“David! What on earth is going on? All this crazy stuff on the news today? About Ruth what’s-her-name getting killed after Kim’s interview? And the talking heads all screaming that the Good Shepherd is back? Jeez! Give me a call, let me know what’s going on. I just got a totally hysterical message from Kim—that she wants to quit, back out of the show, throw it all away. Completely out of control. I don’t understand any of this. I called her back, couldn’t get through, left a message, but I haven’t heard back. I assume that you’re in touch with her? That you know what the hell is happening? I mean, that was the whole idea, right? For Christ’s sake, call me!”

Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. He definitely didn’t feel like spending half an hour on the phone with her, filling her in on all the chaos, all the unanswered questions, just because her daughter wasn’t returning her calls.

The fifth message had no ID beyond WIRELESS CALLER. But there was no mistaking the manic intensity of Max Clinter’s voice.

“Mr. Gurney, so sorry you couldn’t pick up. I was looking forward to some give-and-take. So much has happened since last we talked. The Shepherd would appear to be among us once again. Little Corazon brought him back to life. Heard your name invoked on that vile Orphans thing on TV. Ram-shit. But from what was said, it sounded like you had ideas. Ideas of your own. Maybe not unlike mine. Want to share and share alike? Win or lose, time to choose. The finale isn’t far off now. This time I’ll be ready. Final question: Is David Gurney friend or foe?”

Dave listened to that one three times. He still wasn’t sure whether Clinter was a nutcase or just found it a comfortable role to play. Holdenfield had insisted that he was a mentally disturbed pain in the ass. But Gurney wasn’t quite ready to discount the man who had talked himself into that little room in Buffalo and left five armed mobsters dead on the floor.

He looked at his dashboard clock. It was a minute past four. The mist had stopped, at least temporarily. He pulled back onto the gravel-and-dirt lane and headed up the mountain.

When he got to the little parking area by their side door, he saw that the light was on in the upstairs room that Madeleine sometimes used for her knitting and crocheting. She’d gone back to using it only in the last month or two. It had been the site of a threatening intrusion into the house during the course of the Perry investigation the previous September—the investigation that ended with Gurney being shot.