“Do you want to go for a walk?” Michelle asked Cassie.
“Let’s see,” Cassie said, mugging an inquisitive look. “A walk amid the mountain laurel and fresh air . . . or a dark, dismal journey to the center of the septic tank? This is tough. Let’s go, Mom. Sorry, Dad.”
“We won’t be gone long,” Michelle said. “We can start packing when we get back.”
“Just remember, Dad, Mom said that, not me.”
Michelle and Cassie walked up the road in silence, the smell of fresh pine in the air. Michelle took Cassie to the pathway Pink had built through the trees. When they reached the gnarled poplar tree, Michelle was first to climb the worn, wooden planks nailed to its trunk.
“Wow, Mom,” Cassie said. “That looks a little dangerous.”
“Come on,” Michelle said. “Just be careful.”
When Cassie reached the top, she walked past Michelle, holding the railing, and looked out over the varied green hues of rhododendron, mountain laurel, and conifers. Michelle told Cassie about Pink, how he’d built the path for Isabelle. When she finished the story, she took the pentacle from her pocket and lashed it to the railing.
“Why are you doing that?” Cassie asked.
Michelle explained that she’d found it in the house, that it was Isabelle’s. “This is where it belongs now.”
“Mom,” Cassie said, “I’ve been thinking about what I heard you tell that woman on the phone the other day, that Lulu woman.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“No, it’s okay,” Cassie said. “It’s not freaking me out or anything. Actually, it made me think about something that happened last year with Chloe. I mean, it’s not anything like what happened to you, but it was kind of weird.
“Chloe had this beautiful necklace she let me borrow,” Cassie said. “A week or so later I gave it back to her. Then two weeks after that, Chloe asked for her necklace. I told her I gave it to her already, at Ginny’s Halloween party. Chloe told me that was impossible because she hadn’t been at the Halloween party, that her parents hadn’t let her go. It was too weird, because she was at the party. I remember.”
Michelle was surprised by her own desire to offer Cassie a logical explanation. In spite of all she had experienced, her mind hungrily craved the comfort of a predictable universe, quantifiable reality, irrefutable laws of nature.
“Are you ready to head back?” Michelle said.
Cassie kicked rocks as they walked along the macadam road toward the cabin. A hawk drew a quick shadow across the pavement in front of them, causing them both to look up. But it was the blue and red flashing lights splashing through the trees that caught their attention.
When they reached the cabin, they saw two police cars blocking the driveway. Cliff was on the deck, his hands on the railing, his eyes on the riff of distant mountains. He didn’t turn until Michelle called his name.
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
His face was white.
“Daddy, what’s wrong?” Cassie asked, her eyes darting between the house and her father.
“They found a skeleton,” Cliff said.
“What are you talking about?” Michelle said, shifting her gaze between the opened door and Cliff. Two officers stood inside the house, one of them speaking into the microphone attached to his collar. With his tan uniform, he looked like a state policeman.
Cliff explained that the plumbers checked all the pipes with the video scope and found no problem then checked the pipe leading to the septic tank. “It was unbelievable,” Cliff said. “The skull looking back . . .”
“In the septic tank?” Michelle said. “They found a skeleton in the septic tank? But how . . . I don’t understand.”
Sheriff Fisk walked out onto the deck with Deputy Bogan following. The sheriff shook his head, his eyes fixed on Michelle.
“Been a hell of a time for you folks,” he said, “with Mr. Stage gone missing, then you, Mrs. Stage, disappearing like that. Now this.”
“What’s going on?” Michelle said.
Sheriff Fisk took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t know for sure, but I’d say that’s probably Isabelle Souder in that tank. We suspected he’d buried her here at the cabin, but never thought to look there. Who would, you know? I’m not a gambling man, but I’d wager that’s Pink’s wife. State boys’ll sort it out. In the meantime, we got to go get Pink.” He riveted his gaze on Michelle, as if trying to pull up vital information from the deep green of her eyes. “He’s a pretty bad mess.”
Michelle couldn’t look at Sheriff Fisk.
“You folks mind if I have a word with Mrs. Stage alone,” Sheriff Fisk asked, his question pointed at Cliff and Cassie.
Cliff wrapped his arm around Cassie’s shoulder and guided her toward the driveway. Michelle wondered if this would ever be over.
“A few years back I bought my wife a blouse for her birthday,” Sheriff Fisk said. “The day before I was to give it to her, she saw a woman in the grocery store wearing the same blouse and turned to me and told me how ugly it was. Well, I took the blouse back to the store and exchanged it for bath oil beads and little soaps I knew she liked. So I’m a strong believer in serendipity. But Pink showing up after all these years, then a few days later we find Isabelle’s remains? Well, it strains all credibility, if you follow me. Now, I know you been through a lot, but I really need to know what happened between you and Pink, especially with this new wrinkle.”
Michelle repeated the lie that when she’d made it to the highway, she hitchhiked into town and saw Pink’s office and stopped there because she remembered the sheriff telling her Pink had built the cabin. And she thought she could use the phone to call Cliff. “I don’t remember much else.”
The sheriff regarded her a long moment, a mild ripple of disgust tightening the straight line of his mouth. “Ma’am, Pink don’t have him an office. Hasn’t had one in years. Not here in Ardenwood. Do you mind telling me where you two happened to link up?”
Michelle stared into the sheriff’s eyes. Deputy Bogan stood beside him, both men awaiting the answer.
“It’s a blur,” Michelle said. “Isn’t that obvious? I can’t remember anything clearly.”
Fisk continued to wait for a more adequate answer until a heavy truck rumbled up the road and pulled in behind the squad cars.
The sheriff put his hat on, screwing it slowly from side to side until it fit just right. “I already explained to your husband that you folks won’t be able to stay here tonight, being a crime scene and all. State boys won’t want evidence spoiled. But I don’t think we’ve had our last talk, Mrs. Stage. Lot of folks are wondering where Pink’s been, and Pink keeps saying he’s been in Ardenwood all along, says we’re all crazy and throws a fit. But chances are, Pink’s going to trial for Isabelle’s murder—and when that happens, prosecutor’s going to want to know what you know. You understand, Mrs. Stage? You’re the first person to see Pink in years. And he talks like you and him are old friends. State boys might even get it in their mind you’ve been hiding him all these years, that maybe you had something to do with this, if those bones turn out to be Isabelle’s.”