“I can’t guarantee anything,” she said. “Look, we have a good relationship, don’t we? I mean, we’re both working here, but we’re friends, right?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t promise anything, but we’re friends. You understand what I’m saying?”

Wyatt gave it some thought.

“I do, and I’m good with that.”

They heard her phone vibrate, and she glanced at it.

“I have to go.” She reached into her wallet to leave cash.

“I’ve got this,” Wyatt said. “One thing, though. Earlier, you said you wanted to help me search for Danny. What did you have in mind?”

She looked at him, and into the pain he kept deep behind his eyes.

“Maybe there are a few things I could try.”

“Such as?”

“I’m sorry, but can we talk about it when we’re back in New York?”

She stood.

He nodded slowly, shrugged, then said, “Sure. All right.”

Outside, she looked at the message from Rod Noble.

“We’re running down a sighting of Cass and Gibby’s camper on 89 east of Montpelier.”

CHAPTER 50

Somewhere in the Northeast Kingdom, Vermont

Lasius Byyle was disappointed with the outcome of the auction.

The global community of so-called aficionados did not grasp the true value he was offering. They failed to meet his reserve of $120,000, leaving him resentful and stirring his anger.

Their tastes are more hoi polloi than eclectic.

There were different networks, and offshoots that took part in the auction for different reasons. He didn’t know all of the players, and had little to do with many of the offshoots.

Who knows and who cares what some of those mysterious, nefarious people are up to? My concern is my work.

He brooded, pacing the house, stroking Tituba.

It always took time for Byyle to recover from an unsuccessful auction. It left him contemplating his fallback option. Now he would set out preparing his artwork for exhibition, presenting it to an audience that would appreciate the depth of its beauty.

And why wouldn’t they?

He always took meticulous care with his displays, to ensure the viewer achieved the maximum fulfilment from the creation.

It was worth it.

Over the years, his exhibitions had received exceptional reviews—especially from detectives who appreciated his artful separation of body parts.

Tituba meowed when he set her on the floor.

“You stay put,” Byyle said. “I’ve got to go out.”

***

Byyle stepped from the house into the sunlight, inhaling the sweet air and welcoming the birdsong. Dragonflies flitted about as he walked through the overgrowth, feeling the waist-high grass sweep against him.

He loved this property.

Continuing, he took stock of its history—how, in the early 1800s settlers had discovered copper in the region and established mines. A small settlement of houses and businesses sprang up. But after 20 years, several collapses, and setbacks, all mining operations ceased. People abandoned their homes, the stores, everything, creating a ghost town.