At first they took Bill for the boss, but Peggy soon set them straight.
Shouldering the tools they had brought, they followed in an obedient procession, with Karen and Bill bringing up the rear.
"You've been here before, Bill, I gather," she said, as they entered the woodland path.
"Once. I hope this experience won't be as unpleasant as the last."
"What do you mean?"
He glanced at her over his shoulder, holding back a branch that barred the way. "It was raining and foggy and very still. My five-year-old nephew would describe the ambience as 'creepy,' I suppose. I found a shed snake-skin while I was cutting away the vines, and that didn't cheer me up much. Copperhead."
"Oh." The sound of the brook grew louder. The hour was still early; sunlight slanted through the branches at an oblique angle. It had been midday or later when she and Peggy heard the cry. If it happened again, at a different time of day, in the presence of so many witnesses, she would know the phenomenon was not paranormal. Scotty, Bucky and Jimmy Joe didn't strike her as nervous or overly imaginative.
All the same she didn't offer to wield clippers or shears. Nothing had happened the last time until she got close to the ruin. If there was a danger zone around the structure, like an invisible fence, let one of the others set off the alarm.
She noticed that Peggy stayed some distance away too. Under her direction the others, including Bill, began cutting away the tangled vines. After a while Karen got nerve enough to edge closer and drag the mounting piles of brush out of the way of the workers. So far so good, she thought. The cheerful unconcern of the young men, their brisk movements and good-natured gibes at one another and at Bill—especially at Bill, the city slicker, the old guy—transformed the once uncanny spot into just another clearing in the woods. A woman who came here wailing for her demon lover would get short shrift.
Not only vines but coarse weeds and saplings had rooted themselves among the stones. Peggy moved in closer as the shape of the structure began to emerge from the greenery that had veiled it. "Be careful. Clip as close to the surface as you can, but don't try to pull any plant out by the roots. They're intertwined through the crevices like a net; you could dislodge one of the stones."
"Sure hate to have one of them suckers fall on me," Jimmy Joe—or possibly Bucky—agreed. "Wonder how come they cut 'em that big? Never seen anything like it around here."
By the time Peggy decreed a break for lunch they had cleared only two of the remaining parts of the four walls, but the shape of the structure was now plain. It had been approximately eight feet square; the height could only be estimated, since neither of the cleared walls had survived intact. No traces of window apertures were visible, but an opening on one side must have been a door; rusted spots on the stone indicated the presence of hinges, though these, and the door itself, were missing. Nothing of the interior could be seen. It was filled with rubble and with a luxuriant growth of plants, including two good-sized trees.
Back at the house, the boys piled into their truck, promising to return in an hour, and went in search of sustenance. "It had better be a drive-in," Peggy announced, gesturing the others toward her car. "We aren't dressed for anything fancier."
Karen had to agree. Bill was the most disheveled; he had worked as hard as any of the boys. Their jokes must have gotten to him. His wrinkled, sweat-soaked shirt stuck to his skin, his hair stood on end, and his face was flushed. If the M.L. A. could only see him now, Karen thought. He saw her looking at him, and read her mind; acknowledging her amusement with a wry smile, he got meekly into the back seat of Peggy's car.
Cameron had not yet returned when they got back. "Looks as if he's made the deal," Peggy said. "He'd be here working his little heart out if he hadn't found a buyer."
"Unless his mother ..." Karen stopped herself. She was getting to be as bad as Peggy, gossiping and guessing about things that were none of her business. Poor Mrs. Hayes was none of Bill Meyer's business either.
"The boys are late," Peggy said critically.
"Here they come. Shall I bring the cooler?"
He had suggested they buy it and stock it with ice and soft drinks, an idea Peggy had approved. The truck arrived and the boys emerged; one of them—Karen had given up hope of telling them apart by now— hastened to take it from him. If Bill's face hadn't been so flushed with heat it would have reddened with indignation, but he did not protest.
The temperature grew uncomfortably hot as the afternoon went on.
Towering white clouds piled up and passed overhead, making the sunlight flicker like a faulty light bulb. "I hope to hell it's not going to rain," Peggy muttered. "One more day, God, just give me one more day."
Bill mopped his streaming brow with his sleeve and managed to laugh. "Sounds like a spiritual, Peggy. You can't do this job in two days."
"This isn't a proper dig, Bill. I just want to get a general idea of what's here." She had to raise her voice to be heard over the roar of the chain saw. "If we find anything that justifies excavation . . . well, we'll face that if we come to it."
One of the trees toppled, crashing to earth, and she let out a cry. "Dammit, boys, I told you to watch out. You could bring
