“Thanks, sir. I’ll be in touch when I have more.” Casey ended the conference call and surveyed the other two men at the table. Chief of Police William Brannigan and Sheriff Colt Tanner. Both appeared to have something on their minds, and it didn’t take a psychic to figure out what.

  “When something like this happens involving a well-known family,” he offered, “it can sometimes be more than a little surprising. We all form opinions and have certain expectations for the people we know, especially those we know well.”

  The two local lawmen exchanged a look. Now he’d annoyed them. There was nothing for it. He had a job to do whether they liked what they were hearing or not. Whatever happened on the Honea farm, it was not accidental. It was murder. Likely it was somehow tied into something bigger.

  “I’ve known the Honea family my whole life,” Brannigan said. “Fine people. Whatever happened on that farm, it wasn’t their doing. I’m confident.”

  This was the response Casey had expected. “I appreciate your confidence, Chief, but things are not always what they seem. This, unfortunately, is one of those times.”

  Since Chief Brannigan had about a decade on Casey age-wise and far more experience, he understood he’d likely failed to articulate this adequately. Brannigan had no doubt been faced with circumstances like this more than once. To suggest otherwise would be seen as an insult. But these were the sorts of investigations Casey worked every day. He imagined the two men rarely ran into a situation like this one.

  Before Brannigan could respond, Tanner piped up. “We both know this family. There is no way—no way—they were or are involved in criminal activity. You can take that to the bank.”

  “Agent Duncan,” Brannigan said, his tone casual but his expression warned he didn’t intend to budge on his stance. “I’m well aware that people can wear two faces, can be good and bad. But what you need to comprehend is the fact that Muriel and Nolan Honea were good people who supported their community. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a soul in this county who didn’t like them or have the utmost respect for them.”

  “We appreciate the need for us to keep open minds,” Tanner offered to support what Brannigan was saying. “But understand that we expect you to tread lightly where Naomi is concerned. She’s been through a lot the past year. You won’t find a harder worker and more dedicated member of the community.”

  It was possible Tanner had a point. Casey didn’t doubt his assessment. The question was whether either of these men could see beyond what they wanted to see. What they’d always seen. It was human nature. Think the best of those who’ve given you no reason to do otherwise. You see what your mind tells you to see.

  “I want to share something with you.” Casey opened the file folder lying on the desk in front of him and removed Honea Farm’s bank statements for the past five years. “Have a look and tell me what you see.”

  While the two studied the statements, Casey considered Naomi Honea. He hadn’t thought of her in years until he saw her in that offbeat horror flick. But it wasn’t until the body lotion commercial that he was certain it was her. He’d spotted the half-moon-shaped birth mark on her left shoulder. Had to be her. How many blue-eyed redheads had a half-moon birthmark in exactly that spot on their left shoulder?

  Not that many, he’d figured, so he’d done a little digging. This was early in his days with the Bureau. He’d just gone from flying a desk to fieldwork. Sure enough, he was right. The actress in the sexy body lotion commercial was Naomi Honea from Winchester, Tennessee.

  Small world.

  “Have you asked Naomi about these deposits?” Tanner asked.

  Casey dragged his attention back to the present. “I intend to do that today.”

  “I can see how this looks suspicious,” Brannigan admitted, “but there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation. He may have sold equipment or an acre of land here or there. Land prices have skyrocketed the past few years.”

  “Possibly,” Casey agreed. Although in his experience, reasonable and logical weren’t always the same thing. When a person was desperate, many things could be deemed reasonable. Logic rarely played into it. The survival instinct kicked in and all else was banished for the duration.

  “I get the feeling,” Tanner said, his gaze narrowing, “you’re not being completely open with us. Seems like there may be more we should know.”

  Both were topnotch lawmen. He hadn’t expected to pull anything over either man. “I’ve given you all I’m able to confirm.” This was true. The rest of what he suspected was pure speculation. No need to stir that pot until something conclusive made it worth the trouble.

  Brannigan leaned forward, braced his forearms on the conference table. “What parts have you not been able to confirm?”

  This was where things got tricky. He really didn’t want to go there just now but he might not have a choice. Tanner and Brannigan were accustomed to being in charge.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard of the green burial concept.” This wasn’t really a question. Most people had at least heard of the method.

  “My wife’s father was an undertaker,” Brannigan confirmed. “There’s little in the field I haven’t heard about.”

  “I’m vaguely aware of the concept,” Tanner said.

  “Green burials are an effort,” Casey explained to ensure they were on the same page, “to eliminate as many chemicals as possible in the process of internment. Biodegradable products are used in the process. The end goal is to protect the environment. Bring life and death into balance, environmentally speaking.”

  “Last I checked,” Brannigan said, “we don’t have any cemeteries that meet the criteria in Franklin County.”

  “We have a Green cemetery,” Tanner pointed out. “But not a green burial cemetery.”

