thought it might confuse her if I told her we were from the FBI and the Museum of Natural History.’’
Diane laughed. ‘‘Did you tell her what it’s about?’’ ‘‘A little. I told her in general terms it’s about a woman who escaped from prison. I told her we located her through the DNA she posted. That’s all. I didn’t want to dwell on the fact that she might have a homicidal maniac in the family tree.
‘‘Turn left here,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘It should be right
over this rise.’’
Diane looked down at the GPS map display. It agreed with the printed map Kingsley was using.
Diane had expected a quaint older home but realized when she made the turn that they were entering a new subdivision of boxy, vaguely Victorian-style houses. They were pretty, but close together. The houses were new enough that the landscaping still contained small, spindly trees, flowers that had not yet bloomed, and grass that was just coming up through straw covering. The house Carley Volker lived in was gray with white trim. They turned in the driveway. Diane put the SUV in park and turned off the ignition.
Carley came out the front door of the house and met them. She was much younger than Diane expected. She looked to be in her early twenties, goldblond hair, blue eyes, and slim. She wore blue jeans and an apricot-colored T-shirt. She grinned broadly.
‘‘Come in. It’s such a pretty day, Mom’s serving tea on the deck.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ said Diane. She reached in her pocket for her ID and showed it to her. ‘‘I’m Diane Fallon, and this is Agent Ross Kingsley.’’
‘‘Hello, Miss Volker,’’ said Kingsley, holding out his identification.
She looked at each and grinned as if indulging them. Clearly Carley was too trusting.
She led them up the steps and through a gate to a deck at the back of the house, where her mother was setting out glasses of iced tea and cookies.
‘‘See that window up there?’’ Carley pointed to a bay window on the second floor. ‘‘That’s my room. It has a great view of the marsh and the intracoastal waterway. We just moved here,’’ she added.
Diane saw that Kingsley was thinking the same thing she was. Carley was giving away too much information about herself. How nice to live in the innocent world she did, but how dangerous.
Diane looked across at the green marsh grasses waving in the breeze and the waterfowl about to make a landing. It was a pretty view, a restful view.
‘‘Hi, I’m Carley’s mother, Ellen Volker. Carley is so excited that someone saw her posting.’’
Ellen Volker was an older image of her daughter, not quite as slim, and her hair was starting to get gray. She seemed just as glad as her daughter to see them.
‘‘Did your daughter explain why we’re here?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Something about a woman who escaped from prison. I’m not quite sure I understood. Please sit down and have some tea and cookies.’’
‘‘Mom makes the best cookies,’’ said Carley, pulling up a chair. ‘‘So. You found me through my DNA profile I posted. Does that mean that this is someone I’m related to? I’m trying to research my family tree. I’m also doing something called deep ancestry. Do you know what that is?’’
Kingsley shook his head. ‘‘I don’t have a clue, but I’m sure Diane does. She’s a forensic anthropologist.’’
‘‘Are you really? That’s so interesting. So you know about finding your earliest ancient ancestors,’’ said Carley.
‘‘I told Carley that just doesn’t seem possible. There would be so many of them,’’ said her mother.
‘‘The deep ancestry project shows you which haplogroup you belong to,’’ said Diane. ‘‘Where your branch of the earliest humans originated and where they migrated to.’’
‘‘Isn’t that exciting, Mother?’’ said Carley.
‘‘I’m sure it is, dear,’’ she said.
Diane could see she still didn’t quite understand what it was her daughter was looking for.
Kingsley pulled a folder from his briefcase and put a picture of Clymene on the table.
‘‘We are trying to find out who this woman is,’’ said Kingsley.
‘‘And she’s related to me?’’ repeated Carley.
‘‘Yes, your DNA profile shows that you are related,’’ said Diane. ‘‘I’m not sure of the exact relationship, but I believe she is your mother’s first cousin. If that’s the case, it would make her your first cousin once removed.’’
‘‘See,’’ said Carley’s mother, ‘‘I just don’t get that removed business.’’
She was interrupted by an older woman rushing up the steps to the deck in an obvious state of irritation.
‘‘Carley, what have you done? I told you not to go looking for relatives,’’ she blurted.
‘‘Gramma,’’ said Carley.
The woman turned to Diane and Kingsley and pointed a shaking finger at them.
‘‘Go home. You aren’t wanted here. Go home now.’’
Chapter 46
The woman who stood with her finger pointing toward Diane and Kingsley was about a seventy-year-old version of Ellen and Carley Volker. Strong genes. Diane noted that she didn’t look so much angry as frightened.
‘‘Mamma, these are our guests,’’ said Ellen. She smiled weakly at Diane and Kingsley.
