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his hand over his chin. Cameryn noticed there were whiskers growing where he hadn’t shaved, white stubble that looked like grains of sand. “You keep hinting that there’s something strange about the body,” he began, but Jacobs just shook his head.

    “At this point I think it’s better if you just tell me what you see, without me influencing your expert opinion, Pat. And if you want my advice”—he gave Patrick a hard look—“you should get a look at the remains by yourself .”

    Ignoring the warning, Patrick unzipped the death bag and handed Cameryn a pair of paper booties. “Since we don’t know what we’re dealing with, I’d like you to put on a pair of these, too,” he said, handing a pair of blue booties to the sheriff. “I realize you’ve already been in the room, but if it is indeed a crime scene we want to take as little as possible in and leave even less behind.”

    “You’re the coroner,” Sheriff Jacobs said. Leaning against the wall, he twisted up one foot, then the other, stretching the blue fabric over his boot. Cameryn and her father did the same.

    “Here, you’ll want the camera,” her father said, handing Cameryn the bag. With the booties on, the three of them padded down the hall.

    Somewhere in the distance she could hear muffled voices. It must be Justin interviewing Kyle, she decided. The floor of the hallway was made of wood polished so smooth Cameryn felt herself slip in the booties, but her father grabbed her elbow to steady her.

    They passed a small room that must have been an office. She paused for a moment at the door, curious over the precise order inside. Papers had been left on the desk, but the neat stack was perpendicular to the desk’s edge and the glass top had been polished so that it shimmered as though it were made of water. Spines of books lined a bookshelf, grouped according to height, like slats in a fence. A vase filled with wild blue flax, aspen daisy, and Indian blanket flower had been set next to the telephone.

    “Are you coming, Cammie?” her father called.

    She answered with a nod.

    “He’s in the back bedroom there,” Sheriff Jacobs said, pointing. His eyes shifted to Cameryn’s. “You don’t know what’s in there. You sure about bringing—?”

    “I’m sure,” her father snapped. “Let’s just get on with it.”

    She was grateful for her father’s confidence, but as she walked closer to the door at the end of the hallway her throat tightened until she couldn’t swallow. Her father’s face was grave as he placed his hand on the small of her back, as though he might need to give her a boost inside. She leaned against the hand as he propelled her forward. Was she resisting? Curiosity mixed with fear as the door creaked open, the hinges protesting, it seemed, those who dared to disturb the dead that lay within.

    “All right, then. He’s on the bed, just like I found him,” Jacobs said. “I’ll be dogged if I know what to make of this.”

    Cameryn took a sharp breath, then pushed through the doorway.

    In the corner of the room stood an oak sleigh bed, and in the middle of the bed were the remains of Mr. Oakes. His limbs were at odd angles, like gnarled branches of trees, the legs contracted so tight his knees made steeples beneath the cotton sheet. She could see the tip of his tongue protruding. It was a strange color, a dark gray, extending beyond his lips—a shriveled turtle’s head of a tongue peeking from the edge of his mouth.

    But that wasn’t the horror of it. When her mind finally registered the picture, she wished, in that instant, that she’d listened to Sheriff Jacobs. Because she was looking down at the face that was no longer there. A mask, like that from a horror show, replaced the face she had known.

    Skin, no longer smooth like her teacher had worn in life, had now withered to the bone. Blood seeped down his teeth like painted lashes. But the worst was his eyes. The lids of his eyes had rolled back like