“We’ve focused our attention on the building where the remains were discovered and the immediate area surrounding it. The FBI will want to search your home. Your office. Basically, everything on the property. It would be best for all concerned if you agreed to all their requests. A warrant would be easy to obtain under the circumstances.”

  “Of course. Whatever they need to do.” She had no reason not to cooperate. No reason at all.

  “Good. I’ll pass that along to Duncan.”

  Duncan. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “He’ll be here today?”

  “He will. Might be three or four later this afternoon or early evening, but he will be here today.”

  “Thank you.”

  The sooner they figured out what in the world had happened, the sooner life could get back to normal.

  She pushed away the idea that normal might just be wishful thinking.

  How did you move on from something like this?

  They were talking about murder.

  Chapter Three

  Honea Farm, 4:05 p.m.

  From her kitchen window Naomi watched the man called Casey Duncan. There was something so familiar about him. About his name. She’d heard it before...maybe seen him before. And yet she couldn’t place him.

  Maybe she was mistaken.

  He didn’t look like she had imagined he would—for an FBI agent. No suit. No shiny black leather shoes. Nothing like the ones in the movies and crime shows. He wore jeans, a flannel shirt in blocks of tan and brown that matched his eyes. His blondish brown hair was a little longer than she’d expected, touching the collar of his lightweight leather jacket at the nape of his neck. The well-worn jacket covered the weapon she’d gotten a glimpse of strapped to his side via a shoulder holster.

  The strangest part of all was the cowboy boots. The boots were the preferred footwear of locals, but he was FBI from Nashville. Judging by his Southern drawl he was definitely born and raised somewhere in the south.

  Sheriff Tanner had introduced him, and Duncan had given her a nod. Hardly anyone shook hands anymore with concerns of the virus after last year’s pandemic making the moment whenever she met a new acquaintance feel awkward. Not following the urge to reach out in that familiar social exchange seemed wrong somehow. In this case, however, she was grateful for the societal change. Whatever it was about this man—and she couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of the feeling—it disquieted her on some level.

  Two forensics technicians, also from the FBI, had arrived at the same time as Agent Duncan. Their vehicle, the expected black SUV, appeared to be loaded with the tools of their trade. She’d watched them go back and forth to and from the lab loaded with a number of cases.

  Dr. Brannigan had left with a new arrival, who’d wheeled what looked like a massive cooler in and then out of the lab. Naomi suspected the remains were taken for further examination. To the coroner’s office, probably. She was surprised the FBI hadn’t wanted to take them to their own lab. She had no idea of the protocols. No one had updated her since Agent Duncan’s arrival. The sheriff had his hands full so she didn’t actually feel slighted, just anxious.

  Sean and Joe had been allowed to go home. They hadn’t come to her door and spoken with her. Just left with their heads hung as if they’d been given a stern talking-to. Probably a forceful interrogation. Completely unnecessary in her opinion.

  Naomi wasn’t sure when her crew could return to work. At this point she wasn’t sure of anything. Still no word from Arlene. The deputy who’d dropped by her house hadn’t gotten an answer, so he’d gone inside. Nothing appeared amiss. She simply wasn’t there. But her VW was in the driveway, which was odd. Arlene preferred driving her vintage VW Bus to riding with anyone else. Naomi had racked her brain trying to think of someone Arlene might have needed to visit or some emergency contact who may have heard from her, but really there was no one. Sean and Joe hadn’t heard from her and had no idea who to contact, either. Arlene was a bit of a loner as far as they knew. If she had any relatives, local or otherwise, Naomi certainly wasn’t aware.

  Naomi pressed her fisted fingers to her lips. This wasn’t right. Arlene wouldn’t just disappear like this. Naomi kept expecting to wake up from a nightmare. For the dozenth time she asked herself how this could have happened.

  The answer was the same: she had no clue.

  The fact that Arlene was MIA was surely a coincidence. Maybe Naomi should go to her house and have another look around. Knowing Arlene as she did, Naomi might notice something the deputy hadn’t.

  She grabbed her keys and was turning for the door when a light knock stopped her in her tracks.

  She moved closer and peeked beyond the curtain.

  Agent Duncan.

  She drew back. Maybe there was news. She tossed her keys on the counter, unlocked the door and opened it. “Have you found something else?” Her breath stalled in her lungs as she waited for more bad news while mentally crossing her fingers in hopes that things couldn’t possibly get worse.

  The whole idea still felt utterly surreal.

  There were human remains on her property. She had been so shocked by the discovery she hadn’t actually taken the time to evaluate what this meant or how far-reaching the effects might be.

  Who would want to buy from an organic farm where human remains had been found?

  Good grief. She held more tightly to the door to keep herself steady. This was so, so bad.

  “May I come in?”

  His voice was the one trait that didn’t seem familiar. “Sure.” She backed up and held the door open wider.

  He walked inside—swaggered actually. He had the kind of saunter that spoke of a cockiness only found in the male species. She closed the door. “Have a seat.” She gestured to the kitchen table. “I’m anxious to hear whatever news you have.” She sighed. Gave her head a little shake. “No, what I’m anxious about is for some explanation of how this...” She searched for the right word, but it eluded her. “This...”

