“‘I promise, I promise,’” Ansley said, mocking her. “God. Is there any more foul a statement? Everyone lies. Everyone promises you something. And then you’re left with a big steaming pile of dog shit at your front door. Not this time, girls. I’m fucking out of here. And don’t you dare try and find me. I don’t want a goddamn thing to do with those people.”

“What people?” Tashi asked. But Ansley was already out the door.

“Sorry,” Caddy said.

“Will she come around?”

“Ansley Cuthbert?” Caddy said. “Oh, hell, you never know. That girl has always been a wild card.”

TWENTY-ONE

Quinn wasn’t exactly sure how they ended up in bed, but there they were, he and Maggie, twisted under a white sheet trying to catch their breath. The topic of conversation hadn’t been all that sexy, Quinn leaving the late shift that morning, carrying the news of the forensics on the girl they found out at the Pennington property. Maggie had dropped off Brandon at school, still dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, drinking coffee on the porch when he got back to the farmhouse. He sat on the porch with her and laid out all of it. The girl was a teen or in her early twenties, buried at least twenty years ago, maybe more, the state folks saying she died from a massive blow to the head, several broken bones. They said her skull had been cracked in a dozen places, leaving them with a probable cause of death.

Maggie, as Quinn knew she would, said the girl was now definitely connected to Brandon. The letter, the location, now the time. Quinn didn’t disagree, going back in the house for a cup of coffee, joining her on the porch swing to talk about forensics and horrible ways to die. It was a beautiful morning, bright blue and a little chilly, the leaves on the oaks and pecans just starting to turn.

“Any idea who she was?”

“Nope.”

“Any chance you’ll find out?”

“We’re checking through missing persons reports from back then,” Quinn said. “If we get a possible match, there’s always dental records to compare. But that’s on down the line. Maybe some DNA. Still finding out about that.”

“Damn,” Maggie said. “Just damn.”

Hondo came running up from the barn and headed up the steps, tongue lolling from his mouth, panting hard. Maggie said he’d been in the pasture earlier in the morning herding cows and rolling in cow shit with even more enthusiasm. Quinn wasn’t mad, just glad the old boy was still trying to keep up with his work. He had a lot more gray around his eyes and muzzle. Still a strong and tough dog. Quinn scratched his pointy ears.

“I wanted to tell you first,” Quinn said.

“Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Maggie said.