"Blond hair, blue eyes," he read. "Average height and weight. Like I said, could be a lot of people. Why are you looking for him?"

"He's a person of interest in a child abduction case. Two of them, actually. One two months ago, one six years back."

The deputy studied the sketch, then handed it back. "Sorry. Can't help you." He looked up. "You got some reason for thinking the guy might be an area resident?"

"We know he's a big outdoorsman or at least we're pretty sure. Rumor has it he may be holding the girls somewhere up here in the Cascades."

"Rumor?"

"Leads we've tracked down." It was a lie but easier than trying to explain the truth.

"What's your interest? You a private detective?"

"One of the missing girls is my daughter."

The deputy's youthful features softened. "I wish I could help you, I really do."

Funny thing was, from the uneasy look on the young man's face, Ben thought there was a very good chance that Deputy Cobb, the name on the silver tag on his pocket, might be able to do just that.

Ben handed the deputy one of his business cards. "We'll be checking into the local motel. If you think of anything, you can find us there."

"You may have trouble getting a room. Lots of media folks around."

"Yeah, I figured." They got the last of six small rooms, tossed their stuff onto the sagging double bed and flipped on the TV.

"Thank G.o.d they're hooked up to satellite," Ben said, using the remote to click through channels until he found a news broadcast.

"In the bizarre murder of a young woman in rural Warren County," the reporter said, "it now appears the attacks were perpetrated by two men instead of one, as police originally believed." The newsman went over the latest facts, which were few, and began to rehash what both Ben and Autumn already knew. Ben clicked off the TV.

"At least they know there were two of them," Autumn said.

"Yeah, but not much more." It was getting late. Even in summer, dark set in quickly once the sun dipped behind the high mountains. They had driven up late in the afternoon, wanting to tackle the curvy road into the canyon while it was still light enough to see.

"You hungry?" Ben asked.

"Not really, but I guess I could eat."

"Good. That's what you need to do. Tomorrow we'll start digging around, see what we can find out."

"Let's take the sketch with us and show it to some of the people in the cafe."

They headed out, walking the short distance along a narrow road that was paved but had no sidewalks. The Grove Cafe was about half full. A couple of families, a pair of leather-vested bikers, some media types who were waiting like vultures for the next trickle of news and a guy and girl with sunburned faces Ben figured for backpackers.

There were great hiking trails in the area. Ben had kayaked the river running through the canyon and backpacked the trail over Cascade Pa.s.s.

"I climbed up here a couple of summers ago," Autumn said as they sat down at one of the heavy pine tables. "Josh and I came to climb Angel's Peak, which is only a little farther down the road, but it started to rain and it's a tough climb to begin with. The weather turned nice the next day, but we were already into another area."

They each unrolled the paper napkins that held their silverware then reached for the menu, a scratched plastic holder that enclosed the usual dinner fare and the specials of the day. A waitress arrived in a black skirt and white blouse. They ordered hamburgers, always the safest bet, though Ben was tempted to have the meat-loaf and mashed potatoes. The woman called in their selections, including a couple of Diet c.o.kes, then returned with plastic gla.s.ses full of water.

"Your order will be up pretty soon," she said.

Ben pulled out the sketch. "We're looking for someone...maybe you could help us." He read her name tag. "Millie, is it?"

"That's me." She had short, frizzy blond hair and a face full of wrinkles, which made her look older than she probably was.

"We're trying to find the man in this sketch. We think he might live around here."

She looked down at the drawing.

"It's an estate matter," Ben added. "There may be an inheritance involved."

It was the story they'd come up with on their way to Ash Grove, a tale they would tell the locals, if not the police.

The waitress frowned. "Pretty much an average lookin' fella. Says he's got blond hair and blue eyes. A lot of people around here look like the guy in this picture."

"Anyone in particular?"

"Well, Isaac Vreeland looks a little like him. He's the poor fella whose wife was murdered."

Ben cast Autumn a glance. "Terrible about that. Do the police have any idea who did it?"

