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longer existed. Phantom pain. The tiny, almost electrical spasms he felt were a signal that the foot was acting up. He took three Advil to get ahead of the pain, then attached a fully charged lithium-ion battery to his new foot and inserted it into its prosthetic socket. Good to go for another thirty hours.
    He puttered around, cleaning the little kitchen, as the phantom ache slowly dissipated. He started a fire in the wood cookstove and primed the pump. The water that issued forth was clear and tasted like nectar. It came from the nearby tarn out on the bog and always had a slight bogweed flavor. It was a flavor he’d grown up with, like the wonderful, tangy bakeapple berries that grew on the bog.
    With coffee and a bagel brought from Halifax—two days old now but still better than anything he could buy locally—he sat on the little deck off the kitchen and stared at the wildflowers dotting the meadow. The birds chattered noisily as the sun grew higher. A whiskey jack landed in the lilac bush a few feet away and begged some crumbs. The bird squawked suddenly and flew away.
    “Sorry.” Sarah walked into the opening in front of the house. “Your friend didn’t like my arrival.”
    She held a walking stick in one hand and had on a green flannel shirt tucked into loose-fitting jeans. Her straw hat was perched at an angle, and she carried a plastic bag in her free hand.
    “Scones,” she said, gesturing with the bag. “I’ll trade you for some coffee.”
    “You’re on.” He stood, suddenly aware that he was only wearing shorts. Sarah looked at his foot, real interest in her eyes.
    “Wow, that’s pretty elaborate, isn’t it?”
    “The original bionic man.” He flexed his titanium heel and headed inside, returning in a moment with a steaming mug.
    They sat side by side on the porch, sipping and nibbling at the scones.
    “I heard about what happened,” she said quietly. “It must have been horrible to find those poor girls. It’s so remote and peaceful here … hard to believe such awful things go on behind the scenes.”
    “I didn’t sleep too well. Kept seeing them, you know, especially the one who was alive for a few moments.” He stared out at the woods. “My boss says I’ve been doing this too long.”
    She touched his knee lightly. “Maybe he’s right, Garrett. If it interferes with your sleep, it might be time to think about doing something else.”
    “I want to sometimes. It’s why I decided to retire. But then I think there aren’t many who have as much experience at this as I do. I’ve dealt with prostitution most of my career. I can stop some of it; maybe help a few of these poor girls. And if I don’t, who will?”
    “What’s going to happen?”
    “It’ll be a pretty big investigation. I’ll have to go to Halifax for some of it. I’m not sure how much yet.” The whiskey jack returned to its perch. Garrett broke off a piece of scone and threw it on the ground, where the bird eyed it suspiciously. “In the meantime, I have other things to do. Thought I’d make a visit to Ecum Secum this morning.”
    “Multi-tasking Mountie, huh?”
    He smiled. “Guess I’m it for law enforcement around here, or will be once the hubbub surrounding the killing of those girls dies down.” He thought fleetingly of Roland and the Ar-teests. One more thing to deal with.
    “Like some company?”
    “I’m … uh … not supposed to take civilians along on an investigation.”
    She tilted her head at him. “I used to do this stuff with my husband, Garrett. I know when to get out of the way. I could be helpful. I know my way around here better than you do. You’re half a decade out of date. Besides, I know some of the troublemakers at Ecum Secum.”
    “Fact is, I knew the scene up there pretty well in my former life,” he said.
    She cocked an eyebrow.
    “It was essentially a commune,” he began, but then was saved by the sound of an ATV growling its way up the lane. The smelly beast roared into