  “Homicide,” he provided.

  She flinched. Couldn’t help herself. “Yes. How this all happened.” No point arguing or denying the reality. People were dead. What else could it be called other than homicide?

  “I don’t have any concrete answers for you just yet,” he explained.

  He stood at the table but hadn’t taken a seat. She suddenly realized he was waiting for her to do so first.

  She pulled out a chair and sat. He followed suit.

  “What do you have?” she asked, cautiously hopeful that there was at least some measure of forward movement. Some form of law enforcement had been combing the lab and the area around it all day. Surely they’d discovered some clue to explain how this...homicide happened.

  She didn’t know any killers.

  Sean, Joe and Arlene were good people. Certainly not killers.

  The niggling idea that Arlene remained out of touch tugged at her, but Naomi ignored the ridiculous possibility. Arlene wouldn’t hurt anyone or anything.

  “I ran background checks on Riley, Jones and Beck.” Agent Duncan removed a pocket-size notepad and flipped over a page. “Jones and Riley are clean.”

  Naomi could have told him as much. “I wouldn’t have expected otherwise.”

  “And Beck,” he said, “how long have you known her?”

  A frown tugged at Naomi’s brow. “Are you suggesting you found something in Arlene’s background?” The very notion was ludicrous.

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she said, “She has worked on this farm for more than three decades. My parents considered her part of the family.”

  “I understand,” he said, not taken aback the slightest by her statement. “Do you know where she lived before moving to Winchester?”

  He’d completely ignored her question and moved right on to another one of his own. This annoyed her far too much. What was it about this guy that got under her skin? “I don’t recall, but I’m sure my parents or Arlene spoke of her life before. I simply can’t remember anything specific. Exactly what are you implying, Agent Duncan?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m only wondering why we can’t find anything on a seventy-something-year-old woman beyond the time she has lived here, working for your family.”

  “There must be some mistake. Maybe Beck is a married name.” Arlene had spoken of a brother. Where was it she mentioned having grown up? The answer just wouldn’t surface through the fog of confusion revolving around today’s events. Or maybe she hadn’t mentioned her past at all. Naomi just couldn’t say.

  “I thought you’d like to take a ride with me to her home. Have a look around and see if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  The offer startled her. She’d just been thinking of doing exactly that. Only she’d intended to go alone. “Sheriff Tanner said she’s not home.”

  “She wasn’t when his deputy called on her and most likely she’s not now. Tanner assigned a surveillance detail to her house and no vehicles have stopped by. No sign of Ms. Beck.”

  Naomi got it now. “You want me to go into her home when she’s not there?” Naomi wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with invading Arlene’s privacy. This felt completely wrong. All of it. Crazy wrong.

  “Ms. Honea,” Agent Duncan said as he rested his forearms on the table and leaned in, putting him a little closer to her. “If whoever did this is somehow connected to or watching Ms. Beck, she could be in trouble. It’s imperative that we do everything possible to find her and any connection she may have to this situation.”

  When he put it that way, Naomi couldn’t exactly deny the logic.

  “All right.” Naomi stood, pushed in her chair. “But I warn you, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Beck Home, 5:20 p.m.

  ARLENE’S HOME ON Pleasant Ridge was deep in the woods. A prepper’s dream. The old cabin had a homey charm despite the No Trespassing and warning signs. The VW in the classic dove-blue color sat in the post-and-beam carport.

  “Put these on.”

  Naomi turned to the driver, who offered her a pair of latex gloves. She’d kept her attention focused on the passing landscape on the drive over. He hadn’t spoken and she hadn’t, either. But the smell of his aftershave had made her very uncomfortable. It wasn’t that the scent was overwhelming or unpleasant. In fact, it was so subtle she wondered if it was nothing more than him. Soap, maybe. Either way, it made her uneasy.

  She took the gloves and tugged them on. He donned a pair, as well. When he opened his door, she did the same. Rather than go straight to the front door of the cabin, he stopped at the VW and tried the driver’s side door. Locked.

  He peered through the windows, moving from one to the next. Curiosity getting the better of her, Naomi mimicked his moves. Arlene’s emergency bag was in the back floorboard. The older woman insisted that being prepared was the key to survival. In case of a breakdown of some sort, she carried bottled water, protein snacks, a blanket and some handy survival tools. Her shopping bags were in the back. She outright refused to touch a plastic or paper bag. Too wasteful, she insisted.

  Naomi’s mom had once said that Arlene was an old hippie. Until she was older, Naomi hadn’t understood what her mom meant. Then she’d watched a documentary on Woodstock. Oh, yes, a hippie was right. Arlene wore the jeans and tees and had the long braided hair with the occasional flower tucked in when she felt the urge. Never mind that her hair had long since gone gray and that her weathered skin was now wrinkled, she wore the clothes and the confidence of her youth like a badge of honor.

  “Anything jump out at you?”

  Agent Duncan’s voice made Naomi jump. She cursed herself and gave a shake of her head. “No.”

  She should pay closer attention rather than getting lost in thought.

