“They did mention that work has stopped until the entire area has been searched.”

“Oh, swell,” Lorna grumbled. “I’ll never find a buyer for this place now.”

She put her hand over the phone and told T.J., “It’s Regan Landry. She’s watching the news. The press has dubbed this place ‘The Body Farm.’ ”

“Ask her if Mitch can find out if the FBI has been brought in yet.”

“T.J. wants you to ask Mitch if the FBI is on this yet.” She listened, then said, “Okay, that’s great. I’ll be here.”

She disconnected and slid the phone into her pocket.

“She’s going to call Mitch, then she’ll get back to me.” Lorna paced the porch to the far end. “Body Farm. That just stinks.” She made a face. “I should probably let this settle down before I put the house on the market, shouldn’t I?”

She paced a little more. “Or should I sell it quickly, before they find more bodies?”

“Have you spoken with a Realtor yet?”

“I haven’t had time. I’ve only been home a week.”

“You really want to sell this place?” His gaze started at the roadside fence and went right on back to the field. “It’s such a beautiful property. If I were looking for a place with some ground, I’d jump on it. It has charm, Lorna. It has history.”

“Unfortunately, most of which is buried.”

He laughed. “When was the house built?”

“My great-great-grandfather built it in 1853.”

“And it’s been in your family ever since?”

She nodded.

“Doesn’t it bother you to sell?”

“More and more, every day.” She looked past him to the barn. “My siblings and I agreed, after Mom died, to sell. I came here to get things in order, get the house cleaned out, get it on the market.”

“And then?”

“And then I go back to Woodboro, where I live. My business is there. My friends.” The words sounded tired now. She’d sung that song too many times the past week.

“What kind of business?”

“I’m a CPA. I do accounting for a number of small businesses.”

“You own your own business?” He smiled. “Very impressive. But who’s running it, while you’re here?”

“Well, I am. I had a computer network set up, I hook in with my clients and take it from there.”

“And your business isn’t suffering while you’re here?”

“Hasn’t skipped a beat.” She could see where the conversation was leading. “My life is there. I really don’t have one here anymore. My sister and her husband live in Oklahoma. They have very young children. She doesn’t want to sell. I think she has visions of bringing the kids back for summer vacations on the farm. Playing in the fields, swimming in the pond.”

“You have a pond?”

She nodded. “On the other side of the family burial plot.”

“Family burial plot, too?”

“Yes.”

“Any chance these last three bodies-”

She cut him off. “No. No chance. I was over there earlier, no sign of disturbance.”

“Are your parents buried there?”

“My dad is-though he’s not a Palmer, he lived here for most of his married life-and my mother is… partially. Sort of.”

“I have no idea what that means, ‘partially sort of buried.’ ”

“She was cremated. She wanted some of her ashes spread around in the family cemetery.” She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted to ask where the rest of the ashes were going, but he was too polite. “She wanted to be in three places: the cemetery, with her parents and my dad; her garden; and around the pond. Her favorite places.”

“Is that why you were weeding the other night?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no. Not that garden. Mom wanted her ashes in her flower garden. But that’s so overgrown, I couldn’t do it. I don’t think she realized how the weeds would take over, with her having been gone the past two summers. I’ll get to it before I leave. At least, I hope I will. It meant a lot to her.”

“You said ‘siblings.’ I understand why your sister isn’t here to give you a hand, who else is there?”

“My brother, Rob.” She settled back in the chair and rocked for a long moment. “I had a really odd conversation with him just this morning. I asked him to come back and give me a hand-he’s between jobs right now-but he said the strangest thing. He said he’d left Callen for the last time when he was eighteen, and he couldn’t think of a good enough reason to come back now. Or words to that effect.”

“Did he have a hard childhood?”

“Robbie?” She laughed. “Please. He was the youngest, he was the only boy, and he was spoiled rotten. He was doted on by my grandmother like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Then maybe spoiled is the right word.”

“He was never bratty, at least, not that I remember. He’s seven years younger than I, though, so he was eleven when I left for college. I don’t know why he feels the way he does, but he was pretty insistent about not coming home. He wants me to sell everything, send him his share, and we’ll all go on with our own lives.”

She was waiting for him to comment, and when he didn’t, she said, “Selling would probably be best for everyone. Andrea and I together couldn’t buy out Robbie, so that’s that. And I don’t know how I’d support this place.”

“How did your mother do it?”

“She rented out the fields to another farmer.”

“Really?” His interest was instantaneous. “Is he still around?”

“Gil Compton, yes, he is.” She turned to look at him. “I see where you’re going. Maybe he saw something over the years, something or someone.”

“Maybe we should put him on the list of people to talk to.”

“It would. Good call. I wouldn’t have thought of him.”

“That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.”

“Oh, right. We need to talk about that.” The phone in her pocket rang and she answered it right away. “Regan. Were you able to speak with Mitch?”

“I was. Unfortunately, the Bureau doesn’t have the case yet. As a matter of fact, no request has been made. His boss is going to call the county DA in the morning and offer assistance, but until that happens, he’s reluctant to get involved. There was a little fallout from the fax thing. Your police chief called the Bureau. Mitch got his hand slapped.”

“Ouch. I’m so sorry that happened. Please apologize to him for me.”

“He doesn’t blame you. He blames the cops for having put T.J. in that position in the first place. They know the law. They’re supposed to follow it.”

“Still…”

“Still nothing. The reports should have been handed over. They can charge for them, but not withhold them.”

A van pulled into the driveway. T.J. got up and walked down to meet it.

“There’s another damned reporter here,” Lorna said.

“That’s only going to get worse. I think you should call your police department and tell them that you need a car there to keep trespassers off the property.”

“Fat chance. No one there is speaking to me unless they have to.”

“Well, they have to. They can’t pick and choose who they’re going to protect. Hang up and call them.” Regan paused, then said, “Are you alone there?”

“Well, T.J. is here now, but he’ll be leaving.”

“Why don’t I drive up there and spend a few days, just till this blows over and something else takes its place on the news.”

“Drive up? Aren’t you in Princeton? Wouldn’t that be ‘drive down’?”

“My dad’s place is in Princeton. My house is on the Eastern Shore. Right around St. Michaels. I’m probably not an hour from you. Not a bad drive.”

“I thought you had a book due.”

“They moved it on the schedule, changed the publication date. I can take a little time off. What do you say? Want a roommate for a few days?”

“Actually, I’d love it. If you’re certain it’s not an imposition.”

“Hey, I offered. I want to. Give me directions from around Rising Sun.”

Lorna did.

“Piece of cake to find you,” Regan said. “I’m going to hang up and throw some clothes into an overnight bag, and then I’ll leave. In the meantime, call the police department. Make ’em earn your tax dollars.”