“There’s something else about it,” Nic said. “There was a spot where it looked like someone was cutting through the wire. It looked precise, not an animal, but a person. Maybe with wire cutters. Like someone was trying to make a hole to crawl through.”

Kurt appeared more surprised now. “That’s weird,” he said. “Kids, maybe—from a house next door? Looking for a cut-through to town? How old were the breaks in the wire?”

“I couldn’t tell. There was some rust, but not a lot. Nothing had grown over it, like weeds, or fallen branches. I don’t have anything to compare it to, but I don’t think it started before the summer.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “Hard to tell without knowing what kind of wire it is. If it’s been treated with something. Rust repellent. I don’t know much about fences.”

Nic looked out the window as he drove. The road was narrowing, cutting a path between tall trees whose canopy erased part of the sky.

“You know your way around here.”

“Hard not to after a lifetime.”

“Fair enough.”

They made a turn onto Pond Road. Another onto Jeliff. Nic made a point of looking for the signs, some of which were just paint on rough cuts of wood nailed onto a tree. Pavement turned to gravel and then dirt. Another turn onto a road with no name, then a mile or so farther into the woods. The road ended in front of a small house.

The structure was no more than a thousand square feet. One story. Flat metal roof.

“Someone lives here?” Nic asked. There was no car. No electrical wires. An old clothing line ran between two trees. A sheet and some women’s clothing hung to dry, though the frost was coming in the mornings now.

Kurt turned off the ignition.

“Veronica Hollander. I told you, we’re on state-owned land. Her father cleared the road, built the house. They lived here—all ten of them. Let me go first,” he said. “She doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”

Nic waited in the car. Kurt approached, carrying a brown paper bag. He knocked on the door. It opened a crack. He said a few words, then he turned and waved for Nic to join him.

A woman stood in the doorway as Nic followed Kurt inside. She was large and unkempt, wearing pajama bottoms and a short-sleeve shirt that curved around her loose breasts. Long, curly blond hair. Soft flesh that hung loosely beneath her clothes, and skin that did not appear to have seen the sun in quite some time.

She stared at Nic for a long moment, her face confused at first, then moving over her head to toe.

“I’m Nicole Clarke.” Nic extended her hand.

The woman blinked, shook her head quickly like a dog shaking off water.

“Veronica,” she said. “People call me V.”

Nic smiled. “People call me Nic.”