“Do we need one of these?” Xavier asks from the cooking section.

  “What is that?” I ask, unable to recognize the contraption he’s holding up.

  “I’m not sure, but it looks useful in the little scene they have set up over here,” he tells me.

  I go over to him and find a full campsite set up on the showroom floor. The massive tent sits open, displaying inflated air mattresses, a cot, various sleeping bags and bedding, and a row of hiking boots. Outside the flap is a fake fire ring with an iron tripod holding a Dutch oven over the plastic flames. Several metal plates and matching utensils sit on mesh stools. It looks like people had established residence in the store and then mysteriously disappeared.

  “What about one of these? I definitely think we need one of these,” Cupcake says.

  I turn around and find her holding a machete. The image of the small woman dressed entirely in frothy pink and white wielding the massive weapon is disquieting, to say the least.

  “I’m not sure we’re going to have any need for a machete,” I tell her. “There’s a good amount of cleared land there. And I don’t think we’re going to be under attack by any animals or anything.”

  Both Cupcake and Xavier gasp at the mere suggestion that the machete would be applied anywhere near an animal, and I apologize. We end up leaving with new tents, sleeping bags, a hammock, various cooking utensils and equipment, and a basket of other things I lost track of along the way. It looks like we’re preparing to go completely off the grid. We should be well prepared for a couple of days on a piece of land less than fifteen minutes away from town and where people were living in only a handful of years ago.

  The land hasn’t had anyone living on it in a while, but it isn’t fully abandoned. A group of citizen detectives deeply attached to the case I investigated a few months ago has been coming by to check on the very large colony of feral cats that call the property their home as well as take care of the grave site that started their devotion to the crime. When Xavier bought the land, he reassured them that he would like for them to continue taking care of the cats and maintaining the grave when he’s not there. He can’t stand the idea of all the cats—who we learned descended from the pet of the family several decades ago and who are well accustomed to humans—going without any attention and care when he can’t be at the farm.

  The cats all seem excited to see people when we pull up the long driveway into the open area of the overgrown land. What used to be open fields on a working, productive farm long ago has become a forest. Only the fence posts with occasional pieces of weathered barbed wire and sagging buildings tucked among the trees hint at what it once was. Those trees called to the evil person who left a beautiful young woman dead in a grave he dug, unnamed and unknown for years. But she’s not there anymore. The marker on her grave bears her true name. He doesn’t have any control over her anymore.

  Xavier happily jumps out of the car with a huge bag of dry cat food under his arm and walks toward the incoming horde of cats. There’s tremendous genetic diversity among the cats, with everything from long-haired marmalades the color of a Creamsicle to sleek tor toiseshells. It’s the small assortment of cats with random coloration—including a single tuxedo-colored one and a massive tomcat in shades of gray and silver—that makes me think this group took in some strays and cast-off pets over the years.

  In a way, that reminds me of my own found family. Some of us are related by blood, but all of us are connected by the bond that we’ve chosen to make a part of our lives.

  Xavier starts tossing handfuls of the food out to the cats like he’s feeding scratch to chickens and then plops down onto the ground to welcome any brave enough to come all the way up to him already.

  “Are we going to set up right here?” I ask.

  “Maybe further back,” Xavier says.

  I get back in the car and drive around the side of the old, broken-down trailer that was the last form of permanent housing on the land. The horrors that happened at the hands of the man who lived inside that trailer are unspeakable, and it still makes me angry every time I look at it.

  I drive around to the back of the property and under one of the larger trees still at the edge of the cleared area. There’s an alcove in the trees that looks like a ready-made campsite, and I pull out the first of the tents to start setting it up. Cupcake had been with Xavier and the cats, but as I’m wrestling with what is supposed to be an easy-up tent but in reality feels like battling a skinny aluminum octopus, I look up and see her coming toward me.

  In her pink jeans, pink boots, and pink-and-white sweatshirt, she looks ready for the outdoors. She’s even foregone wearing one of her candy-colored wigs and instead has her thick, inky-black hair swept into a ponytail.

  “Do you need help?” she asks.

  I’m about to tell her no when I make a wrong move and all the progress I’ve managed to achieve up until this point collapses into a sad mound on the ground.

  “Maybe,” I say. “I’m telling you, these things are a lot harder to deal with than the equipment I used when I was a ranger.”

  “Park?” she asks.

  I smile. “Army.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were in the military,” she says.

  I nod as she comes over to help wrangle the flimsy-feeling posts into place.

  “For a good chunk of my adult life. Then I got injured and had to be discharged.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” she says.

  I shrug. “It’s what brought me to where I am. If I hadn’t had to leave the service when I did, I might not have become a private investigator, and I never would have found Emma, which means I never would have met Xavier.”

  “You would have,” she says. “Just like I would have met him, no matter what. It was meant to happen.”

  “That’s what he says too,” I tell her.

