“She understands you. Which doesn’t surprise me for some reason, even though you’re primarily a telepath. And she accepts the apologies and the condolences.”

Bishop inclined his head, still grave, to acknowledge that, and they both watched as Tia flapped her wide wings and, this time, lifted almost straight up from the bench, more or less hovered above them for a moment, and then began to fly toward the nearest slopes.

They didn’t run, but wasted no time in getting off Main Street and following the bird, who clearly understood the limitations of legs rather than wings, since she stopped now and then to perch on a light post or tree limb or something else long enough for them to catch up, and seemed indeed to choose the easiest path for the following humans.

Tia led them steadily as they left the downtown area behind and began to climb the slope of the eastern mountain looming above the town.

—

NELLIE LOOKED UP as Elinor Cavendish appeared in the open doorway of her office, and it didn’t take the frown of worry pulling at her cousin’s brows, the anxious eyes, to alert her that something was wrong.

“What is it, Ellie?”

Finn, who had been sitting in one of her visitors’ chairs and using her phone every half hour or so to keep in touch with his people at the law enforcement center, looked around, then slowly rose to his feet.

“I— Nellie, Simon’s late. And he’s never late. He wasn’t supposed to come in until ten today because of getting extra hours lately. I know he stayed later than most of us last night; the security guard let him out.”

“Maybe he’s working at home. He does that sometimes, right?”

“Yeah, but he lets me know when he’s going to do that. His schedule today was to be here.” She swallowed hard. “It might not have bothered me, but . . . if somebody’s after family members, well, that’s a worry, right? And Simon’s so dependable. He should be here. Or he should have called in.”

Nellie thought of the brisk, friendly, very intelligent cousin who was at the top of her list as a likely successor to herself if necessary, and felt the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Finn spoke up before she could. “You’ve called his place?”

Elinor nodded. “Half a dozen times in the last forty-five minutes. Thinking maybe he was in the shower or something. But . . . I don’t think that’s it. I think somebody needs to check on him.”

Finn swore, not quietly, and reached for the phone on Nellie’s desk.

—

“SO FAR,” DIANA said to Quentin, “we haven’t strayed any great distance from where other people seem to walk or hike regularly up here. Would a killer really hide or—otherwise dispose of a body in an area like this?”

“It’s on the map Finn marked.” Quentin stepped on a short, thin piece of dead tree branch, and when it snapped rather loudly noted the way his wife and partner started. He took her hand.