She had to close hers and try to feel better. The morning had begun well enough. The entire Kick family had risen at farmer o’clock so the twins could get ready for the 4-H bus that would take them on their field trip to help set up the Bad Axe County Farm Breakfast, with the traditional sunrise stop to feed the mythical giant goldfish. There had been a minor conflict over how much stuff Taylor had in his backpack, which seemed ridiculously heavy, but she and Harley had exchanged eye signals and agreed to let it go. Then Taylor had been upset when the bus, because it arrived early, came all the way down the driveway to the house. For some reason he had wanted to wait by the mailbox at the road. But he had recovered and waved to his mom and dad from the window.

Her stomach was leveling, and she was feeling glad for Taylor when her phone buzzed.

Rhino said, “I can’t reach Bender.”

“Bender? He’s off. He should be home.”

“A lady friend—I didn’t know he had one, did you?—called around three A.M. to ask when his shift would end. I said, ‘Eight o’clock last night.’ I thought maybe you assigned him somewhere.”

“No.”

The plane banked over Liberty Hill and the Jon Golly farm—“Ten-four,” Rhino said, “will deal, sorry to bother”—and then cleared the nearest ridge to the north. For no more than three seconds they were passing over a narrow coulee bisected by a tiny rill of a stream. Upon the meadow landscape, still in shadow, she made out vague geometric sketches in the late summer foliage. Accidental shapes? She had hardly had time to wonder before the plane had flown beyond, looping back toward Elmo Quarry Pond.

She pondered over Deputy Bender for several seconds—that he had a “lady friend,” for one thing, and if he was missing, where was he, and was he OK?—then looked down to see the short green 4-H bus parked at the quarry pond with specks of kids at the water’s edge. Maybe from up here she would see a spot of gold finning in the bright aqua water.

No, of course not. But—

“Stop!” she cried, twisting in her seat belt.

“This is an airplane, Sheriff!”

On the road a half mile from the pond she watched a single speck—a child?—walking along the road—and an old white pickup drifting up behind him.

“I mean, go back, go back, circle back!”

CHAPTER 34

By dawn she had reined the horse aside twice to dodge him, the atrocious Papa, who was careening erratically down empty roads—I’ll tear you like a vulture—half-blind, steering that old white pickup. She had stiffened and hissed as he passed. Another time she had skirted them wide around the echoes of the dog baying for Faith.