  Cupcake gives me a soft smile. “I know.”

  We manage to get the first tent in place before Xavier finds his way over to us. The second one, a two-room monstrosity he and I will share, is much bigger than the first, so it takes all three of us for its easy-up setup. Maybe that’s what happened to the campers in the outdoor store. They just didn’t feel like setting up the tent again, so they abandoned it.

  “Let’s go see the memorial,” Xavier says when we’ve finished getting everything set up. “The final stone should be in place by now.”

  The group not only decided to put a stone for the original victim found in the woods on the spot where she was once buried, but they also got another that lists out all the victims’ names and notes where they were found so that they will all be honored together.

  We walk through the woods to the spot, and I notice Cupcake lean on to Xavier. He rests his hand on her back, and they stare at the memorial in silence. This is still a difficult place for me to be. That case was brutal and dangerous, nearly costing me my own life as I fought to save women at risk of becoming the next in the string of violent murders. But at the same time, I’m very glad it’s here. So, many of the victims went unidentified for far too long. It’s important that their names be written down, read, and spoken as much as possible.

  When we’re finished at the memorial, we walk back through the woods, trying to find rocks for our firepit. There are many chunks of old building foundations and cinderblocks scattered around, and we gather them up to form our pit. With the Xavier-prescribed large containers of water sitting nearby, we start up the fire and let it start burning down so it will be ready for us to cook dinner.

  While it burns, we unpack the rest of the supplies that we brought and establish the all-important facilities tents at a distance from our sleeping tents. Those are camping luxuries I will not take for granted, even if my army buddies would probably make fun of me for them.

  As the sun starts to slip down the horizon, we pull the oversized cooler over toward the fire and take out supplies for dinner. The smell of a campfire always soothes me, and I love any food cooked over a flame. So, I’m feeling much more on board with this trip by the time the food is ready and we’ve set up our chairs around the fire to relax. The air has gotten distinctly cooler as the sun disappears, and by the time we’re toasting marshmallows, each of us is wrapped in one of Cupcake’s specially designed campfire blankets.

  “I’m thinking about selling the house,” Xavier suddenly says.

  He peels away some of the caramelized outer coating of the marshmallow and pops it into his mouth as if he didn’t just make a momentous announcement.

  “The Harlan house?” I ask, stunned by the idea.

  “I can’t very well sell the Sherwood house,” he says. “Half of it is yours. Besides, Emma would be very sad, and I don’t want to make Emma sad. So, yes, the Harlan house.”

  He finishes peeling the marshmallow and puts the rest back into the fire to toast up. He’s very calm about the whole situation, which means he has either spent a considerable amount of time thinking about this without saying anything to anyone so he’s comfortable with it now, or he hasn’t thought about it at all and the words are just tumbling out of his mouth fresh from being conjured in his brain. Both options are equally possible.

  “Does that have anything to do with this land?” I ask, curious about the timing of the announcement.

  “I would like to build out here,” he says. “Something simpler than the Harlan house.”

  “What has you thinking about that?” I ask.

  “It would be closer to Sherwood if we were living here,” he says. “So, it would be easier to go back and forth. And maybe it’s time to get away from the bad memories and everything that house represents. Besides, this land deserves someone good living on it after everything it’s been through.”

  “That’s reasonable,” I tell him. “And you’re all right with this much change? Being in a completely different town?”

  He draws in a breath and glances around like he is looking at the entirety of the small town.

  “I think I can like it here,” he says. “It’s nice every time we come. It may be only putting on its best behavior because we’re visiting, but we’ll find that out soon enough.”

  “And what happens if you don’t like it after a while?” I ask.

  “Then I don’t like it, Dean,” he says. “I’ll live.” He finishes his bite of marshmallow. “In Sherwood.”

  I climb into my sleeping bag that night wondering how I feel about the possibility of moving out of the house in Harlan. I’m very comfortable there and know the town. The location brings me my clients, but I don’t mind traveling for work, so I would have just as much work. This area is beautiful, and I can only imagine that a big part of developing the land to build the house would be cleaning up all the damage from the previous tenants, making it even more serene. Maybe this would be a good switch for us.

  The next morning comes with a sound like the world is coming to an end. I scramble out of my sleeping bag and pop my head out of the tent to find out what the hell is going on. Xavier is standing a few yards away, his hands over his ears as he watches a massive piece of construction machinery tear the existing trailer apart.

  “What the hell, X?” I shout. He doesn’t turn around. “X!”

  He hears my louder yell and turns around to face me.

  “I told you, I am thinking about building out here,” he yells back to me. “I had to get that thing away first. Ready to do some demo cleanup?”

  Apparently, Xavier is not messing around.

  And our relaxing camping time is over.

  We’re taking a break from tossing the aftermath of the demolition into a huge trash container that is already mostly filled by the machinery’s giant claw when my phone rings.

