“Nope.” The phone rang, Aggie bitterly cursed all reporters everywhere, and reached for it.

“Maybe he flew back to L.A.,” Rob said as they walked outside into the bright sunlight. Most of the remaining snow had melted. There were deep puddles everywhere, reflecting startlingly blue sky and fleecy clouds. The morning felt clean and freshly washed. Which was kind of surprising given the grim start to the day.

The night had been nice though. He couldn’t help glancing at Adam and smiling.

Adam said, “As much as Russell doesn’t like this assignment, he wouldn’t leave without informing me. And if he’d been recalled, I’d have been recalled too.”

“Did you check your phone messages?” Rob hated the idea that Adam might get recalled. But whether he was recalled or not, sooner or later Adam would be leaving Nearby.

Suddenly the sun didn’t seem half as bright as it had a few seconds before.

“Yes. I just checked my messages, and I checked my email this morning. There’s nothing from anyone, including Russell.”

“Then don’t worry. He’ll be back.”

Adam nodded, though clearly unsatisfied.

They climbed into Rob’s SUV, and Rob started the engine. “The Constantine place is on the way to Berkle’s. We can stop there on the way back, if you’d like to talk to Bill.”

“Doesn’t he have a job?”

“Part time. It’s more of a hobby, I’d say. Even if Buck hadn’t made a fortune in real estate, he married money.”

“It usually seems to work that way. I’ve been thinking about the Watterson boy. Is there any possibility his death wasn’t an accident?”

He really had a way of dropping those nasty little bombshells. Adam had one dark imagination, that was for sure. Rob said, “I don’t think so. There was never any suggestion that it wasn’t an accident.”

“How did it happen?”

“There’s a giant boulder at Blue Rock Cove. Kids dive off it into the lake. It doesn’t matter how many times you post warnings, kids always believe they’re invincible. Anyway, Terry jumped off the blue rock, hit his head, and drowned.”

“Was he alone when the accident happened?”

“No. There were witnesses. A bunch of kids saw it happen. Well, I shouldn’t say ‘kids,’ because these idiots were all college age, and they were all drinking. And before you ask, both Billy Constantine and Zeke were among them. Zeke grew up in Nearby. He and Terry were best friends.”

He waited for Adam to ask the next question—there was always going to be a next question with Adam—all Adam said was, “It should be a lot quieter around here now that Tiffany’s been found and the search and rescue teams have gone home.”

“Yep,” Rob said. “Now we just have to get rid of these pesky serial killers, and life can get back to normal.”

To his surprise, Adam threw him that rare, pointed grin and said, “But it seems to me that maybe serial killers are normal for Nearby.”

“Oh, sa-nap,” Rob said, and Adam chuckled.

* * * * *

Bert Berkle bred and trained the best tracking dogs in the county. In fact, some people said he raised the best dogs in the state. Rob liked dogs—they’d always had beagles at home when he was growing up—but he wouldn’t have paid twenty-four grand for any dog. Berkle seemed to make a decent living though, so apparently there were enough people willing to dish out big bucks for a pooch.

“You’re not afraid of dogs by any chance?” Rob asked as they parked in front of the large single-story cedar cabin. The cabin was nice enough. The real property value lay in that breathtaking lakefront view and the private dock. “Allergic to them?”

Adam raised his brows. “Me? No, I like dogs.”

“Good.”

A crisp breeze blew across the lake and turned the blue water choppy with white caps as they left the SUV. They went up the wooden walk and the dogs in the kennels behind the house started barking. It sounded like a hunting pack in full cry.

“Imagine listening to that at night,” Adam observed.

“Yeah. Luckily the closest neighbor is over there.” Rob pointed toward the mountain where they had been searching only the day before. A helicopter was slowly circling the approximate area of Sandy Gibbs’s “compound,” as the press was dubbing it.

“They’re not exactly tripping over each other.”

“No, but you know the old this-town-isn’t-big-enough-for-both-of-us routine? Well, the county isn’t big enough for those two.”

They stepped onto the porch, and Rob knocked on the rough hewn cedar door.

There was no answer.

“His truck is parked under the carport. He’s probably in the back,” Rob said. “Unless he’s on the lake.” He led the way back down the steps and around the side of the cabin to the kennels in the rear.

He’d been here a couple of times—usually to ask for Berkle’s help when some camper or hiker got himself good and lost. Everything looked the same. Rows of tall immaculate dog pens, several long enclosed runs, a big metal barn, a dog trailer, and black semi truck cab adorned with a naked lady on the door.

“Those aren’t German Shepherds,” Adam observed as they neared the pen with the short-haired fawn-colored dogs.

“Belgian Malinois,” Rob said. “They look a lot like Shepherds.”

“They’re more alert and smarter than GSDs,” Berkle said, exiting one of the pens. He locked the gate behind him. “Better looking dog too.”

He was a mountain of a man. Big shoulders, big arms, big black beard, big blue eyes. He looked intimidating, though Rob couldn’t think of an instance where Berkle had ever tried to bully or use force. He kept to himself mostly, though he was a regular at the Lakehouse Restaurant bar during the summer months. But then pretty much everyone was a regular, given that it was the only real restaurant in almost forty miles.

“Bert, this is Agent Darling of the FBI. He’s helping us investigate Cynthia Joseph’s murder.”

Berkle nodded curtly to Adam. To Rob he said, “I heard you found the Joseph girl. Is she going to be okay?”

“We hope so,” Rob said, and Berkle’s stern expression seemed to lighten.

“And you finally got Sandy Gibbs in custody?”

“Well, that’s what we wanted to talk to you about,” Rob said. “We’ve been questioning Gibbs, and he’s come up with a story that we feel we’ve got to investigate.”

“Okay,” Berkle said warily. He looked from Rob to Adam.

Adam said, “Can you clarify the situation between yourself and Mr. Gibbs, sir?”

Berkle’s black brows drew together. “The situation?” he repeated to Rob.

“Gibbs has made some pretty serious allegations,” Rob said.

“About what?”

“About an incident several years back,” Adam said.

Berkle ignored him, waiting for Rob to speak. Rob said, “Gibbs is claiming that you killed that hiker who disappeared back in ’98.”

Berkle’s jaw dropped. “He said what? And I would do that why?”

“Why do you suppose he’d make such an allegation, sir?” Adam inquired.

Probably a liability in social situations, Adam. Then again, he was a guy who used the word “firstly” with a straight face, so Rob was going to cut him all the slack he needed. He was looking severe and serious as he waited for Berkle to respond.

“I’ll tell you why he’d make up such an allegation,” Berkle told Rob. “He wants my land. He’s been after my land for the last twenty years. So he made up this cock-and-bull story about something he probably did himself.”

Adam said, “He claims you tried to kill him yesterday.”

Berkle looked at Rob and gestured toward Adam in a kind of futile are you kidding me? gesture.

“If you could just answer the question, Mr. Berkle,” Rob said.

“What question? He’s not asking me any questions. He’s accusing me of murder.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, sir,” Adam said. “It’s our job to follow up on these allegations.”

Rob made a mental note to check for the battery compartment when he got Adam home that night, because if ever a guy sounded like a robot…