“Uh-huh,” her son said with a nod.

“And you will come, too,” Meloux told her.

“I won’t let him out of my sight,” she replied.

“There’s something else,” Annie said. Her headache had subsided, but she still felt queasy, not just from her illness but from something she’d realized now that she’d heard everything.

“What is it?” Cork asked.

“I saw someone today, watching us.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. He looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place him. I saw him twice. The first time was at the Four Seasons. I had the feeling he might have been listening to our conversation. And then I saw him again when—” She paused and considered how to phrase the next part. “I saw him again when I was feeling faint and Maria sat me down on the bench in front of the Ben Franklin store.”

“What was he doing?” Cork asked.

Staring while I felt like my head was exploding, she could have said. Instead, she said, “Just sort of lurking.”

“Familiar?” Monte Bonhomme said. “But you couldn’t quite place him?”

“Maybe I knew him from high school or something,” Annie said. “I’ve been gone a long time.”

“Or maybe not,” Cork said. “I think we all need to be careful. Like Waaboo said, they still have murder in their hearts.”

“Come on, Little Rabbit,” Jenny said, rising and taking Waaboo’s hand. “The sooner we’re on Crow Point, the safer I’ll feel.”

CHAPTER 17

Cork knocked on the door of the converted garage in Dahlbert. No one answered. He checked the windows, but all the curtains inside were drawn. He went to the house and knocked on the front door. A few moments later, the landlady from hell opened up. She was in her flowered housecoat. In the hand she hadn’t used to turn the doorknob, she’d wedged a lit cigarette between her index and middle fingers. In that same hand was a can of PBR nestled inside a beer cozy.

“You again? Where’s my key?” she snapped.

“That’s about to be the least of your worries,” Cork said. “Does the name Olivia Hamilton mean anything to you?”

“Yeah. Rich girl’s gone missing. All over the news. What of it?”

“She’s not missing anymore. We found her body.”

“So?”

“Your renter back there owns the cabin where we found her. I need to search the place you’re renting to him.”

Cork was aware that he was choosing his words as if he were still with law enforcement. He was hoping that the fact he’d accompanied a sheriff on his first visit would lend credence to his charade.

The woman swore under her breath, then said, “I don’t know nothing about him. He pays his rent, that’s all that’s important to me.”

“Do you have another key?”

Through pursed lips, she let out air like a punctured tire, turned, and walked away. She left the door open, and Cork could hear the television, another baseball game being broadcast. It sounded like the Twins again, and when he heard the score, it was clear that they were getting shellacked.

She came back, beer cozy and cigarette in one hand, key in the other. “That’s the only one I got. I need it back.”

“When I’m finished, I’ll make sure to return it.” Then he added, for reasons not quite clear to himself, “Scout’s honor.”

On his arrival, he’d seen that the Jeep Wrangler was gone. When he opened the door to the converted garage, he found the place deserted, as he’d suspected it would be, but still a cluttered pigsty.

He’d brought a pair of leather gloves, which he put on. Carefully, he made his way around the studio apartment, then checked the bathroom. The only thing that jumped out at him was the fact that there was still a suitcase in the little closet. This suggested that Paavola hadn’t packed before he left. Which meant to Cork one of two things: either Paavola was coming back or he’d left in such haste that he hadn’t bothered to pack his things. Cork didn’t think Paavola was coming back. So the question was this: Had Paavola fled because of the earlier visit Cork and Dross had made, or was he running from someone else?

When he rang the bell, Irene Boyle opened her front door almost immediately. Her face was flushed, her brow sweaty, and she seemed out of breath. “Sorry,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of my workout.”

She wore black spandex leggings, a pink tank top, and pink Reeboks.

“You were here before, with Sheriff Dross. You’re…” She thought for a moment. “O’Connor.”

“That’s right.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. O’Connor?”

“I’d like to talk to your brother, but I can’t find him.”

“Did you check in Dahlbert? That’s the last address I had for him.”

“He was there, but I don’t think he is anymore. Has he been in touch?”

“I haven’t heard from him in weeks. But that’s not unusual.”

“Is there anywhere else he might have gone? A friend or friends he might be staying with?”

She squinted a few moments, thinking, then shook her head. “I can’t think of any. Matt’s always been a loner.”

“My guess is that you’ll be getting a visit very soon from the BCA and/or the FBI, Ms. Boyle.”

“About the girl buried in the blueberry patch?”

“No, about Olivia Hamilton. Her body was found in a room beneath your uncle’s cabin.”

“Oh, lord.” Her mouth went wide, a great circle of shock. Then she said again, “Oh, lord.” She looked at Cork as if a new understanding had just come to her. “You think my brother might have had something to do with that?”

“It’s certainly a possibility. And the agents who come here will be considering the possibility that you might be involved as well.”

“Me?” Her shock appeared to turn to horror. “But I haven’t been to that cabin in years.”

“You own the land and the cabin. It’s a natural connection to be pursued.”

“Oh, God.” She looked down at the rich design of her Persian rug. “Damn you, Matt.”

“You both knew about the room under the cabin?”