“What do you know about Erno Paavola, Cork?” Dross asked.

“That he was dead long before this grave was dug.”

“I mean, any relatives that you’re aware of, someone who might know this place?”

“The PI work I did for him was to track down a niece and a nephew.”

“Where?”

“Cloquet.”

“Why?”

“Erno didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask?”

“He hired me to find them, that was all. He paid me in blueberries. Told me they came from his secret patch, which was guarded by gnomes. You saw them.”

“I wonder who else he might have told,” Daniel said.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you, Marsha,” Cork said, then added, “I don’t envy you. A lot of press coverage already around Olivia Hamilton. Until we know who’s buried here, the media’ll be dogging you every step of the way.”

Another deputy approached from the direction of Paavola’s cabin.

“What is it, Foster?” Dross said.

“New communication from BCA. The Feds are on their way, too. And they don’t want you making any statements to the press before they have a chance to work the scene.”

Daniel eyed Dross, whose face seemed to have grown a decade older in the past half hour. “And so the shitstorm begins,” he said.

CHAPTER 4

Cork and Daniel left before the other agencies descended. They would want to interview him, Cork knew, and Stephen and Daniel, and even little Waaboo. But he would make them come to him. In his time as sheriff of Tamarack County years ago, Cork had worked with every possible iteration of law enforcement. Although things could sometimes progress smoothly, more often, toes were stepped on and jurisdictional issues created a good deal of tension, especially in a high-profile case like the disappearance of Olivia Hamilton.

Since leaving the blueberry patch, Daniel had been particularly quiet.

“Sorry I cut you off back there,” Cork said.

Daniel let a moment pass, then said, “I get it. Wasn’t the time or place to argue about a missing Ojibwe girl. Still…” He shook his head. “It’s not right.”

“Crystal Two Knives is still missing,” Cork said. “There’s still hope.”

“Maybe not. If what Waaboo told us is true, that the girl in the grave looks Ojibwe, it could be Crystal. And even if it’s not, there will still be nobody looking for her. Not like Olivia Hamilton. She’s white and her parents are rich. So, everybody’s looking.”

He was right, Cork knew, and he understood the bitterness that spilled from his full-blood Ojibwe son-in-law.

They reached home and went into the house through the front door, crossing the porch where the paint job Jenny and Rainy had started that morning was still unfinished. Inside, Cork heard voices coming from the kitchen, and he and Daniel headed that way.

The moment Cork stepped into the kitchen, his eyes lit on Annie, who was sitting at the table. He’d been expecting his beloved daughter home sometime before the wedding, though not quite this soon. Although she’d been working in Guatemala for almost seven years, she’s been back several times, usually for Christmas. But her last visit was more than two years ago.

“Hey, kiddo!” he cried. Annie stood, and he took her into his arms and held her a long time. “God, it’s good to see you.”

“Good to be home, Dad.”

He released her, stepped back, and looked at her companion, who, along with Rainy and Jenny, was sitting at the kitchen table. She was about Annie’s age, thirtyish, with long hair black and shiny as a raven’s wing, a broad, calm face, and dark eyes that, as she regarded him, seemed inviting rather than mysterious.

Cork smiled at her. “You must be Maria.”

“Maria Cocum Lopez,” Annie said, casting a sweet smile toward her companion. “Cocum is Mayan for listener. It fits her perfectly.”

“I’m Cork O’Connor,” he said and took Maria’s hand warmly in his. “Annie’s father.”

“I know,” she replied with a Spanish accent. “Annie has told me all about you.”

“And Annie talks about you all the time in her emails. Boozhoo,” he said.

“Miigwech,” she replied, offering an Ojibwe thank-you to his Ojibwe greeting, which impressed Cork. “Annie’s taught me a little,” she explained.

“I’m so happy you’re here. It just adds more joy to the wedding.” As he looked at the others around the table, however, joy wasn’t what Cork saw on their faces. “What’s wrong?”

Rainy said, “We’ve been talking about the grave Waaboo found.”

“Where is Waaboo?” Daniel asked.

“Stephen took him to the lake for a swim,” Jenny said. “It was what Waaboo wanted. You know him and the lake. He’s like an otter. I think he needed to process things and wanted to do it in the water. And Stephen wanted to talk to him about his visions, give him some comfort and guidance. If there’s anybody who understands, it’s Stephen. Or,” she added, “Henry Meloux.”

“Maybe I should go,” Daniel said.

“He’ll be fine with Stephen,” Jenny said. “We’ll talk to him later.”

“I am so sorry for the woman in that grave,” Maria said.

“We’re not entirely certain it is a grave,” Cork said.

“Waaboo saw her spirit,” Daniel said firmly.

“And I am sorry for your little boy, to see such a thing,” Maria said.

“Waaboo is nothing if not resilient,” Jenny said. “Remember, when he was just a baby, I found him under a rock.”

Which was a long story, and true. And after she’d found the child, Jenny had adopted him.

“So Annie has told me,” Maria said. “Scary, but beautiful in the end.”

“Sit,” Rainy said to the two men and lifted a pitcher from the middle of the table. “Some ice water? It’s hot out there.”

Cork and Daniel joined the women, accepting the offer of water and taking the last of the empty chairs.