“Maybe he’s available as a stand-in,” Teresa said.

“Not bad. Maybe I should look around. There are a lot of unfamiliar faces here.”

“Same for me,” Teresa said. “I’ve already met a few. Abby Tuckerman introduced me to a new vet she hired. Nicky something. Cute girl.”

“Nicky Hayes,” Kelsey said, eyeing Teresa sidelong. “She moved here with her fiancée.”

“Wow, you’re well connected,” Teresa said.

“I met them a couple of months ago on the towpath. We had a little dog-on-dog encounter. I dropped by their house to pick up some meds for Allie.”

“You know, it’s funny,” Teresa said. “She reminded me of someone we knew a long time ago. In high school. Even though they don’t look anything like each other. I’m not really sure why, but it’s something about her eyes, or her mouth.”

Kelsey nodded. “I know who you’re thinking of. Des Gowan.”

“That’s it,” Teresa said, her voice softening. “You saw it too. Des.”

***

As he left the bar with two glasses of champagne, Vin was greeted by a bear-shaped man who was standing nearby and talking to a wiry younger man with rimless glasses and a goatee. It took Vin a second to retrieve the name of the larger man: Doug Tuckerman. Vin said hello and wished him a happy new year.

“Cheers,” Doug said, raising his glass. Looks like scotch on the rocks, Vin thought while lifting a champagne glass in response. He hadn’t seen any scotch on the bartender’s table.

“You and Nicky must be pretty well settled in by now.”

“Pretty well. At least we’ve unpacked everything, and we don’t have to look at maps every day to find our way around.”

“Well, you found your way down to Glen Echo. Vin, let me introduce you to an old friend of Abby’s and mine, Bryce Lemond.” He pivoted and Vin introduced himself.

“Bryce and Abby were neighbors growing up in Chevy Chase, and Vin’s fiancée works with Abby,” Doug said. “Vin, you moved here from… New England was it?” Seemingly uninterested in Vin’s response, Doug studied his drink and swirled the ice, then took a long sip.

Vin confirmed that he and Nicky had moved to Potomac and lived near Pennyfield Lock.

“Bryce is a rock climber,” Doug offered. Bryce explained that the Virginia side of Great Falls had a variety of climbing routes in Mather Gorge, about a half-mile downstream from the Falls. It could get pretty crowded, so you had to know where and when to go.

“I’ve always wondered whether I’d like climbing,” Vin said. As Doug ducked away, Vin added that he’d never climbed outdoors but had tried climbing at rock gyms a couple of times, and his impression was that footholds were more important than handholds. The band had started its second set, so Vin and Bryce angled behind the bar toward the Christmas tree, where it was quieter. Bryce confided that there was a great climbing spot for beginners and experienced climbers on the Maryland side of the river at a place called Carderock. A line of forty-foot rock faces was hidden in the trees on the hillside just a few steps from the water. Vin finished his champagne and looked guiltily at the full glass he’d promised to bring to Nicky.

“Hi, Bryce,” chimed a woman's voice from over Vin’s shoulder.

Bryce grinned and leaned in to kiss the woman on both cheeks. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back and she wore a gray cashmere sweater. When she backed away, Vin recognized her and his pulse quickened for an instant.

“Hi, Vin,” she said, extending her hand and smiling. “Kelsey Ainge.”

“Nice to see you again. How’s your dog?”

“Her ear healed without a trace. Please thank Nicky again for the ear spray.”

“Kelsey, you used to do some climbing,” Bryce said. “I was just telling Vin that Carderock is a good spot for beginners.”

“It’s true. The terrain around Great Falls has a little bit of everything…”

“Even the trails are a nice escape,” Bryce said. “The woods are beautiful.”

Vin said that he was from Maine and had grown up around both hardwoods and evergreens. He gestured toward the Christmas tree. “I think I’ll miss seeing snow on the pines and hemlocks,” he said. “The river environment is growing on me, but I’m not sure it offers as much variety as New England.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Kelsey said. “You can see all kinds of interesting things in the woods here. And trees you probably don’t see in Maine, like sycamores.” The band had downshifted into “Can’t Find My Way Home”, and Vin listened to the lead singer’s lament in the background.

“In fact,” Kelsey continued, “there’s a spot just downstream from Carderock, a few steps off the Billy Goat Trail, where three old sycamores are joined together near the base.” Vin looked at her gray-green eyes, which flitted infinitesimally side to side before coming to rest on his. By reflex he found himself silently reciting Lee Fisher’s message again:

I may be buried along with the others at the base of three joined sycamores at the edge of a clearing.

The room seemed to tilt a few degrees and grow hazy as the music and nearby conversations fused into an ambient hum. He squinted hard at Kelsey as she returned his stare and his thoughts darted forward like a rabbit through the haze. You’ve read Lee’s note. How? When? Did you write the penciled message in the library book? Maybe you authored Lee’s note yourself and planted it in the shed. No, that makes no sense: the photo, the drill… it was a complete fluke that I found it in the first place. You’re drawing me into some kind of game. To what end? What is it you want?

“Excuse me for a few minutes,” he said, raising the full glass a few inches and smiling uncertainly at Kelsey and Bryce. “I need to go find Nicky.”

Chapter 9

Snowshoeing

Wednesday, January 10, 1996

On Wednesday the weather finally cleared, and over coffee and bagels Vin and Nicky looked out at an azure sky and two feet of fresh snow on their front lawn. The snowfall in the D.C. area had started late Saturday night and continued with varying degrees of intensity for over eighteen hours, with the suburbs north and west of the city hit especially hard. On Monday it stopped snowing and residents began the task of digging out on a day sculpted by blowing and drifting snow. Before much progress was made, an Alberta Clipper swept into the mid-Atlantic on Tuesday, leaving several additional inches in its wake.

“Think they’ll be able to open the Clinic today?” Vin asked. Most of the secondary roads had yet to see a snowplow.

“Doubtful,” Nicky said. “But I’ll call Abby to see what’s going on.”

Abby said that she and Carlos would to try to get in for a half-day each, but all appointments had been canceled and the Clinic would be on an emergency-only footing again. Since Nicky had been able to work for a few hours Tuesday, Abby said she wasn’t needed today.

“And I thought our snowshoes were going to gather dust all winter,” Vin said.

Nicky squinted skeptically. “You think we can snowshoe in two feet of powder?”

“Sure. That’s what those detachable tails are for. The deep stuff.”

“Where were you thinking of going?”

“How about the Billy Goat Trail?”

“Are you nuts? I hiked the Billy Goat Trail at our staff outing in October. We practically had to use ropes to climb some of those rocks. And that was on a warm, dry day.”

“You hiked section A,” Vin said, “above Mather Gorge.” He stretched to reach a folding paper map. “Which our ‘Hiking Trails of Great Falls Maryland’ map describes as ‘strenuous’ and ‘very physically demanding’. That’s the most dramatic section. I’m thinking of section C, which the map says is ‘moderate, with scenic river views’.”

“Hmm,” Nicky said. “I didn’t realize there were multiple Billy Goat Trails.”

“It’s split into three sections. Section C is the furthest downstream.”

“How long is it?”