“Hi, Mom, what’s up?” With the phone cradled against my ear, I crouched down to refold my uniform. The military-caliber New York State Police training I’d received at the police academy had stayed with me throughout the years. I no longer rose at 4:30 a.m. and went to bed at 10:00 p.m., but I’d sooner die than toss my laundry onto the floor.

“Shana.” My mother exhaled as she said my name, almost as if she’d been holding her breath. “I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a minute to talk?”

There was something odd going on with her voice, a mien of formality typically reserved for when she delivered bad news. I leaned back on my haunches. “Everything okay?”

She must have picked up on my alarm, because when she spoke again her voice had returned to normal. “It’s fine, we’re all fine, nothing to worry about. You weren’t worried, were you? Your father told me not to bother you with this, but—she’s fine, Wally, for Pete’s sake!” In the background I could hear my dad running a one-sided debate. He said something that sounded suspiciously like The kid has enough on her mind. As they bickered, I folded the rest of the clothing in my bag, but when I grabbed the T-shirt I’d worn to class, something slipped free and shot across the hardwood. Puzzled, I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. It was a playing card, the Three of Hearts. The reverse was emblazoned with a photograph of Heart Island, where Boldt Castle, built by the island’s original owner, rose fairytale-like above the trees. I was sure the cards Mac and I had played with that morning were the standard Bicycle brand, but then, the deck we’d borrowed was from the bistro’s game cupboard. This must have been a stray. How it got into my stuff, I had no idea.

“Listen,” Mom said. “Something happened today. You know the Missisquoi Wildlife Refuge? That swampland over on Hog Island?”

“Sure.” I stuffed the card back in my bag and resumed my position next to Whiskey. Della Merchant knew all there was to know about Swanton and made a point of checking in on the local rumor mill. I guessed her story was headed toward an affair. A roll in the marsh, as it were.

“I’ve got it on good authority the police found something out there. Human bones,” she said.

I swallowed my mouthful of wine so fast my nostrils burned. “Seriously?”

“Now, Shay, before you—”

“Have they been ID’d? What’s the cause of death? Were they—”

“Slow down. All I know is the police are investigating and don’t have much to go on. They got an anonymous tip a few days ago, which is what led them to the area. Now, you tell me why a person who finds something like this can’t be decent enough to leave their name?”

My mind whirred as I tried to imagine this news spreading throughout my hometown. Every mouth, set in a face bewitched by horror and bilious glee, would repeat this gossip tonight and wonder who, why, how. “I suppose they could have stumbled upon the site and been too freaked out to divulge their identity. You say the tip came in a few days ago? That takes us to midweek. Lots of people hike the refuge, even this time of year. It’s got all those trails, and you can get there by canoe or kayak, either on the Missisquoi River or Lake Champlain. Could be an out-of-towner got turned around and injured. Those woods are pretty wild. Odds are good there’s nothing nefarious going on—but keep me posted,” I said, kneading the fur behind Whiskey’s ears. The little dog groaned in ecstasy. “I bet Swanton hasn’t seen this much excitement since Mickey Bellington painted his house black.”