The welcome mat was in place, covered by dry leaves and bird crap. Milo disappeared behind the south side of the cabin, same as he’d done the first time. Returned and tried the front door. It swung open. He went in. Called out, “C’mon.”

* * *

Rustic, wood-paneled space, rubbed clean and smelling of Lysol. As vacant as Drew Daney’s hiding hole.

Except for the piano. Chipped, brown Gulbransen upright, sheet music held in place on the rack with a clothespin.

Floyd Cramer’s “Last Date” on top. Beneath that: Country Songs for Easy Playing. “Desperado” by the Eagles. “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” by Warren Zevon.

Empty gun rack on the wall. Through the disinfectant came the smell of male sweat and old clothes and machine oil.

A voice behind us said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

Bunny MacIntyre stood in the doorway. Her auburn perm was wrapped in an orange scarf and she wore a blue-checked western shirt tucked into straight-leg jeans. A necklace encircled her wattled neck. Silver and turquoise, peace symbol dangling from the central stone.

Barnett Malley had worn it the day we’d tried to talk to him.

MacIntyre took in Milo’s gun and said, “Pfft. Put that stupid thing away.”

Milo obliged.

She said, “I asked you a question.”

“Looks like you’ve got a vacancy, ma’am.”

“And it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Shucks, ma’am. And here I was thinking about country living.”

“Then do it somewheres else. This is my place. Gonna be a painting studio,” said MacIntyre. “Shoulda done it a long time ago. Now you leave right now, you don’t have my permission to trespass. Go on.”

Dismissing wave.

Still smiling, Milo strode up to her quickly. When he was a foot away, the smile was gone and his face had darkened.

MacIntyre stood her ground but it took effort.

Milo said, “When did Malley leave and where did he go? And no bullshit.”

MacIntyre’s pink lashes fluttered. “You don’t scare me,” she said, but strain thinned her smoker’s voice.

“Don’t want to scare anyone, ma’am, but I will cuff you and haul you in for obstructing justice if you give me any more lip.”

“You can’t do that.”

He spun her around, brought her arm behind her. Gingerly. Regret weakened his eyes.

A look that said An old woman. This is what it’s come to.

Bunny MacIntyre howled. “You damned bully! What do you want from me?”

Her voice was all strain, an octave higher. Milo released her arm, spun her back so she faced him.

“The truth.”

She rubbed her wrist. “Big brave guy. I’m filing a complaint.”