The dogs, probably hungry, given their slatted ribs, were more curious than aggressive this time, poking their noses against the cyclone fence in the side yard, sniffing audibly.

Eli wondered if anybody ever patted them on the head, ruffled their ears or threw a Frisbee for them.

Hell, he wondered if anybody ever fed the poor critters.

He made a mental note to call animal control. Ask for a wellness check.

Melba gave the dogs a wide berth, even though they were behind a fence, and Eli didn’t blame her. They probably could have jumped the barrier without much effort, if they’d been in the mood.

Gretchen Lansing stepped onto the porch, looking half again as unpleasant as she had earlier in the day, at the supermarket. “If this is about Freddie, he ain’t here!” she all but snarled.

As obnoxious as she was, Eli couldn’t help feeling sorry for this woman. The news he was about to give her was the worst a parent could expect to receive.

“Is Fred at home?” he asked mildly.

“Yes,” Gretchen replied. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Can we come in?”

For the first time, Gretchen looked alarmed. She shook her head and turned her head to call back over one shoulder, “Fred!”

Eli stood respectfully at the foot of the porch steps. Melba took her place alongside him, still keeping an eye on the dogs, at least peripherally.

Fred stepped onto the porch, a little apart from his wife.

It struck Eli as odd that the Lansings weren’t touching. A lot of men would have draped an arm around their partner’s shoulders, or taken her hand, confronted by two law enforcement officers and all. And a lot of women would have turned instinctively to their husband.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go inside,” Eli urged. “Sit down?”

Gretchen pressed a hand to her mouth, but her feet were firmly planted on the floorboards of her weathered porch. Once again, she shook her head.

“What’s this about?” Fred grumbled. To his credit, he looked worried now, as well as recalcitrant.

Eli sighed, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, wishing this whole thing were over. Wishing he could materialize in Brynne’s living room and take quiet solace in the simple fact of her presence.

“Freddie is dead,” he said. It was blunt, but it would have been unkind to draw the matter out any further. “We found him in that old barn on the McCall place. We’re still investigating, but the evidence indicates that he hanged himself.”

Gretchen cried out, and her knees buckled.

Fred caught her as she crumpled beside him.

“That’s a lie!” he bellowed. “Freddie can’t be dead! What are you trying to pull here, Sheriff?”

Melba spoke up then, her voice firm, but kind, too. “It’s the truth, Mr. Lansing. We’re sorry, but your son is gone.”