“All right. We’re heading out to find Patricia’s roommates,” Zach told them. “They just might know something—”

  “We already talked to them,” Connie said.

  “Right. But it never hurts—” Skye began.

  “Waste of time. You’re the ones big on a forest hideout! You guys should get to crawl through the dirt some more!” Vince said lightly.

  “Never hurts to have fresh eyes—or ears—on a problem,” Zach reminded them. “Like you said …”

  “Yep. Something might be said that we didn’t hear,” Connie agreed. “You two take it in any direction you think will help.”

  “Right. Fine. Keep us up,” Vince said.

  “Will do, and we’ll ask you to do the same,” Zach told him.

  “May we have a list of the roommates, please?” Skye asked.

  Vince pulled out his phone. “Coming at you, email,” he told them.

  “Okay, then. Drive-through lunch and onward,” Zach said pleasantly. He felt that Vince Cason and Connie Berkley watched them as they left.

  And he sensed a little hostility. Maybe his imagination.

  It wasn’t. In the car, Skye turned to him. “I think they resent the two of us being here,” she said.

  He nodded. “Strange. I thought they were happy when we first met.”

  “Well, there are places where the locals aren’t happy when the Feds come in.”

  “What do we know about them?” he asked.

  “Hm!” Skye murmured, busily looking at her phone. “Constance Berkley, thirty-two years old, started with the department right after college, worked her way up to detective, just tall enough, and by all accounts, good record, but she has only been with Detective Vincent Cason for about a year. Cason has been with the department fifteen years; he’s forty-five years old. But he’s still below Lieutenant Bruns on the food chain—Bruns is up for another promotion he’ll probably get, according to what I’m reading.”

  “But it’s what we don’t read that might matter,” Zach said. He shrugged. “The night we met them, I thought they were glad that we were here. Today I wasn’t so sure.”

  “Maybe they just don’t like the woods.”

  “Right. But no one said they had to tramp through the woods. Just that someone needed to tramp through the woods. My money is on the rangers, as far as that goes,” he said thoughtfully.

  “A ranger—or a cop who spent time hiking, hm!” she said.

  He groaned. “It’s easy. And now you know that it’s easy to tell where branches were broken or where people recently walked through foliage.”

  “Hey. A big bear could have walked through, too.”

  “Bears don’t feel the need to follow or create trails,” he assured her. “Okay. So, what about our college roommates?” he asked her.

  “University majors on our people,” Skye said thoughtfully. “Holly Madsen, Judy McGrath, and Whitney Nottingham. All juniors, just like Patricia. Judy and Holly are in business and administration, and Whitney is majoring in chemistry. No historians among them, far as I can see. But all three are from the area.”

  “Hey, I did some growing up in Boston, and it was impossible to not hear about the trials in Salem, the Massachusetts Bay Colony, and so on. But I don’t see it. I don’t see any of these girls being involved in what’s going on. You don’t need to just know the area—you need to have studied people, timing … and forensics.”

  “All of that information is available through any programming server out there!” she reminded him. “I had a co-worker who learned about all kinds of things by watching documentaries on YouTube.”

  “True. What I’m hoping is they may know someone that Patricia knew well, maybe someone else who had kids she watched who proved to be a little crazy or a little too focused on … something. Or … was just plain crazy!” he said. “Let’s hope they’re in the room, out of class, studying, and not off—”

  “We’re good. It’s almost five and none of them have classes that late. I just got a text from Lieutenant Bruns—he asked them to be there to talk to us.”

  “Great. And they don’t mind—”

  “Apparently, they’re all friends, and the three of them are sick about Patricia being missing. They’ve sworn that she’d die before she let anything happen to Jeremy.”

  “I believe that. From, um, everything that I’ve seen,” Zach said.

  “Me too. She sounds like a truly great person. And the way that she grew up was hard, so it sounds.”

  “It could have made her hard; instead, it seems to have made her more compassionate toward others. None of us gets an excuse.”

  “You grew up hard?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No. I grew up in Harpers Ferry and in Boston, mom a teacher, dad …”

  “Dad?”

  “A cop,” he told her.

  “Ah, that explains a lot.”

  “And you?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Then she shrugged. “An ordinary life. My mother worked in retail—which meant we did get some great stuff on sale. And my dad was a cop, too, and …”

  “Go on,” he urged quietly.

  “My grandmother lived with us after my granddad died. And she would talk to my dad about his cases, and sometimes they would both disappear. When I was older and … acted weird, I guess … she told me about our talent. And I thought that my dad knew all about hers, because it seemed that she helped him on his cases. But she told him that she’d just taken all kinds of criminology and forensic classes and used a lot of magic. So, to this day, my parents don’t know about this weird thing of seeing the past.”

  “Hey, at least you had your grandmother!”

  “Oh, no one in your family knew about you?”

