The thought that Edna might have been depressed enough to drive somewhere and commit suicide, so that Ada wouldn’t have to be the one to find her, crossed Ada’s mind, but she refused to accept the possibility. Her mother had been lost without her father, but she hadn’t been suicidal. There had to be another explanation.

To put her mind at rest, she needed to make sure she had no reason to suspect the strange little man who’d rented her mother’s chicken ranch, because the two encounters she’d had with him had already made her decidedly uneasy.

She looked both ways before crossing the street, but there wasn’t another car or truck in the area, probably because there weren’t any houses close by, either. Although that gave her enough confidence to creep around to the back, take a peek into the chicken coops and even the plant—if she deemed it safe—and return to her car without being spotted, it also meant she couldn’t rely on help being close at hand, should she need it.

She had her cell phone with her, though. She could call the police if she got into trouble. And if they didn’t arrive quickly enough? She’d brought a gun. She wasn’t a particularly good shot, not like her husband, but she didn’t think she’d need to be good—not if she was only feet away from her target.

Dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black turtleneck and black tennis shoes, she had her hair pulled into a ponytail, her husband’s 9mm GLOCK jammed into her waistband—no way had she wanted to carry his much heavier rifle—her phone in her pocket and a flashlight in her right hand as she left her vehicle. Terrified that John Edmonson would hear the engine or spot the headlights if she got too close, she’d parked almost a quarter mile down the road. But she ran five miles every other day for exercise. She could get back to it fairly quickly, if escape became necessary. Surely, given the fact that he limped, she could outrun the man living on her parents’ chicken ranch.

She jogged along the road, her feet falling in soft put, put, puts on the bare earth while her head swiveled from side to side as she watched for any activity.

There was no one around, nothing happening—until she startled a doe, grazing in the field to her left, with a fawn. Jerking their heads up, the deer bolted away, the sound of which nearly gave Ada a heart attack.

As soon as she spotted the perimeter fence, she slowed to a walk and checked behind her again. There was no guarantee John Edmonson was at home. He could have gone out for a beer or something else and, if that was the case, he could come up behind her.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen. No one came.

The gate, when she reached it, was locked. It seemed odd to her that Mr. Edmonson was so concerned with security, but maybe she was judging him by her own husband, who felt he could handle anything. Or maybe he was up to something illegal, even if it had nothing to do with her mother.…