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on a second,” she said. “I’m
in my truck.” She rummaged into her pack for paper and pen. “Okay. Give me the
details.”
    Under her contract with the
Department of Agriculture, Sam was obligated to break into houses that had been
abandoned and were in foreclosure. She would clean them up, empty out whatever
possessions the owners had left behind, and maintain the property until it went
up for sale. As her contracting officer gave directions to the house, she heard
children’s voices laughing in the background. Although Delbert hadn’t hesitated
to call her on a holiday, it was a little reassuring that maybe he had
relatives and some kind of a real life. Unfortunately, there went some of the
time she had hoped to use for personal pursuits.
    She repeated what Crow told her.
The property was located somewhere in the unincorporated part of the county.
She would have to look at the map.
    A loud shriek came over the phone
connection and the single word “Grandpa!” and Delbert Crow told Sam he needed
to go but that she could call his office if she had further questions once she
had checked out the property. In the years she had done this work she’d come across
all types of scenarios—hoarder’s dens, ordinary homes neat as a pin, creepy
artifacts, and even a body buried in the yard at one place. Each new job always
brought a moment of trepidation.

 
    * *
*

 
    “I need you to show me where you
and Jessie were this morning,” Beau said to Joe Starkey. He almost regretted
putting the man in the front seat of his cruiser. The flannel hunting shirt
reeked of several days’ sweat. And now, in close quarters, he would bet that at
least a beer or two had been consumed this morning. He lowered his side window
and put the SUV in gear.
    Starkey directed him to a county
road at the north end of Sembramos and he turned east into the foothills. Two
more turns and they were on a two-track dirt lane. About a mile in, Beau could
see where a vehicle had pulled off the crude road and made a hasty turn. The
grasses were shredded and skid marks showed in the dirt. He glanced over at
Joe.
    “We parked right there,” the older
man said. “After they shot Jess, I dragged my boy to the truck and took him
back. Hoped the EMTs in town could help him.”
    “So you were hunting close to
here?” Beau stopped the cruiser. As they got out he scanned the ground for
signs of any other vehicle but saw none.
    Starkey headed into the forest.
    “Hold up,” Beau said. “I need to
be watching for footprints.” Not an expert tracker by any means, nevertheless he
could see where two sets of prints led into the wooded area, and scuffs and
drag marks came back out. At least that seemed to fit Starkey’s version of the
events.
    He stayed side-by-side with the
other man as they walked toward a small clearing ahead. No other tracks had
shown up yet.
    “Here we are,” Joe Starkey said,
pointing to a huge pine tree. “We was leaning up against the back side of it
here.”
    Both men circled the tree. There
against the side of the tree sat a shotgun, propped against the trunk. A second
shotgun lay on the ground, apparently where Joe had flung it when he went
looking for his son.
    “Dang. Good thing we came back.
I’d forgot all about leavin ’ these.” Joe bent to pick
up the guns.
    “Leave them for a minute,” Beau
said. “We’ll take them with us when we go.”
    Joe nodded.
    “So you were sitting here at the
base of this ponderosa. Which direction did the shot come from?”
    Joe positioned himself with his
back to the tree, closed his eyes for a few seconds and pointed over his right
shoulder. “Somewhere over thataway .”
    Beau looked over the two shotguns.
Normally with a hunting accident they would both be bagged and taken back for
tests and prints. But since the medical investigator had said Jessie’s fatal
wound came from a rifle there was no point. He picked up each gun, unloaded it,
stuffed the shells in his pockets, and