  Casey had already checked and there were none in Franklin County. “Another method of dealing with the remains of the dead in a more environmentally friendly way is human composting.”

  He had their attention now. Both men sat a little straighter and peered a little more intently at him. “Also known as natural organic reductions. The first legal operations turn the remains of deceased loved ones into mulch or soil, to put it simply.”

  “I see where you’re going with this,” Brannigan said, his tone a warning. “I would encourage you to proceed with caution. I don’t want this family’s reputation damaged unnecessarily.”

  “You have my word, Chief,” Casey assured him. “This is just one of my working theories based on what we’ve found so far.”

  “Maybe I’m not up to speed,” Tanner said, “on the latest information but doesn’t human composting include the bones? I haven’t heard anything about the bones being separated from the rest of the body. Maybe I missed something.”

  No one appreciated a stranger coming to town and accusing a respected family of the latest craze in saving the earth. Casey got that but this scenario was at the top of his list. Maybe it was something else, but this was an option he intended to explore thoroughly.

  “At this point, I have no working theory on that aspect of what we’ve found. The bones could be used in some other way or we just may not have found them yet. Whatever the case, the Bureau has tasked me with an in-depth search. Specialized equipment will be arriving later in the week. The Honea farm is a sizable one. Be aware this is going to take time.”

  “All right,” Brannigan said, “we’ll do all we can to support your efforts. Just keep in mind that we expect to be kept in the loop. All the way in.”

  Tanner offered a nod of agreement. “I’ll keep one of my deputies on security detail at all times.”

  “I’ll keep the media off your backs,” Brannigan said.

  “I appreciate the support, gentlemen.” Casey gathered his file and stood. “We’re good, then.”

  A few more minutes of conversation continued as they moved along the corridor toward the stairwell. Tanner agreed to have his chief deputy start interviews with friends of the Honea family. Brannigan and his wife, the coroner, would check through records to ensure all deaths over the past years were accounted for in terms of final arrangements. If any bodies couldn’t be accounted for, they would go on a list for further investigation.

  The remains found at Honea Farm had to come from somewhere. Could be local, could be from anywhere. But they had to start the search somewhere.

  Honea Farm, 12:00 p.m.

  CASEY HAD CHECKED in with his folks on the ground. Nothing new so far in the search. A call from Dr. Brannigan had given him an update on cause of death for Arlene Beck. Homicide. Not that he’d anticipated otherwise, but he’d been waiting for confirmation before interviewing Naomi again.

  He climbed the steps to her porch and knocked on the front door. It opened instantly as if she’d been waiting on the other side. If she’d seen him arrive, she probably had been. She looked from him to the file folder he held and back. Uncertainty sparked in her blue eyes.

  “You have a few minutes?” he asked.

  Those blue eyes seemed to burn a hole into him. Judging by the dark circles beneath them she’d barely slept last night. She looked tired and resigned. And gorgeous. She’d always been a looker. Thirty really did look good on her. Yesterday had been her birthday and he’d wanted to say something, but he’d thought better of it. Hell, she didn’t even remember him. She’d likely think he was a little off in the head for remembering her for all this time. Like he could forget. She’d damned sure made an impression that stuck with him. He’d fantasized about her way too often, especially after that body lotion commercial.

  Unable to help himself, his gaze wandered to her shoulder. Back off, he warned. This was not the time to go stumbling down memory lane. He should have forgotten those memories long ago.

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  He followed her inside. She sounded tired, too. Frustrated and tired. Who wouldn’t be? Her world had been turned upside down. Prior to just over a year ago, she had been away from Winchester for the better part of a decade. A lot could have happened back home on the farm during that time. A lot she didn’t know about. Particularly after her mother’s death. Her mother had appeared to be the one spearheading the operation to some extent. It was after her death that all the anomalies had started to show up.

  Naomi sat in the same chair she chose every time and he lowered onto the couch. Over and over today he’d thought of last night when she’d asked him if they’d met before. He’d almost said yes. But muddying the waters at this point would be a mistake. Then again, it was possible she might trust him more if he told her. He’d play it by ear and wait for the right opportunity. Anything that impacted the investigation had to be handled with kid gloves.

  “The coroner has listed Ms. Beck’s death as a homicide. Cause of death was manual strangulation. Of course, that’s just a preliminary. There’s toxicology and such still to be done.”

  He allowed the news to sink in a moment before going on.

  “As you can imagine,” he continued, “this means we’re looking for an active killer. One who perhaps needed to cover up something. Maybe someone who worked with Beck in some capacity.”

  Naomi cleared her throat delicately. “It sounds as if you’ve made up your mind about Arlene.” She shrugged. “Maybe even my family and me.”

  There was an edge of anger in her voice. Nothing he hadn’t expected. A shocking insanity had descended on her life. Before this was over she would experience a range of intense emotions. The survivors always did.

  She wasn’t a suspect in his opinion. Maybe that was a mistake but so be it.

