“I don’t think any of us slept. I know I didn’t.”

“He’ll probably give himself away.”

Gurney looked from the door toward Kyle. “The arsonist? Why do you think so?”

“Don’t these idiots always end up bragging to someone in a bar?”

“Sometimes.”

“You don’t think this one will?”

“Depends on why he started the fire to begin with.”

Kyle appeared surprised by his father’s response. “How about because he’s a drunken lunatic hunter and was pissed off at your No Hunting signs?”

“I guess that’s a possibility.”

Madeleine frowned into her coffee mug. “Considering that he ripped down half a dozen of our signs and set fire to them in front of our barn door—wouldn’t that make it more than ‘a possibility’?”

Gurney glanced back down the hill. “Let’s wait and see what the man with the dog has to say.”

Kyle looked intrigued. “When he ripped down the signs to burn them, he probably left footprints in the dirt, maybe even fingerprints on the fence posts. Maybe he dropped something. Should we mention that to the arson guy?”

Gurney smiled. “If he knows his job, we don’t need to tell him. And if he doesn’t, telling him won’t help.”

Kim made an odd little shivering sound and sank farther down into her armchair. “It gives me the chills—knowing he was out there the same time I was, creeping around in the dark like that.”

“The same time you were all out there,” said Madeleine.

“That’s right,” said Kyle. “Down on the bench. Jeez. He could have been within a few yards of us. Damn!”

Or within a few feet, thought Gurney. Or even inches, recalling with an unpleasant twinge his blind circumnavigation of the barn.

“Something just occurred to me,” said Kyle. “In the couple of years you’ve been here, have any guys approached you, wanting to hunt on your property?”

“Quite a few, when we first moved here,” Madeleine answered. “We always said no.”

“Well, maybe this guy is one of the ones who got refused. Did any of them seem particularly pissed off? Or claim that he had a right to hunt here?”

“Some were friendlier than others. I don’t recall anyone claiming special rights.”

“Any threats?” asked Kyle.

“No.”

“Or vandalism?”

“No.” She watched as Gurney’s eyes went to the red-feathered arrow on the sideboard. “I think your father is trying to decide whether that counts as vandalism.”

“Whether what counts?” asked Kyle, his eyes widening.

Madeleine just kept watching Gurney.

“A razor-tipped arrow,” said Gurney, pointing at it. “Found it sticking in one of the garden beds the other day.”

Kyle went over and picked it up, frowning. “That’s weird. Any other weird shit been happening?”

Gurney shrugged. “Not unless you count an oddly jammed tractor brake that wasn’t jammed the last time I used it, or a porcupine in the garage …”