She nodded, a slower motion than usual.
“There's no road I know of, so we might as well go overland.”
“Can you find it?”
“I can find it.”
We spent an hour threading our way through trees and brush, up one ridge and down another, following a track that was clear to Crowe but invisible to me. Then, at an ancient pine, its trunk knotted and worn, we emerged onto a path that even I could recognize.
We came to a high wall, vaguely familiar from my previous visit. Every sense sharpened as we moved along the mossy stone. A jay cawed, shrill and strident, and my skin seemed to tighten on my body. There was something here. I knew it.
Boyd continued to amble and snuffle, oblivious to my tension. I wrapped the leash around my palm, tightened my grasp.
Within yards, the wall made a ninety-degree turn. Crowe rounded the corner and I followed, my grip so tight I felt my nails dig into my palm.
The trees ended three quarters of the distance up the wall. Crowe stopped at the verge of the woods and Boyd and I caught up.
Ahead and to the left I spotted another walled enclosure, the rock face rising in the distance beyond. I had my bearings. We'd approached from the rear of the property; the house lay ahead of us, its back to the escarpment. The wall we'd been skirting surrounded a larger area I hadn't noted on my first visit. The courtyard was within the larger enclosure.
“I'll be damned.” Crowe reached down and released the safety on her gun.
She called out as I had done. Called again.
Eyes and ears alert, we proceeded to the house and climbed the steps. The shutters were still closed, the windows still draped. I was gripped by the same sense of foreboding as on my first visit.
Crowe stepped to the side of the door and gestured with an arm. When Boyd and I had moved behind her, she knocked. Still no answer.
She knocked again, identified herself. Silence.
Crowe raised her eyes and looked around.
“No phone lines. No power lines.”
“Cell phone and generator.”
“Could be. Or the place could be deserted.”
“Do you want to see the courtyard?”
“Not without a warrant I don't.”
“But, Sheriff—”
“No warrant, no entry.” She looked at me, her eyes unblinking. “Let's go. I'll buy you a Dr Pepper.”
At that moment, a light rain began to fall. I listened to drops tick softly on the porch roof, frustration seething in me. She was right. It was nothing but a hunch. But every cell in my being was telling me that something important lay close at hand. Something evil.
“Could I run Boyd around the property, see if he has any thoughts?”
“Keep him outside the walls, I've got no objection. I'll check for vehicular access. If folks are coming here, they must be driving.”
For fifteen minutes Boyd and I crisscrossed the brush to the west of the house, much as I had on my first trip. The dog showed no reaction. Though I was beginning to suspect the squirrel hit had been a fluke, I decided to make one last sweep, skirting the edge of the forest up to its terminus at the second enclosure. This would be virgin territory.
We were twenty feet from the wall when Boyd's head snapped up. His body tensed, and the hair prickled along his back. He rotated his snout, testing the air, then growled in a way I'd heard only once, deep and feral and vicious. Then he lunged, choking and barking as though possessed.
I staggered, barely able to hold him.
“Boyd! Stop!”
Spreading my feet, I grabbed the leash with both hands. The dog continued to pull, muscles straining, forefeet scrabbling inches above the ground.
“What is it, boy?”
We both knew.
I hesitated, heart pounding. Then I unwrapped the leash and let it fall.
Boyd flew to the wall and exploded in a frenzy of barking, approximately six feet south of the back corner. I could see that the mortar was crumbling at that point, and that a dozen stones had tumbled free, leaving a gap between the ground and the wall's foundation.
I ran to the dog, crouched at his shoulder, and inspected the gap. The soil was moist and discolored. Overturning a fallen stone, I saw a dozen tiny brown objects.
Instantly, I knew what Boyd had found.
