LOGAN STEPPED INTO his boat just as dawn was lightening the eastern sky. The old dog barely looked up when he shoved off from the weedy shoreline and began rowing toward home.
His back ached. His arms ached. His head ached.
And his soul ached even more.
He rowed with his eyes half closed, the little boat seeming to know the much traveled route even without his guidance.
He needed to rest.
He ached to put an end to his weariness.
Head hanging, he kept rowing, each long, torturous pull of the oars endurable only because it took him closer to home.
To sleep.
To blessed unconsciousness.
To freedom from the voices, even if only for a little while.
The dog moved restlessly on his nest of rags, and Logan opened his eyes.
Dawn was on the lake and they were almost home.
He put the last of his energy into the final strokes of the oars, and then the boat nosed into the hidden mud slip and came to a stop.
He secured the boat to a stump, lifted the dog onto the shore, and limped up the hill as sunshine blazed on the tips of the trees.
When he opened the cabin door, the one-winged crow greeted him with a hungry caw, and Logan realized he had failed to bring any food home.
The dog looked up at him with big, brown, expectant eyes, and Logan’s spirits dropped even further.
They had trusted him.
Trusted him as Dr. Darby had trusted him.
And he had failed.
“Sorry,” he muttered, his head hanging as he took off his jacket. Even the energy to talk had been drained from him, and all he could do was repeat the single word. “Sorry.”
He hung the jacket on a nail and lay down on his bed.
The old dog went to his bed and collapsed with a groan.
But the crow jumped from his perch, hopped up a series of boxes to the jacket, and pecked at the pocket.
“Go, crow,” Logan said, and waved an exhausted hand at it.
But the crow was insistent, and as Logan watched, it burrowed its head deep inside the jacket’s pocket and emerged a moment later, a bloody chunk of meat clutched in its beak.
The meat fell to the floor, and the crow jumped to the ground and began pecking at it.
The old dog hauled himself to his wobbly legs and made his way over to the meal.
“Good,” Logan whispered as he watched the two broken creatures rip and tear at the scrap. But then, as the meat slowly disappeared into the animals’ mouths, questions began to drift through the mists in his mind.
He had no memory of scavenging that night.
He hadn’t even been to town.
Then where had he gotten meat?
Didn’t matter. The dog and the crow were fed.
And the fullness in his gut told him he, too, had eaten not long ago, even though he didn’t remember that, either.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, this time uttering the thought out loud.
He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
• • •
RUSTY RUSTON FIXED Adam Mosler with his meanest, most authoritative stare, the one that never failed to work on recalcitrant teenagers. Though Adam was a troublemaker, Rusty didn’t think he was a bad kid, and he was pretty sure the stare would get the truth out of him. The thing was, Adam seemed utterly unfazed by being called to his office, and he certainly hadn’t crumpled under any of his intimidation techniques. So either he was telling the truth about the last time he saw Ellis or he was so jaded by his father, who took the meaning of the word “mean” to a level Rusty could barely even imagine, that the stare truly didn’t bother him at all.
Still, he had to take a final shot at it. “So tell me one more time what Ellis said when he walked away,” he growled, doing his best to make his voice sound as threatening as possible.
Adam’s sigh told Ruston he’d succeeded only in boring the boy, and Mosler’s shrug was actually dismissive. “I’ve already told you a million times.”
“Tell me once more,” Ruston said, “and then you can go.”
Adam rolled his eyes impatiently, but began the recitation one more time. “Ellis was drunk. Said he hated this town, and everybody in it. Said he was leaving and we’d never see him again. Then he left.”
“Left for where?”
“Seemed like he was walking toward town.” Adam hesitated, then: “But I don’t really know — I was busy with Cherie.”
Ruston leaned tiredly back in his chair. This was exactly the same story Cherie Stevens had already told him, except that of course Adam wasn’t mentioning the part where she’d brushed him off. “Okay,” he said. “You can go.”
Adam stood up. “You want to know what I think?” he asked. Ruston shook his head, but Adam went on anyway. “You should talk to those summer kids out at Pinecrest.”
“And why should I do that?” Ruston asked, once again fixing Adam Mosler with the stare. Almost to his own surprise, this time it worked; Mosler actually flushed slightly.
“Well, some of us were having a little fun with them the other night,” he said, some of the bravado fading from his voice. “And they didn’t like it.”
“What do you mean, ‘fun’?”
Mosler spread his hands dismissively. “They were walking through the woods and we made bear sounds and scared them.”
“That’s all?” Ruston asked, his eyes boring into Adam now. “You just made noises? Nothing else? Nothing at all?”
Mosler’s blush deepened. “All right, maybe we tossed a rock or two. But it’s not like we hurt them.”
“But you figure maybe it made them mad enough to jump Ellis Langstrom?”
“Hey, I didn’t say they did anything,” Adam replied. “All’s I said was you should talk to them.”
“I will,” Ruston assured him. “And I’ll also ask them exactly what happened the other night, and you’d better hope their story matches yours.” As Adam started toward the door, Ruston said, “I don’t want to hear any more about you hassling the summer people, Mosler, and you need to hear me good about this. I’m not going to put up with it. Not even once more. I’ll bust you for criminal mischief, and you can spend some time in juvie hall down in Irma. That sound like fun?”
Adam shook his head, but didn’t look too worried.
“Go,” Ruston sighed, waving Mosler out of his office, and wishing he hadn’t heard about Eric Brewster and his friends. The last thing he wanted to do was go out to Pinecrest and scare the summer visitors with a story about a missing kid. But now he had no choice — Ellis was definitely missing, and he had to follow up on Adam’s story. And he had to do it gently, without getting the visitors, the town, or especially the mayor, riled up. He was going to have to muster a whole boatload of tact for this one.
HALF AN HOUR later — at precisely ten o’clock, which would mean he would be interrupting neither breakfast nor lunch — Ruston turned his cruiser up the long Pinecrest driveway, silently rehearsing the questions he wanted to ask Eric Brewster and consciously bringing a pleasant expression to his face.
He walked up to the front door and rang the bell, and no more than fifteen seconds later Merrill answered.
