“Where are you going?” he asked again.

I pulled on my coat and sidestepped past him to get out into the aisle. “I’m going to see if maybe I’m not a terrible investigator after all.”

FORTY

“I was just shocked,” Olga said. “I wasn’t sure what to do.”

We were barreling down the highway in the hearse that belonged to the mortuary where she worked. All I could think about was how Jake would argue that it wasn’t a coincidence that a clown drove a hearse; it just made it easier for him/her to hide all of the dead bodies.

“Well, I can imagine,” I said, unsure of what to make of what she’d told me.

“I just thought the easiest thing would be to confront Joanne,” she said, gripping the steer wheel. “Maybe there was something I didn’t know. Or I was misunderstanding something. I didn’t want to involve the police. I guess I just panicked.”

“I don’t blame you,” I said. “And I didn’t ask before. Is someone there watching the kids? I mean, since you left?”

“Arnold,” she said.

“Arnold?”

“He’s a college student,” she said. “He’s my C.I.T.”

“C.I.T.?”

“Clown In Training,” she explained. “He’s studying business at the U, but he really wants to be a clown. He’s taking classes to appease his parents, but he works with me on the weekends. So he’s there with the kids right now. He can juggle, but really struggles with the unicycle right now. I’ll get him there.”

“Right.”

She moved the hearse over into the right lane and we took the exit off of the highway. She turned left from the off ramp and we crossed back over the highway and headed out toward the most remote, rural part of Moose River. There were acres of natural wetlands out in the area, along with a myriad of hiking trails that we’d used before in the warmer months. For the most part, it was open space that couldn’t be developed.

“Normally, I don’t take jobs this far out of town,” Olga said. “But Joanne was desperate and offered to pay me a little extra to come out. Her son really wanted clowns and she couldn’t find anyone in the area willing to come out this far.”

I pulled my phone out of my purse, thinking I might need it soon.

And there was no service. We were too far removed from civilization.

I stuffed it back in my purse. “That was nice of you. Okay, so when you went out to the barn...did you go back and tell anyone you were leaving? Before you drove to the theater?”

She shook her head, her rainbow wig bobbing in several different directions. “No. I just told Arnold I was going to run and get some candles. I was too flustered and I didn’t think he’d understand.” She snapped her gloved fingers. “And I still don’t have candles. Or a blowtorch.”

“That may end up being the least of our worries,” I said.

We passed by a barren field of what I guessed was corn in the summer months, and she turned the hearse left onto a narrow dirt road. The road was dotted with potholes and ruts and she slowed down. It snaked its way around the edge of the field and then cut through a thick grove of bare-branched trees. We crested a small hill and as we descended the other side, I could see an old, two-story country farm house about two hundred yards in front of us, with a massive barn off in the distance, another fifty yards to the right of it.

She pointed at the barn. “There. That’s where I went looking for the blowtorch.”

It was straight out of a painting. Red with white trim, big doors in the front, windows on the top floor, just beneath the pitch of the roof. The path from the house to the barn was littered with leaves.

She pulled the hearse to a stop right in front of the house. “I need to get inside and check on Arnold and the kids. He’s never worked with kids before.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to the barn.”

“I saw a shovel just inside the door,” she said. “You know, just in case you need a weapon or something.”

“Why would I need a weapon?”

She shrugged and adjusted her big red nose. “I don’t know. I don’t know what else is out there.”

“Good to know,” I said, pushing the car door open.

I watched Olga scurry into the house, her big red shoes flapping on the steps as she hopped up the porch and disappeared into the house that was apparently full of kids.

I turned to the barn and starting walking that way. The cold wind bit at my cheeks and I pulled my hat down again as low as I could, this time for protection rather than going incognito. My boots crunched against the leaves on the path. I pulled out my phone again.

Still no service.

I dropped it back in my bag and eyed the front of the barn. I could see the main door slightly ajar, but couldn’t see anything inside. I hesitated for a moment, then headed for the entrance.

I stood outside and listened.

Nothing.

I waited for a moment, but didn’t hear anything.

I pulled the door open and stepped inside.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The walls were lined with bales of hay and the floor was covered with loose straw and sawdust. The faint odor of cow manure mingled with the sweet smell of hay. I could make out a few random tools near the hay bales - a pitchfork, some shovels, one of those hook thingies used to hook the bales. There was an old ride-on mower tucked in once corner, a blue drop cloth half-covering it. The hay looked fresh, but everything else seemed as if it hadn’t been touched in awhile.

I could see the back wall of the barn and it looked the same as the sidewalls. A few random tools, a few more bales of hay. I moved my gaze upward to the high-pitched roof. There was an overhanging loft three quarters of the way up and I could make out a flight of wooden stairs that led up to it. I squinted. There was something else. A door in the loft that looked as if it was on the back wall. I took a step back to get a better angle.

It was definitely a door.

With a light on behind it.

My heart thumped in my chest.

I walked over to the stairs and walked slowly up them, waiting for them to creak or crack. But they held firm and I made my way up them silently.

I stood on the edge of the loft, maybe twenty-five feet above the barn floor. The door wasn’t on the back wall of the barn. It was actually attached to what looked a room, a room that had been built out. The walls looked about fifteen feet by fifteen feet: a decent sized room.

I stood still and listened.

I heard a faint voice.

Yellow light glowed in the doorframe.

I swallowed a couple of times, then crept over to the door.

Then I grasped the knob and opened it.

Amanda Pendleton was stretched out on a bed, watching a flat screen TV attached to a wall, when she craned her neck toward me and said, “Hey.”

FORTY ONE

“I’m starving,” she said, sitting up on the bed. “Did you bring dinner, by any chance?”

She was in a pair of yoga pants and over-sized hooded sweatshirt. Her long black, Snow White-like hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and she had thick, pink wool socks on her feet. She didn’t appear to be in any distress.

Other than her hunger.

“Uh, no,” I said, staring at her.

“Is anyone bringing me dinner?” She picked up a phone from the bed. “It’s way late.”

“Uh, I have no idea,” I said. I took a small step toward her. “Can I ask why you’re here?”

She stared at me for a long moment. “I’m not supposed to answer that.”

A faint humming buzzed in the room, courtesy of a small space heater in the corner. There were several piles of clothes stacked neatly beneath the TV. If we hadn’t been in a barn, it wouldn’t have been a reach to assume we were in Amanda’s bedroom.

“Do you know there are a lot of people looking for you?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I sorta figured.”