Lakshmi laughed. “Caitlin, that’s like twenty feet.”

“I think twenty-five.”

Caitlin ran, jumped high enough to catch the first branch, and pulled herself up.

“Badass,” Lakshmi said below her.

Caitlin acted like she hadn’t pulled something. “You’re not the only athlete around here. Toss the bag.”

Lakshmi let the backpack fly. Caitlin strapped the gear around her shoulders and climbed to her spot.

Lakshmi called from below. “How is it?”

Caitlin sent a cell phone picture to the group’s text thread. She had a good view of the land west of the greenhouses, the road through the back fields, and the space between the main house and white barn. Two cars were parked near the house, but no one came or went, and no one was working the fields.

Aaron replied with his perspective—the main house, driveway, and the barn’s front.

Below her, Lakshmi busied herself on her tablet.

Caitlin pulled the school’s high-quality camera from the bag. She scanned the farmland with its telephoto lens, snapping shots of a spinach field, the greenhouses, and a brick circle that might have been an old well. She held no illusions she’d find the grave of Angela Chapman, but the act seemed like a productive way to pass the time. After two hours, she and Lakshmi swapped spots, allowing a quick nap against the tree trunk.

She woke to a text alert, swiped her phone to life, found the latest text.

Aaron: Two guys left main house, walking down road by greenhouses.

Caitlin called up to Lakshmi. “See Dave?”

“Not yet.”

Another text came in.

Mary: Ready to roll.

Caitlin saw Lakshmi lower the camera to text her reply.

Lakshmi: Hold. Walking away from barn. Near last greenhouse now, each carrying something.

Through the underbrush, Caitlin couldn’t see past the rising field. “How far away, Lakshmi?”

“More than a football field—nothing to worry about.” She raised the camera again, then texted.

Lakshmi: One is Nate Fodor. Other could be Gooch. They have a shotgun.

Mary: Shit. Get out of there.

Lakshmi: No worries. They’ve got a skeet-shooting trap.

Caitlin: Still moving or set up?

Lakshmi: Moving. Not far from windmills.

Caitlin: Distance from us?

The boom of a shotgun answered before Lakshmi. Faint male laughter followed.

Lakshmi: 100 yards.

Caitlin heard a male voice yell, “Pull.”

She texted: Come down.

Another shot followed. The shooter made contact. “Nice shot, Gooch.”

Caitlin whisper-shouted up. “Lakshmi, move your ass.”

The voices continued.

“My turn, bro.”

“That wasn’t even six, Frodo.”

“Whatever—it’s my gun. Hit the button.”

The trap launched. This time, the report came much later. Right after the boom, Caitlin heard a rustle rip through the tree leaves, like sand against a window. A handful of birds shot out of the brush at the edge of the field.

“You could see the thing, right?”

“Who cares? Did you see those birds take off?”