"Not so far."

"Is Mr. Vreeland back in town?" Autumn asked. "After what happened, surely he isn't staying at the house."

"He got back right after they found the body. Once the police got through talkin' to him, he left with his cousin, George. He's got family all over up here."

Millie left to wait on other customers. She seemed to know a lot of them, stopped to gossip with those she knew and some she didn't. The woman could be well of information, Ben thought, if he could manage to keep her talking.

She brought their c.o.kes and set them down on the table.

"So, Millie, what do you think happened up there? Doesn't seem like Ash Grove would be the kind of place a woman would get murdered."

The waitress set her hands on her very generous hips. "Coulda been some sc.u.m off the highway, I guess, but the fact is, Priscilla'd been askin' for trouble. She shouldn't have married Isaac in the first place. She didn't belong up here. Folks in these parts didn't like her much."

"Why not?" Autumn asked.

"Folks here got their own ways, their own beliefs. Prissy Vreeland was always tryin' to change things, tellin' people what to do."

"What kind of things did she try to change?" Ben asked.

"Family things. Church stuff." Millie whisked herself away to refill a customer's coffee cup before Ben could ask more. Besides, he had a feeling he'd gotten all he was going to get.

"What do you suppose she meant?" Autumn asked.

"I don't know."

Millie arrived with their greasy hamburgers, which smelled delicious.

"Would it be okay if I left you a copy of the sketch? Maybe someone will recognize the guy. Like I said, it's an estate matter. Could mean a good bit of money for him."

Millie took the sketch. "I'll put it up on the bulletin board. Folks know to look for things there."

"We're staying at the motel, if someone needs to find us." Ben handed her his card. "Or they can call me on my cell phone."

They ate their hamburgers and drank their Diet c.o.kes, Autumn's appet.i.te better than Ben had expected. He paid the check, then they headed back to the motel. He'd told Autumn about the pistol he'd brought along. Guns were sold in all his stores. He'd made a point to learn how to use them and because of his business, he had a permit to carry. He wasn't really expecting trouble but a woman was dead. It was better to be safe than sorry.

"There's something about this place..." Autumn said as she slipped into a s.e.xy lavender nightgown that made him think about something besides murder. "I'm not sure what it is, but it's like...like there's something we aren't getting."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Ben took off his jeans and shirt but left on his boxers. They were sleeping down the street from the scene of a brutal killing. Neither of them felt comfortable naked.

"I think you should take a sleeping pill," he said. "You need to get a good night's sleep and you won't if you're dreaming about a woman being murdered."

Autumn shook her head. "I can't do that. I might learn something that could help the police-or something that could lead us to Molly."

Ben ran a hand through his hair. "Dammit, I don't like this. Not one bit."

"No, but you know I'm right."

He gave up a sigh and climbed into bed, reached over and drew back the covers. "Come on. I think we both need to get some sleep." He nestled her against him, her head resting against his shoulder. They were tired and uneasy and neither of them felt like making love. Instead they closed their eyes and tried to fall asleep.

It was sunny in the room when Autumn's eyes slowly opened. She couldn't believe it. Once she'd fallen asleep she had slept the entire night through without dreaming. It had happened before of course, recently, in fact. Still, sleeping right down the road from the scene of the murder she had witnessed the night before, it was amazing she hadn't suffered the nightmare again.

She heard the doork.n.o.b rattle and realized Ben was already up and dressed. He shoved his key into the lock and opened the door, juggling two foam cups of coffee.

Autumn leapt out of bed and caught the top cup just before it toppled over.

"Nice save." He smiled. "Thanks."

She looked up at him. "I didn't have the dream, Ben."

"Yeah, I figured that out when I woke up and it was morning."

"I wonder what happened."

"Who knows? None of this makes any sense. But we've got to presume your theory's correct and all the dreams are related."

"Which means the murder is also related. What do you think we should do next?"

