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internal catharsis of saying good-bye; it was done. I’d spend the day in my room at the Francher house and leave at sunset tomorrow, taking the train back to Chicago and Bobbi. All I wanted was to be with her , and I was sure Maureen would understand.
    We pulled in through the estate gates; Barrett didn’t bother to shut them. Perhaps he wasn’t as reclusive as Emily.
    He followed the drive up to a point, then veered off, the Studie’s wheels churning uncertainly over the snow-caked lawn toward the site of the old house’s excavation. What the hell?
    He cut the motor, shrugging a little in response to my look. “I’ll explain. If you would come with me . . . ?”
    The deepest night is like daylight to us, but he dug a flashlight from the trunk. Skirting the big piles of raw earth and mud-smeared trash, we moved closer to the pit, the heavy digging equipment looming like snoozing elephants. The wind had picked up and whistled a freezing note in my ears. I hunched futilely against its annoyance.
    “This was dreadful work,” he said. “Brought back such a lot of unpleasant memories.”
    All I could think was, that despite what he’d said earlier, he might have some archaic debt of honor to settle with me about Laura. Guys from his century fought duels for less. He could be planning to cosh me on the noggin and drop what was left into the deep end. A few minutes with the bulldozer would finish the job.
    “I need your advice.”
    So he’d said earlier. At the first sudden move I’d vanish.
    “I left it here.”
    In a broad space between the big machines was a roughly folded tarp with the remains of cut rope dangling from its eyelets. That must have come from the back porch where it previously covered the summer furniture. When I drew breath to ask a question the stink of decomposition from the excavation hit me between the eyes. Damn, why had he brought me here ?
    He pulled the tarp away, revealing an oblong wooden tool box. He squatted next to the box and opened it. The inside was packed to the top with snow. It being so cold and with the tarp for shade, there wasn’t much melting.
    Barrett brushed snow from something about the size of a loaf of bread. With thumb and forefinger and no small distaste, he picked out the mud-smeared object from its icy nest and set it down across one corner of the box. Just so there was no doubt about what he wanted to show, he played the flashlight’s beam over the thing.
    It was a man’s shoe—with the foot still in it.
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    I’d seen death before, but had to turn away, fighting the urge to heave.
    “Jeeze, you could warn a guy can’t you?” The stink got worse. I moved upwind.
    “How?” he asked dryly.
    “Whose is it?”
    “I don’t know. I found it down there, of course. The mechanical shovel separated it from the rest of the body. I’d have missed it completely but for the reek. I thought it was—”
    “Yeah,” I said, not wanting him to finish.
    “I can assume that this person came to be buried at the same time as Maureen. Whether it was by misadventure or was intentional is yet unknown.”
    “Laura had to do with this one too?”
    “I don’t think so. She did not mention anything the night I questioned her.”
    I’d questioned her, too, thoroughly. She’d only spoken of killing two people, not three. “Hand me that light.”
    He passed it over, and I gave the grisly thing a closer look. Part of an argyle sock remained, the rest had torn off. I also used my thumb and forefinger to turn it over, checking the sole and heel.
    “He didn’t buy this at Macy’s. Handmade. Might be able to track down who if there’s a maker’s mark inside.” I dropped the shoe back in the tool box and shut the lid. “But I’m not looking for it.”
    “I do not fault you for that, but—”
    “But nothing. You give this to the cops.”
    “Out of the question.”
    “You wanted my advice about this?”
    “Yes. I need to decide what