'You stay here.'

I wanted to argue, but her look told me no way.

'In the Jeep. Until I cal you.'

I roled my eyes but said nothing. My heart was hammering, and I shifted about more than Boyd.

Crowe sounded another long blast on the horn while scanning the upper windows of the house. The deputy rejoined her, a Winchester pump held diagonaly across his chest. They crossed to the house and climbed the steps.

'Swain County Sheriff's Department.' Her cal sounded tinny in the thin air. 'Police. Please respond.'

She banged on the door.

No one came forth.

Crowe said something. The deputy spread his feet and raised the shotgun, and the sheriff began hammering the door with her boot. There was no give.

Crowe spoke again. The deputy replied, keeping the barrel of his weapon trained on the door.

The sheriff walked back to the Jeep, sweat dampening the carrot frizz escaping her hat. She rummaged in back, returned to the porch with a crowbar.

Wiggling the tip between two shutters, she applied the ful force of her body weight. A more earnest rendition of my own jimmying act.

Crowe repeated the movement, adding a Monica Seles grunt. A panel yielded slightly. Sliding the bar farther into the crack, she heaved again, and the shutter flew back, hitting the wal with a loud crash.

Crowe laid down the bar, braced herself, then smashed a foot through the window. Glass shattered, sparkled in the sun as it showered the porch with jagged shards. Crowe kicked again and again, enlarging the opening. Boyd urged her on with excited barks.

Crowe stood back and listened. Hearing no movement, she poked her head inside and caled out again. Then the sheriff unholstered her gun and disappeared into darkness. The deputy folowed.

Centuries later the front door opened, and Crowe stepped onto the porch. She waved a 'come on' gesture.

I leashed Boyd with clumsy hands and wrapped the loop around my wrist. Then I dug a Maglite from my pack. Blood pounded hard below my throat.

'Easy!' I aimed a finger at his nose.

He practicaly dragged me out of the Jeep and up the steps.

'The place is empty.'

I tried to read Crowe's face, but it was registering nothing. No surprise, disgust, uneasiness. It was impossible to guess her reaction or emotion.

'Better leave the dog here.'

I tied Boyd to the porch railing. Clicking on the flashlight, I folowed her inside.

The air that hit me was not as musty as I expected. It smeled of smoke and mildew and something sweet.

My olfactory lobe scanned its database. Church.

Church?

The lobe separated into components. Flowers. Incense.