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around nervously and Malory wince. Malory had persuaded her to let Tarah come to the Tree House Club back before Dad got weird and turned his “center for eco-sustainability” into a “center for spiritual education.” He’d been an atheist until Nonni and Opa died.
    “Mmm. It’s finaly getting warm.” Tarah unzipped her hoodie.
    I puled the Nonni coat tighter around me. It didn’t feel any warmer to me.
    Mom and Dad never gave me and Malory a religion. Being good flower children, they told us to choose our own paths.
    Malory chose psychology at UC Berkeley. It’s not a religion, but it alows her to know everything. It made her crazy that Dad stopped being an atheist after she left for colege. It made her apoplectic that he was learning how to be a shaman from a mail-order course he found in the back of a magazine.
    “So.” Natalie lowered her voice conspiratorialy. “Any sign of Trent? We should realy go warn him there’s a kiler animal loose, don’tcha think?”
    I felt a pang in the pit of my stomach. After I’d had a shower that morning and begun to come out of my daze, I’d wanted to call Luke. The thought had filed me with panic, but I knew he couldn’t call me. He didn’t even know my last name. And I needed to reassure myself he’d made it home okay. But there was no listing for any Geoffreys (or Jeffreys or Joffreys) in was no listing for any Geoffreys (or Jeffreys or Joffreys) in Kwahnesum. I tried Facebook but struck out there, too.
    Now I gazed into the tangle of evergreens. Was the cougar still brooding there, waiting for her moment? As a kid I’d felt connected to every rabbit and squirrel. Dad had caled me his Forest Girl. I’d longed to see a cougar, even making a little bed for them under a tree when I was six, with bunches of yelow flowers. (Turns out cougars aren’t attracted by flowers.) Now the thought of leaving the safety of The Center parking area set me shaking. I’d been too afraid to go as far as the Hansen mansion, even via the driveway.
    Behind me something moved. I jumped and shouted. But it was only a truck puling up: blue, with a Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife insignia on the door.
    “Easy, girl.” Natalie put her arm around my shoulders. What was wrong with me?
    A short, pocked man got out. He wore a tan shirt, like a Boy Scout, and a big hat. A rust-colored bloodhound hopped out after him. Dad came to greet him, drum in hand. “Paul Schopenhauer.”
    “Officer Mark Angeles.” He shook Dad’s hand, not even blinking at his Crazy Horse appearance. “And this is Mack.” The dog sat obediently by his side. Mark and Mack. They were apparently a matched set.
    “Good to see you, Mark.” Buck Harper stepped forward and shook the officer’s hand. “Don’t know if you remember me, but I taught your daddy how to hunt when he was eight years old.” Buck was ten times that at least and had lived in Kwahnesum since it was accessible only by donkey cart. “That cougar’s the one’s been eating my sheep,” said Buck. “There used to be a bounty on ’em. You could go out into the woods and shoot five, maybe six cougar and get fifty dolars a head.” Officer Mark nodded. “I’ve seen photos of that,” he said.
    “That is barbaric,” said Clyde Redd.

    Natalie nodded vigorously. “It’s just so wrong to shoot an animal like that.”
    “You haven’t seen a cougar-kiled sheep, missy,” said Buck.
    “And it could’ve been your friend, here. Cougars are a menace.”
    “Only because we’re encroaching on their territory,” snapped Clyde.
    I almost thought they’d come to blows except that Clyde teaches nonviolent communication at The Center.
    Dad gestured to me. “My daughter, Brigitta. She’s the one who encountered the cat. It was my older daughter you spoke with on the phone.”
    Officer Mark turned to me. “Are you all right?” I nodded. “She didn’t touch me. Just”—I felt embarrassed to say it—“scared me.”
    “They’re