  Zach thought about his past and winced. “Kind of, in a way. I’m not sure what he believed, but I talked to my dad. At least, he didn’t tell me I was crazy or insist that I have therapy. Sometimes I thought that maybe he had a bit of whatever it is that Jackson and Angela said. I’ve never seen anyone as convinced that we went on, that human beings had souls. I still don’t know if he just sensed those around him, or …” He left off with a shrug and looked at her quickly. “My parents were great. So, no, I never knew what it was like to go from foster home to foster home, or even know what it was like to grow up with hardships. But in Boston, I worked with a guy who did get shoved from foster home to foster home—Drake Evans. Never knew his father and he didn’t think that his mother knew who the man might be—she died of a drug overdose when he was five. But it didn’t make him bitter; instead, it made him a man determined to do good in the world, so …”

  “Our Patricia is great, and she is going to see that no harm comes to Jeremy.”

  “It sounds—and feels and looks—that way,” he said lightly.

  Skye started to smile, but that smile turned to a frown as he made a sudden turn. “Okay, I do know this area, and you are not heading toward the university dorms—”

  “Nope. I’m heading to the fast-food joint just down this corner. You’re welcome to join me in a hamburger and fries. Or not. Fuel, you know, after a morning tramping around the woods.”

  “Hey! You’re the one who wanted to tramp through the woods!” she reminded him.

  “But—”

  “Fish sandwich and fries, please,” she told him. “And no soda—juice. You know. Fuel.”

  He laughed softly and continued his way to the drive-through, buying them food they’d be enjoying in the car.

  “You’re adept at driving with a burger in your hands, I see,” she told him once their food had been purchased and they were on the road again.

  “And you’re not?” he inquired.

  “Of course. I was just checking on you—since you’re doing the driving.”

  He grinned and moved on.

  They finished eating a minute after he parked and headed toward the dorm room.

  “Second floor,” Skye said.

  He nodded and they headed for the stairs. Evidently, the girls had been waiting for them. The door to room 204 opened before they could get to it.

  A young brunette stepped out, a pretty girl with a ponytail, jeans, and a T-shirt that advertised a local band.

  “Hey! You’re the Feds, right?” she asked anxiously.

  “We are,” Zach assured her, producing his credentials.

  At his side, Skye did the same.

  “Please come in! We’re so glad you’re here. I’m sorry; I’m Holly Madsen! Please, please, we are so anxious to do anything. Patricia … oh, my God! We all love her so much; someone has to find her. And that awful woman, oh!”

  Skye stopped, glancing at Zach and looking at Holly with a frown. “That awful woman? What awful woman?”

  “That detective! Brekley, no, sorry, Berkley. Detective Berkley. She suggested that Patricia had killed the great-grandpa and kidnapped Jeremy! She was horrible! But come in, please, please, if we can help, we want to!”

  She opened the door, urging them inside. Zach gave her a nod and held the door, letting Holly reenter first, followed by Skye and then himself.

  There was a small living area in the dorm, with an even smaller kitchen that backed it. Enough for college years, he thought. A door on either side led to the bedrooms, he imagined.

  Two other young women were seated on a sofa; both rose as they entered. A petite girl, with a blond bob, offered her hand, introducing herself as Whitney Nottingham. The second girl, a taller redhead, offered her hand as well, telling them that she was Judy McGrath.

  “Sit, please!” Holly said.

  There was one sofa and two chairs.

  “Scooch!” Holly told the other two, joining them on the couch and indicating that Skye and Zach should take the chairs.

  They did so.

  Whitney glanced at Holly and she said quietly, “They don’t think Patricia was involved in any way.”

  “We most certainly do not!” Skye assured her. “We believe someone came to the door and maybe called out. What we’re wondering is if there might be someone she’s met somewhere, and if she recognized the voice and thought that they just needed something, or—”

  “She’d have never opened the door to a wicked witch!” Whitney announced. “And in the papers and on the news, they’re saying that a wicked witch kidnapped that lady and kid in Swampscott. Could that be … I mean … it’s not even that close to Halloween yet! Well, yeah, wait, especially here—but we’re not down to the big festivities yet.”

  “That’s why we’re wondering about people Patricia might have known or even just met—if she recognized a voice and just opened the door?” Zach asked. “Or we’re thinking that she might have been busy, running between the baby and Jeremy, and opened the door without thinking. But if you can think of anyone who behaved strangely around Patricia or any of you, or if she even mentioned anyone strange.”

  Judy smiled at them and entered the conversation. “Thank God! You really don’t think Patricia might be the bad one, like those horrible cops do! You had to know Patricia. She worked so hard! And she was so nice. We’ve all tried to help out because our parents pay for our schooling, but Patricia grew up in foster care and doesn’t have anyone to help her financially. That’s why she works so hard. And it helps that she just loves kids and is a natural with them.”

  “We know she’s innocent,” Skye said.

  “Of course—I mean, Patricia was gone when the costume shop got held up or whatever,” Holly said. “Oh! But I bet you the cops that were here think she kidnapped Jeremy and went back for the mom and the other kid.”

  “Seriously,” Skye said, sitting forward. “We truly believe Patricia is innocent, a victim, and she needs saving. We need all the help we can get. Can you think of anyone who behaves strangely, said something strange, suddenly asked questions or knew her schedule or … anything at all?”

  Holly looked at Whitney. Whitney looked at Judy.

  Judy looked at Holly and gave her a little nod.

  Holly spoke for the trio.

