Despite the fact that she’d told Gabe she’d try to help by answering the dispatch phone and covering the front desk until he could get some permanent help, she knew he would understand, and who knew what else she might learn about strange goings-on. “Yes,” she said to him. “I’ll be here.”

The man bowed, glared at Vic and walked away, followed by an out-of-breath but now subdued Brother Lawrence.

When they were back in Vic’s car, he said, “If Gabe wasn’t tied up, I’d phone him right now. I don’t like asking for court orders to exhume graves, but it may come to that. That guy’s arrogant, positive he can get away with anything. Like looking at the mayor, it’s a long shot, but desperate times need—”

“Desperate measures,” she finished for him. “Not Shakespeare this time?” she asked, hoping he’d calm down. His face was red and a pulse beat at the side of his forehead.

“‘Thus do all things conspire against us’ will have to do for Shakespeare right now.”

“But I am starting to recall more things about my captivity. You know I’ve recalled a graveyard view—but surely not that one. It’s true Brice Monson lived on this land years ago in a single house, but even a child wouldn’t mistake those long, plastic covers for tombstones. I remember the scarecrow for smackings, of course, and a back staircase in a house—and I’m sure there was a stag’s head over the fireplace.”

“Good for you and for us, Tess. Now all we need you to remember is a name or a face.”

* * *

Gabe was disheartened and angry. Marva hadn’t given him anything he could use and was insisting he solve “Dane’s dreadful murder.” As if the best defense was a good offense, she’d turned hostile toward him and Tess. Her lawyer had insisted the suicide note had nothing to do with the Cold Creek kidnapper cases. He also continually counseled Marva to “take the Fifth.” The whole situation made Gabe wish he could have a good, stiff belt from a fifth of whiskey, even this early in the morning.

And now he was late heading to the library to hear what Miss Etta had to say about the pistol that killed Dane.

As he headed toward the library, Gabe saw several posters about the search for Sandy he’d help spearhead this afternoon. Jace was at the church helping the civilian organizers lay out grids for the volunteer teams to cover. There was a poster on the library door above an Open sign and one that read Come in and Change Your Life! If only that was true, he thought as he opened the door.

Miss Etta was shelving books from a rolling cart as two women he recognized were browsing the shelves. “Good. You came,” Miss Etta whispered when she saw him. “One can’t expect a busy sheriff to be prompt, and that’s quite all right. Would you like some hand sanitizer?” she asked as she walked over to her desk to use it herself. “One can’t be too careful with flu season coming.”

“Ah, sure,” he said, letting her pump some of the cool gel onto his hands. “Thanks for researching about the antique pistol.”

“First of all, please tell me, how is Tess?” she said, taking a book from her desk over to a long wooden table. “Just let me know if you need help, ladies,” she said to the two patrons.

Gabe sat in the chair beside her. The heavy oak furniture all looked antique, though the overhead lighting was modern and bright. There was an air of solidity about the place. As flighty as she seemed sometimes, this woman suited the place. She seemed unchanged over time, the bedrock of the community in a way Reese Owens would never be. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his answer about Tess, then added, as if to prompt him, “I recommended some books on childhood trauma she’s been reading. I hope they help.”

“I think they have. Some things are coming back, and she’s a lot more steady.”

“Oh, good. She seemed that way at the church service, and she certainly handled getting up in front of all those people. You know, I hate to speak ill of anyone, but I always thought Dane was highly suspect, so perhaps he has meted out his own justice to himself.” She leaned slightly closer. “He liked true crime and murder mysteries, you know.”

“Not exactly proof, but—”

“But with Marva and George Green’s help in the first two abductions—there you go. Dr. Dane Thompson, guilty as your father always believed. Now, here is a picture of that pistol your BCI friend Agent Reingold described to me on the phone. Have I found the correct one?”

“That’s it,” he said, looking closely at the sketch and then the two photos.

“Well, it’s of the same era as a few I own. They came down through my family who founded this area. Elias Falls, born 1785, was my great-great-great-grandfather, a contemporary of Daniel Boone in these parts. No doubt Daniel wandered through southern Ohio.”

Gabe was exhausted, but he tried not to let his eyes glaze over. No wonder kids recalled taking field trips to Miss Etta’s house for her pioneer-days lectures. He barely remembered her mother, Sybil Falls, who must be up in her eighties now and had been a recluse for years. Sybil had married and outlived a man named Vetter, which was Miss Etta’s actual last name, though both she and her mother had always used the prestigious Falls name. Talk about the mayor’s wife coming from Ohio “royalty.” Etta Falls could take her on any day.

“As far as I know, that gun was Dane’s,” she said, which made him alert again. “He wouldn’t let me include it in the display we had here because it was his favorite. So, if he did kill himself, I can see why he did it with that one.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Miss Etta.”

“And I have just the book for you,” she said as he rose. “It’s on occupational stress and how to cope with it. I’ll just get it from my desk.”

“I’ll remember that when I have time to read, so—”

His cell sounded. He looked at the display. His office phone.

“Excuse me, Miss Etta. I’ve got to take this, and I thank you again. Sheriff McCord here,” he said as he walked out onto the street.

“It’s Vic, Gabe. I’ve got some good info from going with Tess to the Hear Ye sect, but I also finally got a call back from Reese Owens’s former housekeeper, Ruby Purtle.”

“I’m on my way to the office, on foot. Be right there.”

“Yeah, well, be prepared to get your gear and jump in your vehicle because this woman says Reese Owens has a cabin up on a place called Green Mountain that no one knows about, even his wife. And get this—he fired this housekeeper but gave her a big payoff and a good recommendation, she thinks, just because she heard him ordering furniture for it on the phone. Think we can find it?”

“As heavy as he is, it can’t be far off the single road up there, and I know the area. Yeah, we’ll find it!”

Gabe jogged back to the office. Tess was sitting at the front desk with Peggy. “Just teach her the basics, Peg, and we’ll get some other help in ASAP,” he said, hurrying past them. Adrenaline surged through him as he and Vic grabbed Kevlar vests, guns and clips from the small equipment room.

“I can’t help thinking of this stuff as bomb-squad gear,” Gabe said, double-checking items in his utility belt.

“This could be the break we need. Despite the fact that Reese Owens likes to fight with words, I think it’s wise we go up there like this. If he’s not there himself, he might have a guard for the place—and whatever he’s got stashed there.”

“As much as Marva’s turned into a witch, I’d love to nail Mr. Mayor,” Gabe said.

“And if not, there’s a couple of hidden, child-sized graves Tess and I spotted on the Hear Ye property.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. Bright Star claims they’re the graves of commune babies who died and says he has permission for a graveyard there. The librarian any help?”

“Yeah, but I probably ticked her off by leaving before she could give me a book on stress.”

“Get me a copy too.”