“I heard. One of the Bain girls, right?”

“Yeah. We got us a house up past Barkley Mountain and everything.”

“Wasn’t that where your dad lived?”

“Ayeah.” Ayeah. Christ, he sounded like a hillbilly. An old hillbilly. “Yes,” he tried. “I got it when he passed.”

Johnson nodded. “I’m sure you miss him.” Randy was glad Johnson didn’t try to hand him a line about how sorry he was. Steve Schoof had been everything the Reid-Gruyn foreman wasn’t: fun-loving, easygoing, hard-living. Randy’s dad had worked so that he could afford to party. If Johnson had ever even had a beer after eight hours on the floor, Randy had never heard about it.

“So,” Randy went on, “there’ve been a lot of changes in my life in the past three years. I been working every winter as a logger for Castle Logging.”

Johnson nodded. Randy wondered if he’d show more of what he was thinking if he weren’t a Mohawk.

“But, um, Ed’s decided to close up shop. He’s retiring to Florida. And so I’m looking for work.” He blurted the last sentence toward the stained concrete floor.

Johnson sighed. “Believe it or not, Randy, I’d probably hire you back if I could.”

Randy scrunched up his face. What?

“I know Ed Castle some. He supplies us with pulp. And if he’s kept you on for the last three years, you must be settling down some. Of course, getting married does that to a man.”

Randy nodded. Where was this going?

“Problem is, we’ve got a freeze on. No hires. No overtime. Ed Castle’s getting out of the lumbering business because Haudenosaunee is going to be closed up tight, isn’t he?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, the same problem is affecting us at Reid-Gruyn. No local pulp means costs go up. Mr. Reid says we’ve got to tighten our belts.” Johnson’s dark eyes were-regretful? Worried? Randy couldn’t tell. “Rumor has it one of the big multinationals from Malaysia has made an offer for the mill. God only knows what’ll happen to our jobs then. I’m hoping to hang on until retirement.”

Randy looked around him. The tanks were full, the rollers grinding and thumping, the stench and the noise and the movement of the men on the floor the same as it had been three years ago. “This is Millers Kill,” he said, bewildered. “What the hell does a company from Malaysia have to do with us?” He wasn’t even sure where Malaysia was.

Johnson allowed himself a ghostly smile. “You don’t pay attention to the news much, do you, boy?”

Randy bristled. “Just because I didn’t graduate-”

“Calm down. I’m not yanking your chain.” Johnson sighed. “It doesn’t matter anyway. No jobs here. And if you’re looking for another logging job, you’d better get to it, because a lot of the big outfits are bringing up Mexicans to do the work now. Cheaper than a white man, you know.” He grinned outright.

“Yeah. Thanks for the tip.” Randy spun on his heel and marched away before he could say something to get himself into trouble. It wasn’t Johnson’s fault there was no work to be had.

No work. A cold wind blew up inside him, and despite the heat on the pulping floor, he shivered. He had always thought of the mill as the workplace of last resort. A place he might not choose to go but that would always be there. Stupid. Stupid.

What was he gonna do? Trucking? Work at the Kmart? Clean up after tourists at a ski lodge? None of that would cover the bills sitting on the kitchen counter right now, let alone support his family if a baby came along.

He emerged into the same cold, bright air. What was he going to do? What?

Russ watched Eugene’s face as he read the letter and examined the brochure from the Planetary Liberation Army. In the dining room, breakfast was winding down to the last few scrapes across syrup-coated plates and the dregs from the coffeepot. Russ had asked their host quietly if he and Clare might have a word. Eugene had led them into the living room. Leather and wool-blanketed chairs sprawled invitingly around them, but no one sat.

Van der Hoeven looked up at him. “I’ve heard of the group.” He frowned at the letter. “She’s always been a bit of a nut about her causes, but I can’t believe Millie would get involved with extremists like this.”

“How long has your sister been living with you?” Russ asked.

“Since late August.” He turned the brochure over. “There’s no date on either of these. Perhaps she brought them with her?”

“They were in the kitchen,” Clare said. “Is that likely to be where she would store papers she brought from-where’s her home?”

“Montana.” He was standing near the enormous river-stone fireplace, in such a way that his scarred flesh was partially in shadow. Russ wondered how much of his positioning was deliberate and how much an old habit. “No, I have to confess it’s more likely any mail in the kitchen arrived here. I pick things up from the box at the end of the road, and I tend to dump it on the kitchen desk. It’s where I do the bills.”

Russ glanced at Clare, and he swore he could read her mind. Maybe the rich aren’t that much different from you and me. Of course, when he wrote out checks in his kitchen, it wasn’t next to crates of wine from his own vineyard.

He focused in on Eugene. If his sister was mixed up in a piece of nasty work, he might be genuinely ignorant. Or he might be protecting her. “Mr. van der Hoeven, I know you’re worried about your sister.” Russ dropped his voice. He was concerned. Eugene could confide in him. “I’m starting to be worried, too. You say she’s good in these woods, that she’s known them all her life. Does it make sense that she’d wander off at night and get herself lost?” Toward the other end of the great room was a glassed-in case of hunting rifles and a table, next to the window seat, made from what looked to be elk antlers. It didn’t take much detective work to figure out where van der Hoeven’s sympathies lay. “Or could it be that she’s been sucked in by some radical environmentalists? Gotten in over her head? Could that have anything to do with her disappearance?”

Eugene nodded thoughtfully. “I did hear a car, early this morning. Before I discovered Millie wasn’t in the house.”

Russ smoothed the surprise off his face. He hadn’t expected to get anything from his fishing expedition. He just liked to tie off any loose ends.

“You didn’t mention a car to the search team,” Clare said.

Their host quarter-turned to her, just enough to be polite, still keeping his good side toward her. He did it more with Clare than with the men in his house, Russ noticed. He wanted to say, Don’t worry about it, buddy. She’ll take you as she finds you.

“I didn’t think it signified.” Eugene gestured toward Russ’s camo and blaze orange. “On a Saturday in hunting season, it’s not unusual to have cars or trucks drive in here by mistake. Hunters looking for one of the access roads.”

“Do you have any reason to think Millie might have been involved with the PLA?” Russ asked.

“If she was, she certainly didn’t tell me. She’s hooked up with the local chapter of this Adirondack Conservancy Corporation.” Eugene’s face was still expressive enough to register what he thought of them. “A bunch of old ladies and newcomers from New York City. She had them up here just this past week. Do you think they…?”

“Are a front for the PLA? No. I, um, know the president of that group pretty well. They’re more into… passive resistance.”

Clare looked at him, one eyebrow quirked. Mom, he mouthed. “Any other organizations she’s gotten involved with?” he asked van der Hoeven. “Meetings she didn’t tell you about? Absences she didn’t explain?”

“She is seeing someone from town,” van der Hoeven said slowly. “Romantically, I mean. At least, that’s what she told me. I have to say, that’s unusual for her. She doesn’t have much of a track record with men.”