Quentin could have answered, "Twenty-five years ago." But he didn't, of course. He just waited silently while Nate's people worked to uncover bones buried years in the ground.
Madison knew she wasn't supposed to be in the garden. In any of the gardens, now that the police were here. Her mama sure wouldn't like it, she knew that. But she was too curious to stay away.
And small enough to slip unseen through the gardens until she was within sight of what was happening.
"They found Jeremy," Becca said.
Madison held Angelo close to make sure he didn't start whimpering, and said to her friend, "They're digging up bones."
"Uh-huh. That's Jeremy."
Madison frowned at her. "If he's just bones, how come you know him?"
"He isn't just bones. That's all they see, though. All of them except her." Becca nodded toward the pretty lady sitting on a rock bench off to the side.
"She saw Jeremy when he wasn't just bones?"
"Uh-huh. He wanted them to find him, so he showed her where he was." She nodded as though to herself, adding thoughtfully, "I expect he was ready to leave."
"Leave The Lodge?"
"He's been here a long time."
Madison asked, "Have you been here a long time, Becca?"
"Yeah, I guess." Becca gazed off toward the police officers working in the very bright light, and added wistfully, "It used to be okay, really. Still is, sometimes. But mostly now it's just scary."
"Because of... what you told me? What's coming?"
Becca nodded. "It's been here before. And it keeps coming back."
"Why?"
"Because they don't know how to stop it. They can't stop something they can't see. Something they don't believe in."
"But you believe in it."
"I have to, don't I?"
Madison thought about that, absently hugging her small dog close as she watched the grownups working. Then, slowly, she said, "The lady who saw Jeremy could probably see it. Probably believe it. Don't you think?"
"Maybe. Maybe she could." Becca turned her head and looked back at Madison. "Maybe that's why she's here. But she'll have to hurry."
"Tracing the movements of a kid after years... How lucky would we have to be to find out anything at all about whatever led up to his death?" Nate swore under his breath. "And we're starting cold, with shit for leads."
"Pretty much." Quentin couldn't help glancing toward Diana even as he spoke.
Nate was paying attention. "Or do we maybe have a little more than that? What's her story, Quentin? Did she really just stumble over the skull?"
"She didn't tell me any more than she told you about that."
"About that? What else did she tell you?" Nate lowered his voice. "Is she gifted too? Psychic?"
Quentin was a little surprised that the cop asked the question openly, but he barely hesitated before replying. "In her case, it's more of a curse than a gift. And not one she's happy with or knows how to use effectively. She might be able to help us, but she's just as likely to join the dozen or so guests already packing up and leaving."
Momentarily distracted, Nate said, "I heard one of them tell the manager that he couldn't afford this sort of publicity, and he sounded real nervous about it. I guess the others are leaving for the same reason, because they're afraid to find themselves in the middle of a media nightmare. Especially if they have secrets or... indiscretions ... of their own to hide."
"Probably. The Lodge's reputation for discretion is a strong lure for plenty of people looking for a private, stress-free vacation. This — especially if we find more — is just the sort of thing to really screw that up. When word gets out that two children were murdered here, even if years apart, the media's not going to ignore it. Then again, this place is so remote, and the locals are so accustomed to minding their own business, I'm not all that sure it will get out. Anytime soon, at least. Plus—"
"Plus, The Lodge is one of the largest employers in the area," Nate finished for him. "People around here have a vested interest in minding their own business. You've always thought that, haven't you?" He was matter-of-fact rather than offended, largely because he believed the same thing and understood the mind-set, having grown up in Leisure.
"It's been obvious. Even after I found brief mentions in the Leisure newspaper morgue of various accidents and disappearances over the years, I could never follow up. Nobody seemed to know anything. Nobody seemed to remember or to want to talk about it. Whatever the excuse, the meaning was clear. Whatever happened at or near The Lodge was not my business. And I've never had the legal authority to force the issue."
"Hey, Captain?"
Nate and Quentin both stepped forward at the summons, joining the two officers who made up the Leisure Police Department's Crime Scene Unit.
"Found something," Sally Chavez told them.
"Other than bones?" Nate wanted to know.
"Yep. See for yourself." Kneeling, she leaned back so that both Nate and Quentin could do that.
The skeleton, now half uncovered and with the skull repositioned where it belonged, lay stretched out on its back, legs straight and arms at its sides.
As if it had been laid out carefully for burial. Quentin made a mental note of that, bothered by it even though it wasn't particularly uncommon. Some killers took special care with the disposal of their victims, and some did not.
Both men saw immediately what Chavez had invited them to see.
"A watch?" Quentin bent closer.
"Yeah," Chavez said. "Right wrist, so he may have been a southpaw."
"He?" Nate asked.
"Guess. Mostly from the watch, which looks like a guy type to me. From the size of the skeleton, this was a kid, and gender is a lot more difficult to determine from skeletal remains if death occurred before puberty. I don't see any obvious signs denoting gender. What I can tell you is that the watch undoubtedly had a band made of some kind of material that must have rotted away. Clearly not metal. Probably not plastic; that stuff lasts forever."
"That isn't really a child-size watch," Quentin said. "More of an adult watch he was meant to grow into — maybe given for some sort of accomplishment."
Nate grunted. "I got one when I made Eagle Scout."
"Can we get a closer look?" Quentin asked Chavez.
"Just a sec. Ryan, will you get a few shots of the watch, please?"
Her partner, a silent young man, stopped brushing dirt away from the foot end of the skeleton long enough to pick up a nearby camera and take several pictures.
Chavez carefully worked the half-buried watch loose with gloved hands, looked at it briefly, then slid it into a clear plastic bag and handed it up to her captain.
"Looks like we got lucky," she said.
Quentin and Nate both straightened, and the latter said, "Looks like. The back is engraved. He was named MVP of his Little League team. Ten years ago."
"Jeremy Grant."
Quentin and Nate both turned, startled, as Diana spoke. She was standing several feet back, certainly not close enough to have been able to see the watch. Her face was tense, her voice a little shaky.
"That's what it says, isn't it? What's on the back of the watch? His name is — was — Jeremy Grant."
Quentin stepped toward her. "Diana—"
"Just tell me."
"How the hell did you know?" Nate demanded.
Her gaze remained fixed on Quentin. "Tell me."
He had been advised to keep her grounded, and Quentin had the certain sense that right now it was a literal thing, that if he didn't provide an actual physical anchor for Diana, she would be gone.
Maybe in more ways than one.
He crossed the space between them and took one of her cold hands in his. "That's the name on the watch." He kept his voice low so no one else heard them, but also matter-of-fact. "You saw him?"