The woman seemed to do nothing at first—then she slowly raised both arms and looked up into the night sky. She lowered her head again and swung it slowly from side to side, as if she were mopping a table with her long black hair. She shook both arms loosely, like a pitcher limbering up, then began to walk around in small circles.

Everyone in the yard stopped and stared.

She knelt down in front of her dog and took a brightly colored bandanna from around her neck. She showed it to the dog as if she were asking for its approval; then she slipped the bandanna around the dog’s neck and straightened it.

The entire yard fell silent.

She stood up again and snapped her fingers; the dog immediately circled her once and sat down at her side. She snapped her fingers a second time and made a tossing motion with her right hand; the dog jumped to its feet and began to zigzag across the yard with its nose quivering just above the ground.

The mother approached the sheriff from behind and tugged on his sleeve. “Who is that woman?” she asked.

“Never you mind,” the sheriff said. “She’s here to help us find your boy.”

“How can she help?”

“We can use all the help we can get right now, Mrs. Coleman.”

“But—what is she doing? It looks so strange.”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“You already tried a search-and-rescue dog—it couldn’t find him.”

“This is a different kind of dog. We’re hoping it’ll have better luck.”

The dog quickly worked its way across the berm and around the backyard with the woman following close behind; she made no eye contact with anyone as they worked, and the other volunteers all nervously stepped back and gave them a wide berth wherever they turned.

When they reached the edge of the woods the dog suddenly stopped; it swung its head back and forth over an area no larger than a frying pan—and then it lay down. The woman knelt down in front of the dog and looked into its eyes; she made a shrugging motion and looked again. The dog just lay still and stared up at her.

The woman stood up and looked across the yard at the sheriff. She pointed to the ground near the trunk of an old beech tree.

The mother grabbed the sheriff’s arm. “Why is she doing that? Why is she pointing at the ground?”

The sheriff didn’t answer.

“What does that mean? Tell me!”

“Keep her here,” the sheriff said to Elgin, then started toward the woman and the dog.

He called out to Alena as he approached. “Are you sure?”

She nodded.

The sheriff tested the spot with the toe of his shoe; the soil was loose. He turned to one of his deputies and called back, “Bring me a shovel.”