Fisk tightened his mouth and stared at the rain.
“Not sure why, but the state police boys were convinced Pink had killed Isabelle and buried her on the property. But they never found her. Wasn’t long after that Mattie and Pink disappeared.”
“The property?”
“They had this whole place dug up,” the sheriff said. “Holes everywhere.”
“What place?” Michelle said.
“This place. Your yard out there, all the way to the road. This was Pink’s place,” the sheriff said. “Built it himself. Isabelle was gonna move over here soon as it was done.”
Michelle was dumbstruck. Cliff hadn’t said anything about a murder. Maybe he didn’t know either.
“I never believed Pink could kill anyone,” Fisk said. “Especially Isabelle. He loved that girl like crazy.” The sheriff smiled. “There aren’t any bodies buried here. I guarantee it. Folks make up some wild tales in these mountains. I heard one that had Mattie turning her boy, Pink, into an ass and riding him out of town like the Virgin Mary headed for Bethlehem.” He chuckled. “I don’t believe any of that hokum—spells and runes and whatnot. Those Wicca folks are no different from you or me . . .”
“Wicca folks?” Michelle asked. “What’s Wicca?”
“Uh, well . . .” Sheriff Fisk paused, scratching behind his ear. “They’re witches, I guess you’d call them. Maybe you’ve seen some of those signs on the outskirts of town for Wiccan supplies and such. It’s not like a secret society or—”
“Witches?” Michelle asked. “Like, you mean . . . ?”
“No, they don’t wear pointy black hats or ride around on brooms or nothing,” the sheriff said, chuckling softly. “You don’t need to worry none about any of that.”
“I’ve never heard of—”
“Pretty common in these hills. Well, maybe not common, but . . . You wouldn’t know them if you passed them in the grocery store. They’re no different than you and me.”
Michelle felt momentarily transported back in time. Or to a time unknown to her. It was curious. Witches?
“Tales spring up around these parts for God only knows what reason,” Fisk continued. “Probably reading too many of them Stephen King novels. Or drinking too much moonshine. Lulu—that was Mattie’s best friend—Lulu said Mattie had people in Virginia and went to stay with them for a while. She never came back, though.” The sheriff’s expression darkened, as if his mind was wrestling with something troublesome.
“What about my husband?” Michelle said. “What do we do now? He could be lying somewhere unconscious.”
“He’s probably all right, ma’am. Had us a twelve-year-old boy a few years back got separated from his scout troop over there in the Nantahala Forest. Gone four days. Everybody was out looking for him. Parents were worried sick. When we found him, he wasn’t a hundred yards from where they’d been camping. Walked in big circles for days. And he was just fine. A bit tired and hungry, but A-OK.”
Michelle was not comforted by the story, imagining if it were Cassie lost in the woods. Cassie was only fifteen and Michelle couldn’t bear the thought of her being scared, alone, hungry.
“I’ll round up some of the boys with dogs. We’ll search the area,” Fisk said. “Could be your husband got turned around in the dark. Can’t go too far round these parts anymore without coming to a road or highway. We’ll find him.” The sheriff tweaked the brim of his hat. “I need for you to stay close to the phone in case he calls though. Need anything from the grocery store?”
“No, I’m fine,” she said, crossing her arms, not sure if she agreed with the sheriff’s assessment of the area, about the abundance of roads and highways. To her the area was damn remote. That’s what Cliff had loved about it, that their property was supposed to be surrounded by thousands of acres of national forest land, no one else for miles.
“You better go on inside,” the sheriff said. “Chill’s setting in. And don’t you worry, we’ll find him.”
*****
Rain slashed at the deck as seven men started down the hill, three of them struggling back against leashes, their dogs burrowing close to the ground, seemingly barking at ghosts. Michelle watched from the back door until there was nothing left of the men and their hounds but the howling. An hour or so later, a helicopter rumbled past the cabin and Michelle thought they might have found Cliff until it cut down over the trees and out of sight. The sheriff knocked on the door around six that evening.
“Howdy, ma’am. Any news?”
Michelle shook her head, searching the sheriff’s eyes for answers. Rain dripped from the collar of his yellow slicker.
“Well, we haven’t had much luck either. Bogan and me figure to wait until dark and see if we can’t locate exactly what you folks were looking at. Distances can be deceiving up here. Maybe the light was further away than you thought.”
“How about the dogs?”
The sheriff’s jaw clenched. “They had a scent for a while . . . but then . . .”
“What?”
“They spooked,” the sheriff said. “Started howling like they’d treed a coon . . . and we thought they’d found something. But then they commenced to whimpering. They were pretty scared over something . . .”
Fisk walked down to the men in the driveway, told them they could go on home. They packed up their dogs, slamming tailgates and doors, spinning gravel as they left the driveway, taking—it felt to Michelle—all the hope with them. Encouraged earlier when the men arrived with the dogs, she’d been certain they would find Cliff. Watching them leave erased her optimism, left her anxious and guilty, even ashamed for taking a moment’s satisfaction in the notion that Cliff might be dead. Over the past few years she’d pictured Cliff’s overturned Cherokee, the wheels spinning, the phone call from the police. “What kind of person would imagine such things?” she thought. She was too embarrassed to even tell her sister, Darcy, about her morbid reverie.
“We don’t need all that manpower tonight,” the sheriff told Michelle when he came back up.
“Do you and Deputy Bogan want to wait inside?” Michelle asked.
“No, ma’am, we’ll wait in the car. Won’t be long ’fore dark.”
Michelle washed dishes, glancing out at the horizon, trying to speed the night. She decided to call her sister.
“Hey, Darcy, it’s Michelle.”
“How’s the getaway going?” Darcy said.
“You have a minute to talk?”