â€œYou never can tell about a dog.” Blake delivered the reply like a joke.
    â€œDogs get hungry.” Lane stopped, looked back at the house to get his bearings. He looked at the stack of bails. One sat on its end while the others lay on their sides stacked end to end, making one long cylinder. He spotted a glint of something on the upright bail. He walked to the stack. The hay crop whispered against his pant legs as he moved. The ground was uneven and soft underfoot.
    â€œWhat do you see?” Blake’s voice was pitched higher.
    Harper and Blake followed until they stood next to Lane by the bail. Lane reached over and pointed at a dime-sized piece of glass at the top of the bail. He showed it to Harper.
    Harper looked at Blake. “Do you do any target shooting?”
    â€œNever.” Blake shook his head emphatically.
    â€œThe forensic team will be here soon. We’ll wait for them.” Lane looked down and found a shard of glass about a metre from the bail.
    â€œYou know who did this, don’t you?” Blake asked.
    â€œNope,” Harper said.
    â€œIt’s obvious. Eva Starchild’s been behind this from the beginning.” Blake folded his arms, then leaned defiantly against a bail.
    Harper drove into Eva’s back yard. There was one car parked near the garage.
    Lane looked at the fire pit where the rocks for the sweat lodge were heated. The air above the pit wasn’t wavering from the heat.
    â€œThink she heard us comin’?” Harper smiled before calling in their location.
    To Lane’s ears, the Chev’s doors sounded unnaturally loud when they closed.
    Their feet crunched on the sand and gravel driveway.
    The first rap of Harper’s knuckles made the back door shudder. He looked over his shoulder at Lane, then tapped with a polite tattoo.
    Eva opened the door, smiled then nodded at Lane as if to say, “I’ve been expecting you.”
    â€œCan we talk with you?” Lane asked.
    â€œCome.” Eva was wearing a blue nightgown and a white hand-knit sweater. She turned, then walked up the stairs and into the kitchen.
    Lane stepped inside and looked at the landing. Pairs of shoes lay scattered there. He looked at Eva’s feet. She wore slippers.
    Lane bent to untie his shoes. He turned to Harper who looked at Lane, uncertain what to do next. They looked up the stairs. Eva was watching.
    Harper took his shoes off.
    Eva smiled. “Just cleaned the floor yesterday.”
    Lane looked at the green linoleum. It shone despite the patches where traffic had worn it down to the black. He stepped inside the kitchen and noticed the pot ofcoffee on the stove. There was the scent of something else too.
Baking in the oven
, Lane thought.
    â€œCoffee?” Eva asked.
    â€œSure,” Lane