“You do remember our dinner?”

“Tomorrow?”

Madeleine produced a long-suffering smile. “The members of the yoga club. Here. For dinner.”

“Oh, right, sure. That’s fine. No problem.”

“You’re sure? You’ll be here?”

“No problem.”

She gave him a long look, then broke it off as though the subject was closed. She stood, opened the French doors, and took a long deep breath of the cool air.

A moment later, from the woods beyond the pond came that strange lost cry they’d heard before, like an eerie note on a flute.

Gurney rose from his chair and stepped out past Madeleine onto the stone patio. The sun had dipped below the ridge, and the temperature felt like it had dropped fifteen degrees. He stood quite still and listened for a repetition of that unearthly sound.

All he could hear was a silence so deep it sent a shiver through his body.

Chapter 12

Willow Rest

When Gurney came out to the kitchen the next morning, he was ravenously hungry.

Madeleine was at the sink island, shredding bits of bread onto a large paper plate, half of which was already covered with chopped strawberries. Once a week she gave the chickens a plate of something special in addition to the packaged feed from the farm supply store.

Gurney was reminded by her more-conservative-than-usual outfit that it was one of her work days at the clinic. He looked up at the clock. “Aren’t you running late?”

“Hal is picking me up, so … no problem.”

If he remembered rightly, Hal was the clinic director. “Why?”

She stared at him.

“Oh, right, yes, your car, in the shop. But how come Hal—?”

“I mentioned my car problems at work the other day, and Hal said he passes our road anyway. Besides, if I’m late because he’s late, he can hardly complain. And speaking of being late, you won’t be, will you?”

“Late? For what?”

“Tonight. The yoga club.”

“No problem.”

“And you’ll think about calling Malcolm Claret?”

“Today?”

“Good a time as any.”

At the sound of a car coming up the pasture lane, she went to the window. “He’s here,” she said breezily. “Got to go.” She hurried over to Gurney, kissed him, and then picked up her bag from the sideboard with one hand and the plate of bread and strawberries with the other.

“You want me to take care of that chicken stuff for you?” asked Gurney.

“No. Hal can stop at the barn for two seconds. I’ll take care of it. Ta-ta.” She headed through the hallway past the mudroom and out the back door.

Gurney watched through the window as Hal’s gleaming black Audi crept slowly down toward the barn and around to the far side where the door was. He watched until the car reappeared from behind the barn a minute or two later and headed down the road.