  “We’re afraid to say much of anything because we could be so wrong. But you need to look at Mr. Stanley.”

  “Who is Mr. Stanley?” Zach asked.

  “He teaches history at the university,” Judy offered. “He may just be a harmless kook! You know, of course, that you have to take classes that aren’t necessarily in your major. Patricia was taking his course on American history. If you read the course description, it takes you from Juan Ponce de Leon, St. Augustine, Florida, and the Pilgrims, Plymouth, Massachusetts, into the decades that followed, up to the present.”

  “But Mr. Stanley obsesses!” Judy exclaimed. She looked at the others and continued, “Decades and centuries are glossed over. I know because I take his class, too. And all he ever wants to talk about is Salem—and the trials. But,” she added, “he does go on and on about the horror of the trials.” She stopped speaking, looking at Whitney.

  Whitney took a breath. “I’m in the class, too. And what he’s so keen on is the idea that people did see the devil in the woods, or that all that was evil within them came out in the woods, so maybe it was the devil taking hold of the Massachusetts Bay Colony!”

  CHAPTER 7

  A professor who believed that the devil lurked in the deep woods.

  Skye sat back, frowning as she looked at the wide-eyed girls, who were staring from her to Zach, desperate for help.

  There were, of course, many ways to think about the devil. Perhaps the devils that had existed in Puritan New England had simply been the devils that lurked in the human psyche, something within humanity that allowed man to create very bad images of another human being because of anger, resentment, jealousy, or a need for revenge.

  Many in the past must have felt such things—they were only human. And people were easily made into victims of a culture. And if the culture said the devil was alive and making use of human beings in the deep, dark forests, well …

  But a professor at a respected university talking about the devil being present at the time of the trials? That was unique.

  “We’ll definitely speak with this professor,” she told them. “But I’m sorry, does he tell you what others thought—or what he thinks himself?”

  “He’s dramatic!” Whitney offered. “Very dramatic!”

  “He likes to act out the things he’s telling us about,” Holly said, smiling. “In a way, he’s a wonderful teacher, fun and informative!”

  “But scary, too!” Judy said gravely.

  “We’ll meet with him. Believe me, we promise we’ll investigate any information and any man or woman you suggest might be involved in any way. And you never know,” Zach continued, “your professor might lead us to someone else. The main thing is this—we believe with our whole hearts that your friend is innocent, a victim like Jeremy, but a young woman who is still caring with everything in her heart and soul for that boy.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Holly whispered.

  “Thank you, thank you!” Whitney echoed.

  Zach nodded and Judy said, “I’m sorry if we’re acting … badly. It’s just that the detectives were horrible!”

  “I’m sure they didn’t mean to be—” Skye began.

  “Oh, what’s his name? Detective Cason. He was all right. I mean, we could see his face; and we knew he was suspicious of Patricia, but he didn’t come right out and call her a monster. But that woman detective, that Berkley, she was horrible. She wanted us to admit that Patricia was broke, that she’d surely taken Jeremy so that she could demand a ransom.”

  “There’s been no communication regarding a ransom,” Skye said softly.

  “Of course not! Because …” Whitney broke off, shaking her head. “I don’t get it! I don’t get what’s going on at all!”

  “At this moment, neither do we,” Zach admitted. “But …”

  He glanced at Skye. They both knew not to make promises that they could solve a case.

  But he seemed to feel the same way that she did on the subject.

  “I promise you that we will not give up until we do find out what is going on. We won’t give up on Patricia, I swear,” he said.

  Skye lowered her head, smiling.

  Well, thanks to Jackson and their new special status, she knew they could make promises in the way that they were doing.

  “There’s one thing I’d like to ask you for,” Zach told the three of them. “And that’s something that belongs to Patricia. A hairbrush—”

  “Oh, no! You think she’s dead and you want to compare DNA!” Holly exclaimed, horrified.

  “No, no, not at all. We very much think that she’s alive and well,” Zach said. “It’s just to help us when we’re able to find a trail they might have taken, something that Patricia might have touched.”

  “We found one of Jeremy’s little toys in the woods behind the Bolton house—we know they went that way; and rangers and police are searching through the forest now. Having something that belongs to someone in captivity can help in finding out whatever the kidnappers might be planning and what direction they took to where they’re holding people now,” Skye added quickly, smiling to appear reassuring. “And in this case, knowing a direction can lead us to wherever the kidnapped victims are being held.”

  “Um, sure, of course!” Holly said. She looked at the other two girls.

  Judy hopped up. “She keeps one of her hairbrushes in the bathroom. I’ll get it for you!” She quickly returned with the brush; Zach thanked her.

  He stood and Skye stood as well. The girls had given them a direction; and whether a respected professor might be involved or not, he could tell them more about the area.

  And people in the area.

  Maybe there was a student who was taking it all too seriously!

  And then again, maybe the professor was involved himself. Stranger things had happened. There were, she knew, two people involved. And the children were alive, as were Patricia and Jane Howell.

  So, how could these people be holding the prisoners while going about their day-to-day work or existence? Unless, perhaps, they had a way of containing their prisoners.

  Or even a third conspirator, whose job it was to hold the prisoners.