"Enough," Tracker said. "I'll hear no more of that talk." It was bad enough exhuming a corpse in the dark; he didn't need someone telling him the dead were watching.

Make your move, Sheriff.

They removed their coats. Cold or not, it was sweaty work. Tracker wiped his forehead and spat the grit from his mouth. He dug quickly. The Doc grew tired and had to rest, but Tracker refused to stop. He kept shoveling. The ground rose up around him. Dirt clogged his nostrils and he sneezed. He shivered as the sweat cooled on his skin. He had to be getting close. Any moment, he was sure- He struck wood.

"There," he said, handing the shovel up to the Doc. Tracker cleared away the rest of the dirt with his hands and found the edges of the casket. "All right, give us a light."

The Doc removed a small candle lantern from his coat and lit it. He laid down and held it above Tracker's head like a Chinese lantern.

Tracker pulled a knife from his pocket and knelt over the coffin. The nails squeaked like frightened mice as he pried them up. After he finished, he nodded to the Doc and said, "Here we go."

"Hoot hoot, oh gosh but hoot HOOT!"

The Doc blew out the candle and lay flat. Tracker crouched inside and listened.

Someone ran up the hill. Appearing over the rise, Ben said, "Hoot, everything's fine now." He gasped for air. "Hoot."

Tracker raised his head. "What happened?"

"I thought a rusher was heading toward us," Ben said, "but turns out he was only drunk and couldn't run straight. He ran into a hitching post instead."

The Doc sat up and wiped at his vest. "That was the ugliest owl hoot I have ever heard. And, may I add, an even worse impression of a moose."

"We're wasting time," Tracker said. "Ben, get back down there and keep watch. Doc, light that candle."

Ben hurried back down the hill. The Doc lit the candle and resumed his position over Tracker. Bending down, Tracker slipped his fingers under the lid. He pulled. The nails groaned, but soon gave way. He lifted the lid.

"Oh," he said, twisting away from the stench. He buried his arm in his mouth and coughed.

Above him, the Doc rolled away, saying, "It must be a combination of the berries and the decay. Lord, what a stench."

Tracker tried breathing through his mouth, but the smell was so thick he could taste it. "Get back here, Doc," he said. "I-(cough)-need your light."

The Doc reappeared and held out the lantern.

Tracker looked down at Jimmy.

The boy hadn't been buried a full three days, yet he was decomposing quickly. His lips had darkened, looking black in the candlelight. His hair was still trimmed, greased, and parted, but now it was home to a family of beetles that scurried from the light and dashed for his ears. With his store bought suit, he looked like a young lad in his Sunday best, only now his shirt wriggled over the frenzied activity of things. His hands, folded over his chest, were covered with tiny maggots.

"I need more light," Tracker said, kneeling over the body.

The Doc leaned further into the grave. With his free hand, he pulled out a handkerchief and held it to his nose and mouth. "That's all I can give you, Tom," he said. "Any further and I'll tumble in."

Tracker bent closer. He examined Jimmy's neck. It was heavily powdered; he couldn't see any marks save for the crisscrossing slime trails of some insect.

"My apologies, Doc," Tracker said.

"Apologies," the Doc said. "Apologies for what?"

Tracker s.n.a.t.c.hed his handkerchief.

"What in the blazes are you doing, Tom?" the Doc said, nearly dropping the candle.

Tracker dabbed the handkerchief into the gra.s.s and soaked up the moisture. Then he crouched down- "No no, don't!" the Doc said.

-and touched the handkerchief to the boy's neck.

"You did," the Doc moaned. "And that one was my favorite."

Tracker wiped at the powder gingerly, trying not to tear the skin.

"Hoot!"

Doc blew out the candle. Tracker froze.

"Your oaf is moving toward the office," the Doc whispered down to him. "He's stopped. Now he's coming back."

"Hoot!" Ben called up to them. "Never mind! Hoot!"

With a grunt of disgust, Doc struck another match. "Next time we dig up a body, we're leaving him behind."

"Agreed," Tracker said.

He resumed wiping. He was able to get a fair amount off, but still couldn't see any markings on the neck. "Give me the lantern," he said.

"Here," the Doc said. "Only I'm out of matches, so be careful with it."

Tracker dangled the lantern above the neck. He squinted and pushed his face as close as he'd dare. "There," he said. "I see it, Doc, I see it!" He reached up and rubbed the handkerchief into the gra.s.s. He dabbed some more of the powder off. "You see it?"

The Doc leaned in so far that his nose bobbed beside Tracker's ear. "No, I-yes," he said. "I do see it. It's as faint as the pattern on an old china plate, but it's there. Green, brown, and blue."

"Green, brown, and blue," Tracker said. "Jack Devlin is innocent."

"And no one believed him," Doc said. "Even I was sure he did it."

"How could you not? All the evidence pointed to him."

"But you had your doubts from the beginning," the Doc said. "Why?"

Tracker touched his gut. "It didn't itch."

The Doc smiled. "That's a special talent you have, Tom. If you ever tire of being a sheriff, I hear there's good money in spiritualism."

Back in the office, Tracker lit a lamp and sat down at his desk. Wiping the dirt from his sleeves, he said, "I need a bath."

