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down the walk.
    Main Street took her by the bank again. Turner slowed like any other gawker. The two sheriff’s cars were still parked out
     front, although they’d been moved to the side of the street. As she drove past, she saw Calvin Hyman enter the bank, his silver
     hair shining in the sunlight.
    She shuddered and accelerated north out of town on Highway 53, turning up the AC to counter the sweat that had started along
     her spine. Outside of town, tall evergreens crowded in on either side of the road. They’d been planted after the forest here
     had been clear-cut. But the rows of evergreens were too straight, too ordered to ever take the place of a natural forest.
     They looked manmade.
    Seven miles down, she exited on State 77. The shoulder was pale brown here from the drought, and she passed a forest preserve
     sign that warned, DANGER OF FIRE TODAY: HIGH. After another twelve miles, Turner took a right down County H and then a left
     on a dirt track. In the rearview mirror, clouds of tan dust bloomed, kicked up by her car. The dust would coat the outside
     of the Escort. Not that it mattered, since the Escort was essentially dust-colored anyway.
    Tommy Zucker’s house suddenly materialized out of the trees on the right—a surprise every time, even though she made this
     trip at least weekly. The house was stained a dark, almost black color that blended with its surroundings. She put the Escort
     in second and drove carefully up the primitive lane beside Tommy’s house. Usually she parked the car in front, but today she
     continued around back to the shed where Tommy kept his excess vehicles. She killed the engine and listened to the stillness
     of the woods. A blue jay flew through the baking sunlight, attracted by the peanuts Tommy put out on his back deck.
    He might not be here.
She jerked slightly as the thought intruded. She’d driven out assuming that he’d be home, but Tommy had no schedule. She’d
     talked to him by phone only last night, and he’d not mentioned any plans then. What if the old man had decided to go to the
     lake today? And if he had—
    “That you, Turner?”
    She started, her car keys clattering to the floor. She bent to pick them up and glanced toward the sound of the call. Tommy
     stood in the open doors of his barn, khaki trousers hitched nearly to his chest, a faded T-shirt looking too big on his skinny
     frame. His thin white hair ruffled in a small breeze. A great sigh of air puffed out of her.
Thank God. Thank God Tommy hadn’t left.
Shoot, she had to pull herself together. Turner got out of the car and walked to the old man, knowing there wasn’t much use
     in calling him from here. He didn’t like to admit it, but he was getting deaf.
    “Hey, Tommy.” She tried to keep her voice light. “Can I borrow the Taurus?”
    The old man’s eyes narrowed, but his words were the same grumble that he always used. “Nope, ’fraid not.”
    Just like that, all the tension was back in her muscles. It hadn’t occurred to her that Tommy wouldn’t want to help. “Why
     not?”
    “Don’t work.” The old man gestured over his shoulder to the barn. “Think it’s the battery, but it might be somethin’ else.
     Don’t like these new cars.” New in this case was fifteen years old. “Wanna try the station wagon?”
    The car in question was built like a boat and took forever to accelerate. Turner tamped down panic. “Can I have the Chevy?”
    Tommy crossed his right arm over his chest to scratch at his left shoulder while he thought out her request. Finally, he said,
     “Well, I don’t know. It’s old, you know, like me. Might not start. And I hafta find the keys.”
    “Oh, it’ll start. I’m counting on it.”
    “Humph. No way to know that. But suit yourself. Lemme get the keys.” Tommy ambled back to the house.
    Turner closed her eyes and tilted her face to the burning sun, trying to still her impatience. The lake. Think of the lake.
     The water was blue and calm and