  “Let’s have a look around inside her home and then we’ll check the yard and outbuildings.”

  Naomi followed him up the steps and across the porch. Arlene’s rocking chair sat empty save for the hand-crocheted throw and a cotton pillow that were always there. The flowers in the scattering of pots looked healthy. No sign of neglect. Obviously the thriving plants had been watered recently. Arlene couldn’t have gone far or for long.

  The door opened without the knob being turned. The wood around the knob and lock was split from the deputy having had to enter the property by force. Naomi would need to have the damage repaired or, at the very least, the door secured until Arlene was back. Her home couldn’t be left in this condition. Before following Agent Duncan inside Naomi glanced over her shoulder at the Franklin County cruiser stationed in the driveway. She supposed as long as the house was being watched securing the door wasn’t a pressing need.

  Inside the home appeared to be in order. Arlene’s taste ran toward the very rustic. The walls were sawmill-grade wood. The one other time Naomi had been here the older woman had explained that the cabin had been built using salvaged wood from old barns. Inside, the floors and walls were created from the same vintage wood. The ceilings were vintage tin, complete with a little rust here and there.

  There were only four rooms. Living room and kitchen were one big space. Two bedrooms with a single bathroom tucked into the corner of the larger one. The second bedroom was set up as a home office. Agent Duncan lingered in that room sifting through the contents of drawers and file cabinets. Naomi wandered around the kitchen, checking inside cabinets and drawers. There was yogurt and cheese and a handful of grapes in the refrigerator. A mostly empty carton of almond milk. She moved on to the bedroom and looked around. Arlene wasn’t one for fancy clothes or jewelry. Jeans, tees and sweatshirts were the mainstay of her wardrobe. Sneakers and rubber boots were her chosen footwear. There was one pair of well-worn sandals.

  On the secondhand dresser was a single framed photograph. Arlene was much younger in the photo. Maybe late forties, early fifties. A man who appeared to be several years younger held her in an affectionate embrace.

  Her brother?

  Naomi took the photo from the frame and checked the back. As she’d expected there was a date but no name as she’d hoped. Since she hadn’t found anything else unexpected or suspicious, she took the photo to Agent Duncan.

  “This could be the brother I recall her mentioning.”

  He accepted the photo and studied it a moment.

  “There’s a date on the back but no name.”

  He turned over the photo and confirmed. Then he snapped a pic of both sides with his cell and passed the photo back to her.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  Naomi stood in the home office for a moment. The notes on the bulletin board about different fertilizer methods for the farm made her gut clench. For the first time since she found those remains in the freezer the possibility that something bad had happened to Arlene started to seep into her, tying her belly into knots and making her chest ache with worry.

  “I think I’ll have a look around outside,” she said, desperately needing to get out of this house. Arlene’s home. Away from this man who seemed to already know what Naomi still wanted to deny.

  People had been murdered...dissected like biology specimens and stored on her farm—in the lab over which the missing Arlene ruled.

  “I’ll be right behind you.”

  Naomi managed a tight nod. She took the photo back to Arlene’s room and placed it in the frame once more, hands shaking so hard she could barely accomplish the task.

  Outside, she drew in a deep breath and reached for calm. What she needed more than anything was to keep her wits about her. This was not the time to come undone.

  Arlene would be back soon and explain everything. Naomi was sure of it.

  Pushing aside the fear that had her doubting that end, she took a peek in the well house. Nothing unexpected. There was an old smokehouse and a barn that had been a part of the original homeplace. Arlene had built her cabin on the same footprint as the previous home.

  The smokehouse served as a toolshed. Naomi checked the bigger toolboxes. The sight of the chest-type freezer in the far back corner made her heart start to pound. She walked slowly in that direction. Naomi felt reasonably sure she would never be able to look at a chest-style freezer the same way ever again.

  A strange laugh sputtered from her. This was exactly like being in one of those cheesy horror flicks she laughed at as a teenager. Then she’d ended up taking a part in one just for the movie credit. It was impossible to get a SAG card without those credits. Why in the world would she think of that at this bizarre moment?

  Perhaps because of the sheer absurdity of this situation? Things like this didn’t happen to her. She was a farmer now. In a small town where everyone knew everyone else.

  “Where the hell are you, Arlene?”

  Deep breath. She covered the final steps to the freezer. Arlene would show up and there would be a perfectly logical explanation for all of this.

  For a long moment Naomi stood very still, one hand on the lid. This freezer was an old one. Much older than the one at the lab. Made complete sense that Arlene would keep specimens here, as well. There was most likely all sorts of experimental plants and fertilizers around here. The woman loved her work.

  Naomi moistened her lips and swallowed.

  “Just do it,” she muttered.

  “Why don’t you let me do that?”

  She barely suppressed a yelp as her hands fell away from the lid. Naomi turned to Agent Duncan. “Thank you. Yes.”

  He moved up next to her and reached for the lid.

  Naomi held her breath.

  As he hefted the lid open, her gaze settled on the contents of the vintage freezer.

  Gray...skin and hair.

  Arlene.

  The woman was clad in a long white flannel gown and curled in the fetal position.