smells—hay newly mown, pine tar, and, underlying, the tangy smell of the earth itself, the odor of clay.
And there she was—twelve years old, cocky and swaggering in jeans and flannel shirt, looking tough and rural and able to take care of herself as well as anyone.
She frowned. Jack had come into her life during her twelfth year.
A woman appeared from the gray mist that surrounded the house. The woman walked quickly, purposefully, and as she approached, Stevie could see that her eyes were large, brown, and beguiling, and Stevie remembered the other woman who had also appeared from the mist, and had left her light-headed—that woman had been tall, black haired, large breasted.
This woman carried a book in her hand.
"Who are you?" Stevie said.
The woman did not answer. Her beguiling smile tightened. She still walked quickly, with purpose.
"Stay away from me!" Stevie shouted.
"It's so good you've come here to us," the woman said. She was within arm's reach, and the sad gray mist that surrounded the house had advanced with her so that now the house, the pond, the little dog, the twelve-year-old in jeans and flannel shirt, were gone.
"Stay away!" Stevie shouted.
But the woman walked into her. Through her.
NINE
“Nobody's going to go up there?" said the woman whom some knew as Violet McCartle to the big man standing in the archway between the living room and foyer. "Of course someone's going to go up there. When they inspect a house, they inspect everything."
The big man frowned. "So what you're saying is, I have to go up there, right?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'd rather not do that. I mean, you know what's up there."
"Yes, I do. And I understand your reticence. But you put it there, against my wishes, so you have to bring it down and put it somewhere else."
"Like where?"
"That's not my decision, is it? I must say, however, that it was abominably stupid of you to bring it here in the first place."
"I figured this was the best place," protested the big man. "You wanted it to look like a disappearance."
"We've had this discussion before. I'm simply telling you that I want that thing moved before the week is out, is that clear?"
The big man looked miserable. "Sure. It's clear."
~ * ~
It took Jack Lutz and Ryerson twenty minutes to hike to the area of the hunter's cabin, where Stevie had last been seen. Lutz pointed at the roof, visible above the weeds. "There it is, Mr. Biergarten . It's not locked; at least I don't believe it is. It's possible that the police put some kind of lock on it, I don't know. If they did, then there's no way in." He paused. "I can't go over there. I'm sure you understand."
"I do," Ryerson said.
Lutz looked surprised. "Do you?" He squinted up at Ryerson because the sun was in his eyes. "I've got to get back to the house," he continued. He seemed very agitated. "I'm sorry, Mr. Biergarten . I can't stay here with you. You'll be able to find your way back, won't you?"
Ryerson said, "I'll be all right, Mr. Lutz. I'll be able to find my way."
"Of course you will," Lutz said vaguely. He glanced at the cabin's roof again, then, without another word, started back to his house.
~ * ~
Ryerson found that there was no lock, only a yellow ribbon marked CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER across the cabin's only door. He pushed the door open and stepped under the ribbon, into the cabin. The door swung shut behind him. He reached, pulled it open again, looked for a light switch. There was none. He pulled the door open all the way, so it stood against the front wall.
He noticed the smell, here. The smell of the ocean. Salt air. Fish. And, beneath it, a tangy, earthy smell that he couldn't place. The mixture of smells wasn't cloying or off-putting. It was unusual, out-of-place, and he thought it might not be a part of the atmosphere of the little structure at all. Perhaps it was wafting in from outside, although the ocean was several dozen miles east.
There were no windows here and Ryerson
And there she was—twelve years old, cocky and swaggering in jeans and flannel shirt, looking tough and rural and able to take care of herself as well as anyone.
She frowned. Jack had come into her life during her twelfth year.
A woman appeared from the gray mist that surrounded the house. The woman walked quickly, purposefully, and as she approached, Stevie could see that her eyes were large, brown, and beguiling, and Stevie remembered the other woman who had also appeared from the mist, and had left her light-headed—that woman had been tall, black haired, large breasted.
This woman carried a book in her hand.
"Who are you?" Stevie said.
The woman did not answer. Her beguiling smile tightened. She still walked quickly, with purpose.
"Stay away from me!" Stevie shouted.
"It's so good you've come here to us," the woman said. She was within arm's reach, and the sad gray mist that surrounded the house had advanced with her so that now the house, the pond, the little dog, the twelve-year-old in jeans and flannel shirt, were gone.
"Stay away!" Stevie shouted.
But the woman walked into her. Through her.
NINE
“Nobody's going to go up there?" said the woman whom some knew as Violet McCartle to the big man standing in the archway between the living room and foyer. "Of course someone's going to go up there. When they inspect a house, they inspect everything."
The big man frowned. "So what you're saying is, I have to go up there, right?"
"Precisely."
He sighed. "I'd rather not do that. I mean, you know what's up there."
"Yes, I do. And I understand your reticence. But you put it there, against my wishes, so you have to bring it down and put it somewhere else."
"Like where?"
"That's not my decision, is it? I must say, however, that it was abominably stupid of you to bring it here in the first place."
"I figured this was the best place," protested the big man. "You wanted it to look like a disappearance."
"We've had this discussion before. I'm simply telling you that I want that thing moved before the week is out, is that clear?"
The big man looked miserable. "Sure. It's clear."
~ * ~
It took Jack Lutz and Ryerson twenty minutes to hike to the area of the hunter's cabin, where Stevie had last been seen. Lutz pointed at the roof, visible above the weeds. "There it is, Mr. Biergarten . It's not locked; at least I don't believe it is. It's possible that the police put some kind of lock on it, I don't know. If they did, then there's no way in." He paused. "I can't go over there. I'm sure you understand."
"I do," Ryerson said.
Lutz looked surprised. "Do you?" He squinted up at Ryerson because the sun was in his eyes. "I've got to get back to the house," he continued. He seemed very agitated. "I'm sorry, Mr. Biergarten . I can't stay here with you. You'll be able to find your way back, won't you?"
Ryerson said, "I'll be all right, Mr. Lutz. I'll be able to find my way."
"Of course you will," Lutz said vaguely. He glanced at the cabin's roof again, then, without another word, started back to his house.
~ * ~
Ryerson found that there was no lock, only a yellow ribbon marked CRIME SCENE—DO NOT ENTER across the cabin's only door. He pushed the door open and stepped under the ribbon, into the cabin. The door swung shut behind him. He reached, pulled it open again, looked for a light switch. There was none. He pulled the door open all the way, so it stood against the front wall.
He noticed the smell, here. The smell of the ocean. Salt air. Fish. And, beneath it, a tangy, earthy smell that he couldn't place. The mixture of smells wasn't cloying or off-putting. It was unusual, out-of-place, and he thought it might not be a part of the atmosphere of the little structure at all. Perhaps it was wafting in from outside, although the ocean was several dozen miles east.
There were no windows here and Ryerson
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