  For now.

  “I don’t believe you have anything to do with the remains you found or with Ms. Beck’s death. Obviously, you wouldn’t have called the authorities if you were somehow involved with the find in your freezer.”

  She blinked. Nodded. “At least there’s that.”

  The tinge of anger lingered.

  He placed the file folder on the coffee table between them and opened it, then he passed the bank statements to her. “Have a glance over these and tell me if you notice anything unusual.”

  She accepted the pages and with visible reluctance began a half-hearted perusal.

  These weren’t the full statements but the annual summary sheets of deposits and the subsequent balance after each for every month over the past five years. The report for five years ago showed little or no deposits. The balance from the previous year diminished quickly after that point. By midspring four years ago, the balance in the farm account was nearly gone. Then suddenly large deposits started to appear. The largest in more than a decade. His forensics accounting specialist was still reviewing records but what she had found so far couldn’t be called anything other than suspicious.

  He watched Naomi’s face closely. The changing expressions that danced across her face told him she hadn’t looked back as far as five years. Probably not beyond the past two. She’d come back just over a year ago to a hell of a mess and pulling it together had been top priority.

  “Five years ago is when my mom died.” She looked up from the pages. “It was a very difficult time. Obviously, Dad allowed the work to fall behind.”

  “If the work fell behind for better than a year, would he have been able to recover so quickly?”

  Naomi righted the pages and offered them back to him. “It depends.”

  He resisted the impulse to ask on what. A miracle? Donations? He didn’t have to ask. He already knew the answer. Sean Riley and Joe Jones had been employed by Mr. Honea for more than five years. Both had talked at length about how difficult things were for the year and a half surrounding Mrs. Honea’s illness and death. Some weeks they’d only received half their pay. Others they weren’t paid at all, but they hung in there to help the Honeas. Mr. Honea had made it right after things got better. Neither one could explain how things got better. Only that they did. New equipment, new plants, all sorts of new and improved items were brought to the farm.

  “Your employees can’t explain how the financial situation recovered.”

  “I wasn’t here,” she admitted, her voice sounding hollow. “I’m sure there was insurance money.”

  “No insurance.” He’d already checked. Jones had explained the circumstances as a part of his statement regarding the “lean” years. He’d overheard the conversation between Beck and Naomi’s father. “Ms. Beck loaned your father the money for your mother’s final arrangements.”

  Shock claimed Naomi’s face. “That can’t be right. He would have told me.” She stared at the pages lying on the coffee table. “He never said a word about things being so...difficult.” Her gaze lifted to his once more. “The truth is he didn’t tell me she was dying until she was gone. He said she wanted it that way.”

  Pain. The memory was still very painful. The people she loved and trusted the most had shut her out of something that may have landed them in deep trouble.

  “Did he give you a reason why she didn’t want you to know? The two of you were on good terms?”

  “We were.” She swiped at her eyes. “I had no idea she was ill. We talked every Sunday. To tell you the truth, when he died I still hadn’t forgiven him for keeping the truth from me. Now I wish I had.”

  And there it was. Proof that her father could and would keep secrets from her. Her mother, too.

  “Is it possible there were other things that were kept from you?”

  “My dad wasn’t a murderer,” she snapped. She blinked back more tears. “My mom wasn’t, either. I don’t know how any of this happened, but I know—knew my parents. They would never harm anyone or anything.”

  Jones and Riley had said the same thing. The Honeas were above reproach. Except that the evidence said someone on this farm wasn’t.

  “Ms. Honea,” he said, “our forensics technicians have found evidence of other remains on the farm.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “No. That can’t be right.”

  “They’ve checked random locations on the property as well as various specimens Ms. Beck was working with in the lab.”

  “What the hell are you saying?” Naomi shot to her feet. “That can’t be true. There must be a mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake, Naomi.”

  Her attention arrowed to him, showing him the confusion and surprise in her eyes before she banished the reactions. “I’d like you to leave now. I need to think.”

  He pushed to his feet. “I really need your help. I’m not accusing you or your family of anything. I’m only trying to determine what happened here and who is responsible. Your parents may not have known exactly what was going on.” He doubted this but he felt compelled to offer an out. He needed her to trust him.

  She considered his words for a moment. “I can assure you they had no idea.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You can make all the allegations you like but I am certain you will never be able to prove a single one.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, ma’am. I’m attempting to find the truth.”

  She flashed a fake smile but even the intensity of it jarred him. “It doesn’t feel that way from here.”

  “I can imagine it’s not a comfortable place to be,” he offered, “but you are the one person who can speak for your mother and father. There’s no one else. If you don’t help me—for them—no one can.”

  Her angry face vanished, and hope glimmered in her eyes. “Tell me what I need to do to help.”

  “Work with me. Help me find something that will tell us what really happened here and who was responsible. There’s always evidence. Always. It’s just the finding it that can be an issue sometimes.”