Led to the hoax spot by Brad Dowd.

Had he harbored plans of ending the game with a bloody surprise, only to be stymied by Michaela’s escape?

Was that reason to kill her?

Or did she just fit some kind of role?

Same for Dylan. I struggled to remember him from his photos, not the thing.

Time passed. Squeaks sounded above us, leaves shivered, then a delicate flutter of wings as a bat zipped out of the oak and circled high above the meadow.

Then another. Then four.

“Great,” said Milo. “When does the ominous soundtrack start?”

“Da dum da dum.”

He laughed. I did, too. Why not?

* * *

We took turns napping. His second snooze lasted five minutes and when he shook himself awake, he said, “Shoulda brought water.”

“Who knew we’d be camping?”

“A Boy Scout’s always prepared. You scouted, right?”

“Yup.”

“Me, too. If BSA only knew, huh? Think anyone’s down in that hole?”

“Hopefully not someone like Dylan,” I said.

He rested his face in one hand.

A moment later: “If he doesn’t show up tonight, Alex, you know how it’ll have to go.”

“Task force.”

“Can’t wait to write that warrant application. ‘Yes, your honor, taxidermy.’ ”

Night had settled in so completely it seemed permanent.

Neither of us spoke for the next half hour. When headlights yellowed the asphalt, we were both wide awake.

* * *

Fog lights. Engine purr. The vehicle’s squarish bulk passed us fast and sped toward the barn.

We got to our feet, stayed in the tree cover, advanced.

The Range Rover came to a stop just to the left of the barn’s undersized front door, then silenced. A man got out the driver’s side, switched on a bug light above the door.

The bulb had a yellow-green tint and it turned Brad Dowd’s white hair chartreuse.

He went around to the passenger side, opened the door.

Held a hand out to someone.

Female, petite. A blousy jacket over trousers obscured her contours.

The two of them walked to the door and the woman waited as Brad opened it. Moved into the yellow beam. Profile limned.

Firm chin, nubby little nose. Bobbed gray hair tinted olive by the light.

Nora Dowd said something that sounded perky. Brad Dowd turned toward her. Spread his arms wide.

She rushed into the hug.

Nothing sisterly about the gesture as her hands began caressing the back of his neck.

His hands cupped her rear. She giggled.

Her face tilted up as their mouths met.

Long, grinding kiss. She reached down for his groin. He laughed. She laughed.

They went inside.

* * *

They were back moments later, walking hand-in-hand around the south side of the barn.

Nora skipping.

Brad said, “Gorgeous night, isn’t this just the best?”

Nora said, “Party time.”

They reached the bomb-shelter hatch. Nora stood by, fluffing her pageboy as Brad worked the lever. Putting weight into it, just as Milo had.