As he waited at the intersection to turn right onto River Road, he peeked at the rear view mirror. There it was! He watched a charcoal-gray Audi behind him slow, edge over to the curb, and stop. The tinted glass that formed its windshield made it impossible to identify the driver. The car must have been parked on his street, and he’d been too preoccupied to notice it as he passed. Was it the same car he’d been watching for all week? He was convinced the Audi belonged to Kelsey Ainge. Was it really following him?

He turned his eyes back to River Road, where the fast-paced traffic had already dried the asphalt, found an opening, and turned right. Checking the mirror again, he saw the Audo turn behind an intervening car to follow him. He slowed to the speed limit to give himself time to think. The right turn for Swains Lock was three miles away. About a mile ahead there was a farmstand on the left. It was just past six now, so it should still be open.

He nudged his turn-signal and slowed as he approached the farmstand. The cars behind him stopped to wait. He pulled in and walked across the wet grass past boxes of ripe tomatoes. Strolling toward the corn, he turned his head to locate the Audi. And there it was across the road, pulled onto the shoulder, still headed east. The tinted glass looked opaque in the late-afternoon light.

OK, he thought. You’re keeping a safe distance. Let’s play cat and mouse. He paraded past the berries and peaches, then turned on his heel and walked unhurriedly back to his car. He backed out of his spot and waited to turn east again on River Road. The Audi betrayed no sign of life. As he turned, he checked the mirror. The Audi let two cars pass then pulled out behind them, heading east. He accelerated to gain some distance on his pursuer.

Approaching Swains Lock Road, he slowed abruptly and swung into a right turn without warning. It was easy to imagine the expletives issuing from the driver of the Mercedes on his tail. The wet, unlined asphalt was barely wider than a driveway and it snaked down the hillside under a dark canopy of foliage. He doubled the speed limit while descending the quarter-mile lane, then braked to a stop just short of the parking lot, jumped out, circled to open the tailgate, and snatched the shovel and his canoe paddle. He stepped into the woods beside the passenger door and propped them behind the trunk of a large oak tree. Then he continued to the open door, hopped in, and shifted back into gear.

There were a handful of cars in the puddled dirt-and-gravel parking lot at Swains, and he pulled straight into a space alongside the nearest one, then stared at the rear-view mirror. When he saw the gray Audi glide toward the lot, he shifted into reverse and completed the second leg of a three-point turn. Shifting forward, he pulled out of the lot as the Audi eased in. He was within a few feet of its tinted windows as it slid past, but all he could see was a shadowy presence at the wheel. He tried to match the outline behind the glass with the figure of the woman on the bridge at Cool Aid. It had to be her.

He accelerated up Swains Lock Road, then slowed to creep past an oncoming car. The familiar shape emerged behind him. He sped up again on the last stretch and quickly found the opening he needed to turn west on River Road, back toward home.

The Audi temporarily receded from view, but it crested a hill behind him as he neared the turn for his neighborhood. That’s OK, he thought. She already knows where I live. He navigated leisurely through residential streets back to Ridge Line Court, then opened his garage door and waited. When the Audi nosed into view behind him and edged to the curb, he pulled into the garage and closed the door. “Sayonara, sweetie,” he muttered getting out of the car. “Hope you enjoy the scenery.”

He pulled his bicycle from its slot in the corner and carried it into the house. Randy rose up from his bed to stretch and greet him. “Sorry, buddy, I’m just passing through. Nicky should be home soon.” His words reminded him to check his watch. Just past six-thirty. He tapped his pockets to make sure he still had the head-lamp, knife, and wire cutters, then carried his bike out the sliding door to the backyard and wheeled it across the lawn. At the edge of the woods, he shouldered it and picked his way down to Pennyfield Lock. Two minutes later he was on the towpath, where he set his feet on the pedals and took off downstream for Swains.

***

Vin’s car was in the garage, so Nicky half expected to find him at his desk as she entered the house. Only Randy was there to greet her. She climbed the stairs to the living room. Vin wasn’t lounging on the couch either. She walked down the hall to the bedroom and didn’t find him there. After changing into shorts and a v-necked shirt, she visited the kitchen and saw the note on top of the answering machine.

She read it to herself a second time, this time aloud and in disbelief: “I know where it is! Out for a quick investigation.” At first the message sounded like a joke, but her anger rose when she realized it was serious. What the hell was wrong with him? The “it” could only be the thing he’d been obsessed with for almost a year now. A chill raked her temples and she felt faint. She leaned against the kitchen counter and pressed down with both palms, taking shallow breaths to overcome an unfamiliar vertigo. Her arms suddenly felt numb and her hands against the counter looked like they belonged to someone else. And what is wrong with me?

An investigation. Vin thought he was tracking buried money and the bones of ghosts, so what did that mean? Was he planning to dig something up? And where, given that his car was still in the garage. Did he set out into the oncoming evening on foot? Whatever he was doing had to be centered around the canal, so he could have walked down there easily enough. Did he expect to exhume something from the mud and carry it home? Or maybe there was someone else involved. She shuddered recalling Vin’s suspicious comments about Kelsey Ainge. When had that started? He’d said something about it after they visited her studio in February. And then things had been normal for a while after he recovered from his infection.

Until recently. About a week ago, when he’d brought home that ridiculous lock-key. And Nicky knew he’d been pondering his imaginary enigma about an albino mule since then. He’d sardonically mentioned his impression that Kelsey Ainge was following him at Cool Aid. And now he always seemed to be looking over his shoulder.

The thought returned, reincarnated as a suspicion. What if Kelsey was luring him into something? Maybe this whole strange quest was something she had devised. Some way of using him toward her own inscrutable ends. Maybe he was with her now and that was why he didn’t need his car. They could have met at Pennyfield Lock to set out somewhere. She might have even met him here at the house.

To break this line of thought, Nicky mechanically took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. There was no way to know how Kelsey Ainge was woven into Vin’s obsession with Lee Fisher’s 1924 note, but it was clear that Vin thought she was involved somehow. She picked up the handset and dialed. Doug Tuckerman answered and hailed Abby, who had just walked in the door.

“What’s the matter, did you leave your umbrella on the chair?” Abby said. They had been joined for drinks at the bistro by two friends of Abby’s, and Nicky had left first.

“No,” Nicky said. “I got the umbrella. Now I just need to find the fiancée.”

“Is Vin AWOL?”

“Sort of. Though he did leave a note that says he’ll be home soon.”

“So you need to get in touch with him right away?”

“Not exactly. I’m actually trying to get a read on one of our acquaintances.”

“Someone I know?”

“Kelsey Ainge.” Nicky heard a soft whistle. “We met with her once when we were looking for a wedding photographer,” she said, “but I remember Doug said something about her before that. When we had dinner at your house, last fall.”