“I wasn’t sneaking. I came here to see if I could find Emma Jean. Then I saw you down on the ground out here. I got curious about what you were up to.’’

“It’s been all over the police radio about Emma Jean’s abandoned car.’’

“So the Toyota is hers? I’m the one who found it, out near my house.’’

“It’s hers, all right. I’m on overnight at the jail tonight. I thought I’d swing by here on my way in and see if anything looked unusual.’’

I thought I saw the slightest shift in his eyes. But I could have been mistaken. There wasn’t much light.

“It seems like you’d go first to Emma Jean’s door. Knock and see if she answers.’’

“I was gonna do that next,’’ Donnie said. “I came around back first to see if there were any other vehicles parked out here. The more you know about who might be inside a dark house, the safer you’ll be if you need to go in.’’

That made sense. But still. “You seem awful interested in that old pickup, Donnie.’’

We both looked at the truck. With a hand to the fender, Donnie boosted himself up.

“Truth be told, I’ve been staring extra hard at every truck I see since I got the accident investigator’s report about the night you landed in the canal. I feel bad I didn’t believe you. I thought maybe I could make it up by finding the truck that ran you off the road.’’

I wanted to rescue Emma Jean and find out who killed Jim Albert. Donnie wanted to hunt down the nutcase who forced me into the water. Heroina and hero.

“Do you think this truck is related?’’ I asked.

“I don’t know. But it’s worth checking out.’’

“Are you going inside the house?’’

Donnie brushed off grass, just as I’d done to my own knees that morning. “I’m gonna have a look around.’’ He shifted his heavy belt. “Not you, though, Mace. It’s police business.’’

Those words had a familiar ring.

“Well, I’ll wait then. I want to know what you find.’’

I followed Donnie to the back door. He looked into the window, then pounded on the wood frame with his heavy flashlight. “Emma Jean?’’ No answer. “Himmarshee Police. Anybody in there?’’

The silence was broken only by the crickets, tuning up for their evening serenade.

He tried the door. Locked. There used to be a time when doors were left open. But those days are mostly over, even in a small town like Himmarshee.

Donnie bent and lifted the mat. No key. He ran a hand on the jamb over the door. Nothing but dirt. He picked up a concrete cat statue from the grass. Success.

His flashlight beam led the way inside. I stayed put, like he told me to. But I could still watch through the kitchen window. He turned on the light switch at the wall.

“Everything looks just the same as it did this morning, when Mama and I stopped by,’’ I yelled into the house. “We were worried about Emma Jean. Those are the same dishes we saw in the sink. That’s the same newspaper on the counter.’’

“Stay outside,’’ Donnie yelled back. “Don’t even think of coming in.’’

More light spilled from the windows as Donnie moved through the little house, turning on lamps. I could hear him knocking, and opening and closing doors. I didn’t have long to wait. The whole search only took about five minutes. He retraced his steps, shut off the lights, and rejoined me on the back door stoop.

“No sign of a struggle,’’ he said.

He locked the door and slid the key back under the kitty. The real cat caught up with us at the birdbath, which had a concrete fairy dipping a wand into the waterless bowl.

“I guess I better call county Animal Control about Emma Jean’s cat.’’ Donnie reached out to steady me as the cat twined around my ankles.

“Leave it be.’’ The words out of my mouth surprised me. “I’ll take care of the cat, Donnie.’’

He stopped and stared. “I’d have pegged you as a dog person, Mace. You don’t seem like the kitty-cat type.’’

I bent to stroke the cat’s head. It rose on its hind legs to meet my hand. “This one’s kind of growing on me. I’d always heard Siamese were unfriendly. But this one’s more like a dog than a cat. Maybe there was a Labrador retriever somewhere in its gene pool.’’

The cat had eaten. I decided to leave it, in case Emma Jean came back. If she still hadn’t shown by tomorrow, I’d return to collect it with one of the animal carriers I use for possums.

“I’m going to hit the road, Donnie. I’m beat. We’ve had way too much excitement in our little town in these last few days.’’

“You said it. What do you think happened to Emma Jean?’’

As we walked to my car, I filled him in on her tire iron and threats of violence.

“That’s what seems weird,’’ I said. “If anyone was to go missing or get hurt, I’d have bet on Emma Jean as the culprit, not the victim.’’

Donnie’s brow was furrowed.

“What is it?’’ I asked.

“It seems strange Emma Jean was in a rage about being cheated on.’’

“Yeah, I know. But Mama told me that relationship with Jim Albert was a real whirlwind. How well can you really know anyone after just a few months?’’

Donnie shone the light around the empty yard. “That’s not what I mean, Mace. Word is Emma Jean herself was running around. She was cheating on Jim Albert.’’

My mouth dropped open. I finally shut it, afraid I’d catch a bug drawn by the flashlight.

“You know how my mom moved to the south side of the lake? She works at that fish camp restaurant in Hendry County.’’

“The Gigged Frog?’’

“Affirmative,’’ Donnie answered, with a nod right out of Cops. “Mom says she’s seen Emma Jean in there. She takes a booth in the bar, way in the back. Then a dark-haired, younger guy comes in to join her. He’s not just a friend, either. The two of them end up making out like high-school kids.’’

“Your mom doesn’t know him?’’

Donnie shook his head.

“Maybe it’s an old boyfriend. And they quit going out once she got engaged.’’

“Mom says no. After Emma Jean was flashing her diamond ring last week at work, I mentioned her engagement. You know what my mom said?’’

I shook my head.

“Not two nights earlier, she’d been into the Frog, cuddling up with her lover boy. Mom said she pitied the poor sap who had agreed to marry Emma Jean Valentine.’