The Doc sniffed his coat sleeve. "I need a bath and a new wardrobe."

Ben leaned on the shovels and frowned at the floor. Tracker wasn't used to seeing his deputy in such deep thought unless he was reading one of his blasted dime novels.

"What's wrong, Ben?" he asked.

"It's about Andy," Ben said. "Are you sure he's involved in all this? He's never been much of a troublemaker. I reckon I was up to more mischief as a boy than Andy ever was."

"He's involved," Tracker said, "but to what degree, I don't yet know. He didn't act alone, that much is certain. Delilah's in cahoots. She couldn't have powdered Jimmy's neck without seeing those marks."

"Delilah would wring a puppy's neck if it suited her," Ben said. "But Andy? Kill his own flesh and blood?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" The Doc said. "He wants control of The Ram."

"Not necessarily," Tracker said. "But I agree it's a good motive."

"And even if he did poison his pa," Ben said. "Why kill Sally?"

The Doc touched a knuckle to his lips and thought about it. "She must have known something. Perhaps she overheard Andy scheming and was murdered to keep quiet."

"There are any number of reasons why she could have been murdered," Tracker said. "None of which we'll find out without a confession."

"Andy won't talk," the Doc said. "Most days he barely says a word."

"I've dealt with worse," Tracker said. "I once coaxed a confession out of a man they called Tweel the Tattler."

"So?" the Doc said. "What's so difficult about that?"

"It was after they'd cut his tongue out."

"Eew," Ben said, rolling his tongue around his mouth.

The Doc said, "Well Sheriff, if you don't need me for any other ghoulish business, I think I'll retire."

Tracker nodded and stood. "Of course. I'll walk with you." He turned and unlocked the firearms cabinet. He removed two shotguns and placed one on the desk.

"Expecting trouble?" the Doc asked.

"Just a precaution," Tracker said, checking the barrel.

The Doc shook his head. "Such a nasty business we're in. Days like these make me wish I'd stayed in Seaview hauling starbit with my father. Still, he was proud of me when I became a-"

"What did you say?" Tracker interrupted.

"I said I should have stayed and hauled starbit with my father. What's wrong, Sheriff? All the color just drained from your face."

"Starbit," Tracker said. "You know that word?"

"Well sure, it's an old Seaview word for coal. Why do you ask?"

"Coal," Tracker said. For a moment, he didn't see it. Why the h.e.l.l would a letter to Liza be from- Then the realization hit him like a belt of old corn whiskey. "Cole," Tracker said. "The note was written by Cole Smith!"

Ben and the Doc stared at him, perplexed.

"I found a note underneath Liza's bed," he said. "It read, 'Don't fret over her, it was for the best. Soon he'll be dead and we can be married.' And it was signed with Starbit."

"Cole was in love with Liza?" Ben said. "I never heard about that."

"Of course not, they had to keep it a secret," Tracker said. "Hank hated any man getting sweet on his wh.o.r.es. That's why Cole signed the letter Starbit. Hank wouldn't know the Seaview word for coal. He'd spent his entire life in Gasher Creek."

"If that's true," the Doc said, "then Cole Smith knew that Hank was going to die."

"And how Sally's death was for the best," Ben said. "If that's the her the note talks about."

"No one else has died recently," Tracker said. "It must be her." He started to pace, wishing Caroline was there to help him. "Andy and Cole plot to kill Hank. They somehow poison him with the intent of pinning it on Jack Devlin. But things go horribly wrong, and Jack escapes."

"So Cole has to go after him," the Doc said, "in case Jack intends on accusing the lot of them."

"Right," Tracker said. "Jimmy Platter eats the berries and dies-"

"So Andy volunteers to put him in the ground," Ben said. "He wants to bury him quickly so that his ma and pa won't see the marks on his neck. And because Andy's paying for it, he can have Delilah powder him up. That way, the marks stay hidden at the funeral."

Tracker nodded. "Now all Andy has to do is wait for Cole to come back with the news that Jack died trying to escape custody. Once that's done, they're all in the clear. Andy has control of the Ram, and Devlin is forever guilty of murder."

"What if," the Doc said, holding up his finger like a school marm. "What if Cole isn't coming back. That may be why Liza ran away. Perhaps, at this very moment, she's meeting him somewhere up north."

Tracker smiled.

The Doc dropped his finger. "No?"

"It's not that," Tracker said. "My wife said something very similar."

"A smart woman indeed," he said. "Wine lovers are usually quite intelligent."

"Really?" Ben said. "I don't much care for the stuff."

"Of course, not all our pieces fit," Doc said. "We still don't know why Sally died, or why they chose Jack for their scheme, or even how Andy could have discovered those berries were poisonous in the first place."

"We'll know tomorrow," Tracker said.

"I'm telling you Sheriff, he won't talk. He has no reason to."

"He has every reason to. He's stopped eating. He's taken to the bottle. He stinks to high Heaven."

"And his arms," Ben said, grimacing.

"What about his arms?" the Doc asked.

"He's cutting himself," Tracker said. "I haven't seen it since my army days, but I know what it means. A thought is tearing through that boy and he needs to let it out. I'll give him the opportunity."