The road dead-ended at Peaslee’s property, running headlong into a wooden gate that bore a resemblance to a colonial-era stockade. Made of heavy logs, sharpened to points at the top, and secured with a chain big and strong enough to haul an eighteen-wheeler out of a ditch. Dual security cameras focused, like the binocular eyes of a carrion bird, on the entrance. Gorman would have a video record of our visit to review when he returned to his fortress of solitude.
The fence continued in either direction from the gate, hiding the portion of the yard immediately behind it, but the house itself sat upon a low rise and was visible above the toothed barrier. The three-story cabin was made of the same orange-stained logs used to build the palisade. It wasn’t difficult for me to imagine Lord Peaslee in his rough-hewn castle, surveying with rage the farm fields of the religious zealots.
Even before we stopped, dogs began to bark from inside the enclosure. To my ears they sounded large and hungry.
“Rottweilers?”
“Rottermans. They’re a Rottweiler/Doberman cross. Gorman breeds them and sells the puppies for a thousand bucks apiece.”
Shadow and the she-wolf would have given the Rottermans a wide berth, needless to say.
“How does Gorman make his money, aside from running a puppy mill?”
“Guys like Peaslee always have some racket going. He and his brother own a snowmobile and ATV dealership in New Sharon. They make most of their money by financing machines to people who can’t afford them and then reselling the high-interest loans. They also run a rent-to-own franchise in Wilton. More recently, the Peaslees opened the first payday-loan business in Franklin County.”
“The way you described him, I didn’t expect the blazer.”
“I guarantee you he was carrying at least three handguns on him and probably had a fourth pointed through the door at you. I don’t know about you, but the sociopaths I’ve met are usually well-dressed.”
Ronette rolled down her window and waved at the security cams.
With the glass down, I listened to the hostile dogs massing on the opposite side of the gate. Even above their barking, I could hear the collisions of their big bodies against the logs as they sought to scramble over the high fence, their claws digging into the wood. I expected any second to see them come slobbering over the palisades, a vicious pack of hellhounds.
“Seen enough?” Ronette asked.
“No. But it’ll have to do for now.”
We had passed the Amish farms and were entering the birch thicket when I put a hand on Ronette’s forearm.
“Pull in here.” I indicated the steep muddy track leading up through the ghost wood to the hidden yurt.
“What else do you need to ask Indigo about?”
“She seemed in a hurry to leave when the topic turned to Shadow.”
“She might just dislike cops.”
Call me crazy, but it seemed Indigo had been expecting us. She met us in her vehicle halfway down the deeply gouged dirt road. The car was a mid-aughts Subaru Baja. The eccentric design—a station wagon with an open truck bed—reminded me of the “Fiji mermaid” that P. T. Barnum had constructed by sewing the top half of a monkey to the back half of a fish.
She exited the idling car as we slowed to a halt. Since we’d last seen her, she’d put on a long woolen pullover I associated with the Peruvian Andes. It was striped in multiple colors, from red to yellow to blue, with a hood she wore over her dreadlocks. Her face was shining with perspiration.
“Headed out?” I asked through the window.
“I was on my way to Farmington. I didn’t expect to see you again.”
To be sociable I stepped from the truck. “I realized I had a couple more questions for you.”
“For me?”
“I didn’t have a chance to tell you before, but I met Zane this morning.”
“What? Where?”
“Up on Alcohol Mary’s mountain. He’s not having the best day, but I’ll leave it to him to tell you about it.”
She tried not to react to this frustrating nondisclosure, but I saw a vein pulse in her temple. “That’s not a question.”
“The animal that killed Little Amos wasn’t a coyote and it wasn’t a dog. It was a wolf.”
She opened her mouth, revealing a stud in her tongue. “You’re shitting me.”
“Mary found it seeking refuge under the shelter where she stacks her firewood. It had an arrow in it.”
“That’s why you asked about crossbows. But I still haven’t heard a question.”
Ronette leaned against the warm hood of her truck, content to listen to the clashing of our lances.
“Zane tells us he saw that wolf on her property a few nights ago. I’d like to hear what he told you about it.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
“That he’d glimpsed an animal in his headlights up on Number Six Mountain. How did you react when he told you about it?”
She danced easily out of my trap. “Who said he did?”
“It seems like the kind of thing he would mention.”
“You can keep trying to outfox me or you can come out with the real question you want to ask. To hell with it. I’ll do it for you. Why didn’t I mention any of this back in Anna’s kitchen?”
I couldn’t help but offer a congratulatory smile on her quickness. “You’ve asked the question. Now, how about answering it?”
“You mentioned a second wolf—which I thought were extinct, by the way. I could see Anna was getting worried because her girls were listening. I decided to leave before I blurted something out that got them even more agitated. What are you accusing me of, exactly? Being polite and discreet?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything.”
“I can tell you I’ve never killed an animal in my life.”
“What about Zane?”
She had a healthy, hearty laugh. “That man makes pacifists look like warmongers. He’s the one responsible for turning me—someone whose favorite food used to be steak tartare—into a vegan. You didn’t notice
