It was an older version of Helen Hardesty’s animal. And not one iota friendlier. It greeted them with snarls and growls as they reached the property where a tumbledown cabin sat in a grove of jack pines. An ancient mule was tethered to a clothesline pole. Red long johns flapped in the wind. The door to the cabin opened an inch or two. A disembodied voice said, “You’re welcome here, Karen, but not the man.” “He’s helping me, Rex. We’re trying to find out who killed my brother.” “I can’t help you there. Now you both git.” The door slammed. “He’s afraid.” “Of what?” “I’m not sure. Ever since the killings started.” “Afraid somebody’ll come after him?” “That’s what I thought. But I wonder.” A chill wind smelling of pine brought a foretaste of winter as they stood staring at the cabin door. “I talked to Ingrid this morning, Rex. She said you saw somebody talking to my brother and the other two one night. It would help us a lot if you’d tell us who you saw.”
