“We were just telling your boyfriend that we saw that lady, the one with the skirt, this morning.”

“At the goat-yoga class?”

The petite one shook her head. “Really early. Abbas,” she said, pointing to the teenage boy, “still has trouble sleeping, and he got up and went for a run. I got up too and sat on the porch, drank my coffee. I didn’t think anything was going to happen to him, but I wanted to be up anyway.”

“Something happened to those goats,” Biker Jacket said. “Awiti, get down off that hill before I blister your ass.”

“Jane,” the petite woman said, clutching Biker Jacket’s arm. “We talked about—”

“Right now, young lady!”

“Where did you see the woman in the skirt?” Shaw asked.

“Jane, I really don’t think we should be swearing.”

“Was she by the barn?” Shaw said.

“Awiti. Awiti! Fine. Here I come.”

Jane—Biker Jacket—took off toward the kids, who shrieked and split up, laughing as they ran.

The petite woman was chewing her lip.

“You’ve got your hands full,” North said. “Can you point out where you saw that woman?”

“What? Oh, we’ve talked about spanking, we’ve talked about—phew.” Instead of delivering a spanking, Jane picked up the tiny girl and spun her, laughing as she did. “The woman? That’s what you were asking about? I saw her just up there by the treeline.”

“Thanks,” North said. “Come on, toothpick.”

As they left behind the laughing, screaming children, Shaw said, “You’re sure you don’t want to join up with the gals? I bet you know how to make a mean mojito.”

“And visit a pony farm? No thanks. I’m allergic.”

“You just seemed so excited when they offered.”

“I was more excited when I found out your fantasies about me included a sling and creative use of your tongue. Maybe you can give Tuck some ideas. Lord knows the man hasn’t tried anything new since 2013. Now hurry up. I want to find those damn goats before I have to talk to one more horrifying excuse for a human being.”

“Kids,” Shaw said. “You probably forgot, but remember: they’re called kids.”

North came after him, charging, and Shaw tried to dodge. He really did. But he ended up on the ground, his shirt stuffed full of clover and a wicked indian burn on his forearm, while North whistled and strolled away.

5

THEY DIDN’T FIND any tracks behind the barn, although Shaw insisted he saw something—a slightly flattened area near the rear doors. North didn’t see anything, and he thought Shaw was only saying that because of the indian burn. At the treeline, though, they found a break in the old oaks where a dirt road was slowly being reclaimed by bluegrass and honeysuckle. Here, the signs of a vehicle were obvious: broken branches, trampled weeds, and one perfectly clear tire track in the ruts that marked where the truck—North was almost certain it was a truck—had stopped.

Shaw asked, “Do we follow it?”