“Hey, stranger,” said Tim.

“What are you doing here?” I blew out a frosty breath and shook my head. Tim Wellington in Swanton? It was inexplicable. The most horrible thoughts eddied through my mind, about Trey and Mac and everything in between.

“It’s a valid question,” Tim acknowledged. A fisherman’s sweater peeked out from his charcoal-colored winter coat, and he tugged at the neck as though it was itchy. “I grappled with it myself on the drive over.”

“How did you even know where to find me?”

“There aren’t too many Merchants in town. I pulled up to your parents’ place just as you were leaving. Been shadowing you ever since.”

“Nice,” I said with derision. “You’re my protection, is that it?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could protect me. I couldn’t karate-chop a cube of Jell-O.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Cheryl’s living room drapes twitch. “Get back in the car and follow me.”

To his credit, Tim did as he was told.

The drive to John R. Raleigh Memorial Field was a short one, but it was far enough from Cheryl and other inquisitive locals to satisfy my urge to flee. Cheryl’s remark about town gossip had reminded me to be careful. If Brett’s killer was still in town, I didn’t want to make it any easier for him—or her—to monitor my investigation.

I’d been to the baseball field a couple of times in recent months, secret trips to look for Bram, and had yet to come to terms with what he did in those woods. After he and I happened upon the cat, I’d betrayed his confidence by telling my dad. I didn’t like the idea of the animal out there alone all night, its eyes dull in the gloaming, or the possibility that someone else could find it. Dad went to the spot I described that evening and dug the cat a grave. Bram never asked what became of it, and I pretended to lose interest in the mystery. There would be many more to come. I parked in the lot next to the field, Tim pulled up beside my car, and I motioned for him to join me.

“Nice digs,” he said as he slipped into the passenger seat beside me. “This is quite an operation you’re running here.” He lifted a half-empty takeout cup from the console. “I especially like the artisan coffee bar.”

“Make do with what you’ve got, I always say.” I couldn’t help but grin. “I know it’s not the sophisticated mechanics of my investigation that brought you out here.”

“I do have some news,” he said. “We found the guy with the tarp.”

His tone was too cheerful to be announcing a bad break. I asked what they’d found.

“Local guy was dumping leaves in the water. He had them rolled up tight as a cigar. I can see why the fisherman was suspicious.”

“Does that mean the divers didn’t find anything?”

“That’s what it means.”

I exhaled. “And you came all this way to tell me that?”