  “Dean Steele,” I answer, pulling the phone away from my ear for a second to take a long swig of water.

  “You’re the private investigator, right?” a worried-sounding voice asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I think there might be,” the man says. “My name is Clayton Bassinger. I’m located in Echo Harbor. Is that all right?”

  “I’m willing to travel,” I tell him. “It becomes a part of my billable expenses.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “All right. What seems to be the problem?” I ask.

  “My mother is missing.”

  “Your mother is missing?” I ask. “How long has it been since you saw her?”

  “A couple of days,” he says. “And I know that usually a private investigator isn’t brought in this early, but you have to listen to me. The police aren’t taking this seriously at all. They will barely even listen to us. They say that she’s an adult and that she can do anything she wants…”

  “That is true,” I say.

  “But this isn’t like her. I know you don’t know her and this is just coming from someone who’s worried about her, but you have to under stand, my mother would not just run off without saying something to anybody. That’s not her. She would make sure that my sister or I at least knew what was going on. She has some health problems, and I just want to make sure that she’s all right. Please, will you help me?” Clayton asks.

  This sounds like something that should still be handled by the police, but the desperation in his voice is impossible to ignore.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Absolutely. Thank you so much. I’ll see you then,” he says and hangs up.

  “What was that?” Xavier asks, coming over with a bottle of water in his hand. “Emma?”

  “No, that was a new client. He wants me to look for his missing mother,” I say.

  “Is his mother actually missing?” Xavier asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I tell him. “But hopefully, I’ll have a better idea of what’s going on tomorrow when I meet with them. He lives in Echo Harbor, on the bay. It’s a couple of hours away. Do you want to come with me?”

  Xavier looks over at Cupcake.

  “I have meetings for the next couple of days,” she says. “But I’ll be available after that, so if you decide you’re done, I’ll come get you.”

  Xavier looks at me. “I’ll come.”

  It sounds like an exchange that should offend me, but it doesn’t. I know how Xavier feels about large bodies of water. Or even small bodies of water. Or water rides at amusement parks. If it’s larger than a swimming pool, he’s going to have problems. He’s already faced that fear on a major level by going on the cruise with everyone for Eric and Bellamy’s wedding celebration. He very much reached his water exposure quota. I’m touched that he’s willing to put that aside to at least come with me.

  Because of the new case, we end up leaving our camping trip early, but Xavier reassures the cats, and the land, that we’ll be back soon before we pack up to head back to Harlan. We get there late in the evening, and I take a long, hot shower before dropping into bed, more tired than I realize I am from all the work we did during the day. We managed to clean up nearly everything that was left from the trailer, but we’ll have to go back soon to finish up. The trash container will get picked up in the morning, but we don’t want to leave any of the debris sitting around for too long.

  The next morning, Xavier and I pack again and head for the bay. As we’re approaching Echo Harbor, the name of another nearby town catches my attention.

  “We’re close to Twilight Cove,” I tell Xavier. “I have a friend from there. We know each other from a case I worked a long time ago. She was a witness and ended up being really helpful. We hit it off and have kept in touch since. You’ve heard me talk about Celeste Brewer.”

  “I have,” he says.

  “That’s her. I think I’ll call her and see if she’s still living there. Maybe we’ll have a chance to get together and catch up a bit,” I say.

  “That would be nice,” Xavier responds. “You don’t seem to think that this case is going to be anything.”

  “I don’t really know enough about it,” I admit. “And the guy who called—Clayton—did sound really worried. It could be something. But it hasn’t been nearly as long as it usually is when I’m called in to help with a missing person. Usually, by the time people are willing to contract a private investigator, the initial investigation has been going on for weeks or months and nothing productive has come of it. In this situation, it has only been a few days, and it was her son calling, so I am leaning toward cautious optimism and thinking that he is just worried and reacting.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he says.

  “So, do I.”

  I reach out to Celeste and let her know that I’m in Echo Harbor, just across the water from the small island of Twilight Cove. She sounds delighted to hear that I’m close, and we make plans to get together when I have a chance. It will be the first time I see her in person in a couple of years, and I look forward to having the chance to spend some time with her.

  Xavier and I go to the hotel and check in. I only reserved rooms for the next couple of nights, not knowing how long I’ll actually need to be in town. But I get assurance from the manager that if we need to extend our reservation, there is plenty of space, so we’ll be able to stay in the same rooms. That makes things much simpler. It’s frustrating enough trying to settle into a hotel and feel like you’re living out of a suitcase, but to have to actually pack everything up after a couple of days just to move down the hall or up or down a floor and start the settling all over again is even worse.

  Once we’ve dropped everything off at our rooms, I call Clayton to let him know I’m in town and ask him where he would like to meet. He suggests a coffee shop in town, and I search for the name to find directions before confirming when we’ll be there. Then Xavier and I head out.