“Sure you do—it’s a lot to take in, in one day. I’ll get out of your hair and give you a chance to think.” He got up and went over to her; he brushed the hair back from her forehead and kissed it. She made no effort to stop him, and she showed no recognition of his touch.

“I’m really not asking much—just my old job back, that’s all. Your secret is safe with me—but from what I hear, that mother of yours is the town gossip. I’d think about that if I were you.”

He walked to the door. “Sleep tight, Vic. Don’t stay up too late reading. And don’t worry—I made extra copies of those too.”

28

28

Nick removed the first two feet of earth with a spade; he didn’t dare go deeper for fear of damaging any remains he might discover. He was on his hands and knees now, poking through the soil with a pointed trowel like a soldier probing for land mines. Maybe there were no remains—in which case he would spend the rest of the day troweling his way down inch by inch until he struck the wooden planks of a coffin lid six feet below. Maybe Trygg got it wrong this time—maybe it was asking too much of a cadaver dog to pick the most recent remains from a graveyard full of ancient corpses. How could the dog even know what was expected of her? He knew the answer: The witch can talk to animals. From what Nick had seen so far, he almost believed it.

He stood up in the shallow pit and stretched. It was almost noon and the sun was already high overhead. The day was hot and still; wisps of morning mist still clung to the trees, making the humidity oppressive. He unbuttoned his dripping shirt and peeled it off, then draped it over the handle of the spade to dry. He walked to the lake and knelt down; he scooped up some water and drank. He looked at his hands; the water was cold and clear, but he knew this mountain lake wasn’t as pristine as it looked on the surface. Somewhere under all that water there was a decomposing body.