“Wait a minute.” Webster regarded the map. No grid lines—the roads in the Thomas Guide weren’t much more than a series of random squiggles. He gave Bert directions to the best of his ability—a mile here, two miles there. Martinez negotiated the series of twists and turns, and within minutes the car descended into the protective covering of the glens, mercifully shaded by towering sycamore trees that dropped the temperature a few degrees. The Dodge’s temperature gauge dropped as well.

“Try the air-conditioning again?” Webster suggested.

“Sure, live dangerously.”

They closed the windows and blasted the fan. But all it did was throw tepid gusts throughout the car’s interior. Small wooden homes—some not more than shacks—blended into the landscape. Deeper into the winding canyon, they passed a biker bar, replete with blinding chrome-studded Harleys. Shirtless, bearded fat men were hanging out of the place, bellies protruding like tongues from panting dogs. Martinez smoothed his mustache and reduced the speed, just long enough to cast a couple of glances.

“Think PEI has any sympathizers out there?”

“I reckon it may have one or two.”

“Want to catch a beer, Tom?”

“There’re ’bout sixty of them and two of us. I’ll pass.”

The men laughed, but it was a jittery one. Delving into the wilderness, farther from the telephone poles, farther from civilization.

Webster said, “From the looks of it, I’d say that Tarpin felt right at home at Baldwin’s nature camp.” He stared at his map, looking at the small dirt roads that he had outlined in red. “’Bout a mile up you got to look for an unpaved pathway—Homestead Place. But there aren’t any street signs.”

“I’ll use the odometer.”

“It’ll be on our left.” They rode in silence, looking for the turnoff. Webster squinted. “How ’bout there?”

Martinez slowed. “It’s as good a guess as any.”

The car rattled as it plowed against the rock-hard dirt lane, both of them praying the tires wouldn’t give out. As the car hugged the tortuous paths, makeshift shacks and lean-tos could be spotted nestled in the copses. The structures held addresses, but the street numbers seemed to defy logic. Five minutes later, after several backtracks and some good luck, they found the appointed place. As soon as they got out of the air-conditioned vehicle, a blast from the midday furnace hit their faces. But as strong as it was, it couldn’t compete with the stench.

“Good Lord!” Webster held his nose. “Whatever died was awfully big.”

Martinez was sweating profusely. But not just from the heat. He was visibly upset. “This is terrible! We just saw the man yesterday.”

“Assuming it’s him.” Webster mopped his face with the tail of his shirt. “Y’all want to call it in to the local authorities?”

“Shouldn’t we check it out first?”

“My nose already did that.”

Martinez gave him a look.