"We need to get a look at Isaac Vreeland. If we get lucky, he'll turn out to be the blond man in your sketch."

"If he is, where are the girls? The news reports didn't mention any children. I got the impression the Vreelands had only been married a couple of years."

"Millie said Priscilla Vreeland wasn't well-liked. Unless the killing was random, someone disliked her enough to murder her."

"Who, I wonder?" Autumn said. "And why?"

He took the lid off his black coffee and took a sip. "Isaac Vreeland is staying with one of his cousins. Let's find out where the cousin lives and go see him."

It wasn't difficult to find George Vreeland. The TV crews were stalking the husband of the murder victim as if they were on a big-game hunt. The story of a young woman so brutally murdered seemed to have caught fire across the country.

Ben pulled his pickup out of the motel's gravel parking lot behind a CBS van and followed it up the winding canyon road. Several turns later they pulled up in front of a simple, single-story house where a group of media people had gathered. Ben and Autumn wandered over to join them.

"Has Vreeland made any sort of statement?" Ben asked one of the reporters, a skinny guy craning his neck to see.

"Not yet. He's due to come out in ten minutes."

They settled in to wait and fifteen minutes later a blond man came out to face the yard full of reporters.

Isaac Vreeland looked like the guy in the sketch. His cousin, who walked out after him, also looked a little like the guy in the sketch.

Neither one was the man in Autumn's dreams.

"So much for getting lucky," Ben said.

They listened to the victim's husband's statement and his plea for any information on the murder of his young wife, then watched him disappear in tears back inside the house.

"Well, that did us a lot of good," Autumn said.

"Come on, let's take a drive. There are a couple of other rural communities in the area. We'll show the sketch around, ask some questions, see if anyone knows anything. Before we head back, we'll stop at the sheriff's station in Beecherville, see what the authorities there have to say. And I'd like to speak again with Deputy Cobb."

They spent the day making stops, one after another, showing the sketch to anyone who happened to be around. None of the rural communities had more than a single business or two. One had a gas station, another a grocery store of sorts. One had a post office and cafe. There was the occasional seasonal motel. This time of year, a few places had stalls set up to sell items made from the area's natural resources: pottery, wood carvings and various other handicrafts.

One of the communities in the area was Beecherville, the farthest town east. It was located on the opposite side of the pa.s.s, which was closed from the west in winter.

Though Beecherville had actual city services, parks and schools and a volunteer fire department, it was still small, with a population on the sign that read eleven-hundred and two.

"If he lives in the area," Autumn said as Ben pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce in front of the local sheriff's station, "he's picked a good place to hide. I've never talked to so many I-don't-know-anything people."

"You're right. If they do know something they aren't saying-not even if it might mean money for someone."

Ben helped Autumn down from the truck and they went inside the narrow brick building. There was only one sheriff's car parked out front.

"May I help you?" An older woman moved toward the counter. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun and she didn't wear a trace of makeup.

"I need to speak to whoever's in charge," Ben said.

"Sheriff Crawford's in from Warren today, but I'm afraid he's extremely busy, what with the murder in Ash Grove and all. He was up there all morning. He's here now, but he's on the phone."

"Tell him we have information that may be pertinent to the murder."

The woman's eyes rounded. "I'll tell him." She hurried away, wearing a loose-fitting dark-brown dress that fell well below her knees, a pair of thick support stockings and st.u.r.dy brown shoes. During the day, Autumn had seen other women dressed in an equally plain manner and she couldn't help thinking of the waitress's comment about church stuff. She'd noticed several churches in town as they drove through. One in particular caught her eye. Community Brethren the sign out in front read.

The woman returned to the counter. "The sheriff will see you. Please follow me."

They pushed through the low swinging door at the end of the counter and made their way into an office at the rear of the building. Sheriff Crawford stood up as they walked in, a heavyset man with iron-gray hair, a belly that tipped over his belt and sideburns that needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

"Lottie says you've got information on the murder," Crawford said without preamble. "What's your name?"