It took Gurney a second to realize what she was asking. “He found the gas container that I usually keep by the barn. The odd thing is, he found it hidden by the road somewhere.”

“Hidden?”

“That’s what he said. Wanted me to identify it. Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“Why would it be hidden? Did someone use it to start the fire?”

“Maybe. I don’t really know. Investigator Kramden wasn’t very communicative.”

She cocked her head curiously. “The fire obviously was started on purpose. That was no secret, with the pile of No Hunting signs in front of the door, so what would be the point of hiding—”

“I have no idea. Unless, of course, the arsonist was so drunk that hiding the gas can made some kind of sense to him.”

“You really think that’s the explanation?”

He sighed. “Probably not.”

She gave him one of those probing looks that made him feel transparent. “So,” she said lightly, “what’s the next step?”

“I can’t speak for Kramden. Personally, I have to stare at the available facts for a while, figure out what’s connected to what. There are some basic questions I need to get past.”

“Like deciding whether you’re dealing with one adversary or two?”

“Exactly. In some ways I’d prefer it to be two.”

“Why?”

“Because if the same person is behind the intrusions into Kim’s home and this attack on us, then we’re facing something—and someone—a lot more serious than a resentful hunter.”

The oven timer produced three loud dings. Madeleine ignored the summons. “Someone connected with the Good Shepherd case?”

“Or with Robby Meese—whom I may have underestimated.”

The timer rang again.

Madeleine inclined her head toward the window. “I can hear them coming up the road.”

“What?” The word was less a question than an expression of his irritation at the abrupt change of subject. She didn’t bother to respond. He waited, and after a few seconds he, too, could make out the vintage growl of the BSA.

Forty-five minutes later, after the omelets had been consumed and the table cleared, Gurney was in his den, again reviewing the e-mail documents he’d received from Hardwick—hoping he’d find something significant that he’d missed before.

He postponed looking again at the autopsy photos until he’d gone through everything else. He came close to bypassing what he told himself would be a useless, unpleasant experience—especially since the dreadful images were still so vivid in his mind from his first viewing. But he was finally pushed into it by that obsessive-compulsive gene that had been a plus in his career and a wrecking ball in his personal life.