“But you do think it was a larva of some kind?”

“Either that or a hell of a weird artifact from staining.”

“Could it be a different parasite-not Taenia?”

“What kind of parasite?”

“One that invades its host via the nasal passages. It could coil up inside one of the sinuses and hide there indefinitely. Until it’s expelled or it dies. Any biological toxins it released would be absorbed right through the sinus membranes, into the host’s bloodstream.”

“Wouldn’t you see it on CT scan?”

“No. You’d miss it on CT, because it would look completely mnocuous. Like nothing more than a mucoid cyst.” Like Scotty Braxton’s CT scan.

“If it was coiled up in a sinus, how would it get into Warren Emerson’s brain?”

“Think about the anatomy. There’s only a thin layer of bone separating the brain from the frontal sinus. The parasite could have eroded through.”

“You know, it’s a marvelous theory. But there’s no parasite that fits that clinical picture. Nothing I can find in the textbooks.”

“What about something that’s not in the textbooks?”

“You mean an entirely new parasite?” Clevenger laughed. “1 wish!

It’d be like hitting the scientific jackpot. I’d get my name immortalized for discovering it. Taenia clevengeria. It’s got a nice ring, doesn’t it?

But all I’ve got is a degraded and unidentifiable larva on microscopic.

And no living specimen for show and tell.” Just an earthworm.

On the drive back to Tranquility she realized she was still missing a number of pieces to the puzzle. Max Tutwiler would have to supply them. She would give him the opportunity to explain in private; he had been her friend, and she owed him the benefit of the doubt. She’d been married to a scientist, and she knew the fever that sometimes consumes them, that intense rush of excitement when they scent the first whiff of a discovery. Yes, she understood why Max might hoard the specimen, might keep it a secret until he could confirm it was a new species. What she could not understand, and could never forgive, was the fact he had concealed information from her, and from Noah’s physicians. Information that might have been vital to her son’s health.

She was growing angrier by the mile.

Talk to him first, she reminded herself You could be wrong. This could have nothing to do with Max.

By the time she reached the Tranquility town line, she was too agitated to put off the meeting any longer. She wanted to have it out with him now.

She drove directly to Max’s cottage.

His car wasn’t there. She parked in his driveway and was crossing to the porch when she noticed, off to her right, footprints tracking away from the building.

She followed them a short distance into the woods, where they halted at a churned up section of snow mixed with dirt. She squatted down, and with her gloved hand dug into the disturbed snow. About six inches deep, she reached a layer of loose soil and dead leaves. She picked up a handful of dirt and saw something glistening, moving in her palm. An earthworm. She buried it and retraced her steps out of the woods.

On the porch, she glanced around for a shovel, knowing one had to be there. She spotted it, along with a pickaxe, leaning against the woodpile, frozen soil still caked to the blade.

The door was unlocked; she stepped into the cottage and saw at once why Max hadn’t bothered to secure the place. It had been cleaned out of almost all his belongings. What remained-the furniture, the cookware-had probably come with the rental. She walked through the bedrooms, the kitchen, and found only a few of his things left: a box of books, a basket of dirty clothes, and some food in the refrigerator. And tacked to the wall, his topographical map of the Meegawki Stream. He’ll be coming back for these things, she thought. And I’ll be waiting for him.

Her gaze fell to the box of books. To the corporate mailing label still affixed to the cardboard flap: ANSON BIOLOGICALS.

It was the name of the reference lab that had analyzed Scotty’s and Taylor’s blood, and had returned negative reports on both their drug screens. False negatives? she wondered, and if so, what were they trying to hide? It was the same lab that had recently paid a grant to the Two Hills Pediatric Group, to collect blood samples from the area’s teenagers. What was Anson’s interest in the children of Tranquility?

She took out her cell phone and called Anthony at the Knox Hospital lab. “What do you know about Anson Biologicals?” she asked him. “How did it end up with the contract for our hospital?”

“Well, it was a funny thing. We used to send all our GC-MS and radio immunoassay tests to BloodTek, in Portland. Then about two months ago, we suddenly switched to Anson.”

“Who made the decision?”

“Our chief of pathology. The change made sense, since Anson’s charges are discounted. The hospital couldn’t resist. We’re probably saving tens of thousands of bucks.”

“Could you find out more about them? I need to know as soon as possible. You can reach me on beeper.”

“What do you want to know, exactly?”

“Everything. Whether they’re more than just a diagnostic lab. And what other ties they have to Tranquility.”

“I’ll see what I can find out.”

She hung up. Even with the electric heat turned on, the room felt cold. She built a fire in the woodstove and made breakfast out of Max’s meager food supplies. Coffee and buttered toast and a slightly shriveled apple. By the time she’d finished eating, so much warmth was radiating from the woodstove, she was starting to feel drowsy from the heat. She called the hospital again to check on Noah’s condition, then she sat down by the window to wait.

He couldn’t avoid her forever.

It seemed like only moments later when she startled awake in the chair, her neck hurting from uncomfortable slumber. It was three o’clock, and the morning sunlight had shifted to the slanting rays of afternoon.

She rose and massaged her neck as she wandered restlessly around the cottage.

Into the bedroom, back to the kitchen. Where was he? Surely he’d come back for his dirty laundry.

She stopped in the living room and her gaze rose to the topographical map, tacked on the wall. She moved closer to it, suddenly focusing on Beech Hill, elevation 980 feet. What was it Lois Cuthbert had said at the town meeting? It had to do with the lights people had seen flickering up on the hill, and the rumors that satanic cults were gathering in the woods at night.

Lois had explained the lights. It’s just that biologist fella, Dr. Tutwiler, collecting salamanders at night. I almost ran over him in the dark a few weeks ago, when he came hiking back down.

Claire had only an hour of daylight left; she would need it to find what she was looking for. She already knew where to start.

She left the cottage and got back in her car.

The snow would make her search easy. She turned onto the road leading up Beech Hill. As she neared Emerson’s property, she slowed down and observed that the driveway to his house was unplowed. It had snowed since her last visit to feed the cat, and there were no new tire tracks. She drove on, past his property.

There were no other homes beyond his on the hill, and the road became a dirt track. Decades before, this had been a logging road; it was now used only by hunters or hikers on their way to the panoramic lookout at the top. The town plows had not cleared the recent snowfall, and the road was barely navigable in her Subaru. Another vehicle had been up this road before her; she saw the tire tracks.

A few hundred yards past the Emerson property, the tracks veered off the road and ended abruptly at a stand of pine trees. There was no vehicle parked there now; whoever had been here had since departed. But he had left behind ankle-deep footprints in the snow.