I was surprised, therefore, to see a woman hanging in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. She hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket against the cold. She wore a flannel shirt over ripped jeans. She was also a redhead, but unlike the Dillon sisters, she was tall, buxom, and wide-hipped. Her hair was tied in a horse tail, and her face was painfully red as if someone had scrubbed her skin with steel wool.

“You’re the warden?” the new woman said in a voice that creaked.

“I am.”

She exhaled smoke through her nostrils. “You shouldn’t be wandering around up here alone. You might be mistaken for a trespasser and shot on sight.”

She made a hitchhiking motion with her thumb toward a POSTED sign nailed to the porch. Her hands were big and raw, too. It looked like she’d been washing dishes in boiling water.

“You have a problem with trespassers up here?”

Even her laugh was rasping. “What do you think?”

“I think you settle your problems without calling the cops. My name is Mike Bowditch. I am a game warden investigator. I’m reviewing a case from four years ago. A man drowned on the river while duck hunting. Professor Eben Chamberlain. Is Mrs. Lynch home?”

“What do you want to talk to her for?”

“She called me. Are you her daughter?”

“Granddaughter.”

On cue, a voice bellowed from within, “Let the man in, Tina.”

The big woman cast a peeved look into the darkened interior of the trailer.

There were no fancy snowmobiles or Jet Skis in Grambo’s drive. The only vehicle was a salt-splashed Subaru Outback with studded snows. It was a modest home. A grandmother’s home.

As I came up the stairs, a scrawny dog shot out of the house and past me. It was tawny, sharp-eared, with ribs showing, and a tail that curled toward its spine. It reminded me of the street dogs I’d seen in photos of desert bazaars: half-tame mongrels that no longer possessed the characteristics we associate with domestic breeds.

I could tell the little mutt had caught the scent of the wolf on me because he screeched to a halt, bared his teeth, and snarled.

“Kick him if he tries to bite you,” said the woman named Tina. “It’s the only way he’ll learn. Treasure told me you were prowling around up here, asking questions.”

“You’re her mom?”

“Uh huh.” The breeze blew the smoke from her cigarette into her eyes. “She said you were looking for Arlo. You must have met my cousins. What did Tori and Tiff have to say for themselves?”

“They were very gracious.”

“I bet! Too bad Arlo was home. The twins might have shown you a good time.”

Given their hostility toward me, that would have been unlikely, even if I’d been amenable.

The old voice bellowed again from inside the house. “Let the man in, Tina!”