“Yes,” I said. “A truck and a tractor.”

Just beyond the pickup was a partially disassembled front-end loader. Up ahead on the right was an abandoned Airstream trailer. Beyond that were a pinball machine, a rusty horse trailer, and a convertible that would have qualified as vintage if it hadn’t been visibly falling apart.

“It’s like a mechanical elephant’s graveyard,” I said aloud.

We proceeded along the lane for another half a mile, accompanied by Timmy’s regular cries of “Truck!” “Tractor!” and “Car!” Occasionally I’d see what looked like the beginning of a smaller lane, or perhaps a driveway, to one side or the other, but they always petered out in the vines or ended abruptly with a truck carcass. The farther we drove back into the woods, the more densely the vines covered the hulks of rusting machinery, making them harder and harder to identify. Farther from the road, I could see small hillocks completely covered with vines like modern burial mounds.

Then the road split. Another haphazardly lettered sign for the Belle Glade Bird Farm pointed to the right. I eased the car to the left.

The car and truck skeletons began appearing more densely. Ancient vine-covered hulks alternated with vehicles that looked as if they were actually in running condition, or had been within living memory. I also saw stocks of lumber, cinder blocks, bricks, and other building supplies. Flocks of oil drums were scattered here and there, along with enough car batteries to power a small city if they were still alive, which seemed unlikely.

Finally, a few hundred yards along, I spotted the house—more like a low, rambling shack with a small clearing to serve as the front yard. Here, the construction and automotive junk gave way to a more general collection of household debris: old appliances, abandoned pots and pans, remnants of furniture, and rags that might once have been garments or linens. The junk flowed up onto the front porch and around the sides of the house, though it was mostly clear of the driveway, which meandered up to the porch and then curved away again. I followed the driveway and stopped the car at the foot of the porch steps.

Hanging crookedly by one nail over the front door was a carved wooden sign that said BASS’S TAVERN: FREE BEER TOMORROW. A high school shop project, by the look of it. At least I was probably in the right place.

Timmy was still excited by the cars and trucks, but he didn’t seem to show any interest in the house. No cries of “Daddy!” Of course, if Sandie was right, odds were he didn’t remember being here, if he ever had been. In fact, odds were he hardly remembered Jasper.

I parked at the very foot of the front steps and, after considering my options, reluctantly released Timmy from his car seat and picked him up. Clearly if I were going to spend much more time trying to trace Karen’s whereabouts, I needed someone to ride shotgun and take care of Timmy while I snooped. I climbed carefully onto the front porch, which turned out to be a lot more sturdy than it looked, and knocked on the door.