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“We need to check in with the sheriff first.”

“The sheriff isn’t going anywhere. Neither is the sign, but I’ve been sitting beside three evidence cases for almost four hours, and one of them keeps stabbing me in the kidney.”

Carson looked behind him. “Evidence cases don’t have sharp edges.”

“This one does.”

“That’s because you packed it wrong.”

“I packed it correctly.”

“You brought enough equipment to process the entire town.”

Will stared at him. “Seven women are dead.”

The humor disappeared.

I pulled onto the shoulder.

“Five minutes,” I said.

Will climbed out before the SUV stopped moving.

Carson watched him open the rear hatch.

“He likes equipment.”

“He likes evidence.”

“He talks to his equipment.”

“It listens better than you do.”

Carson opened his door.

I followed them toward the sign.

The August heat struck hard and fast. Humidity rose from the river, carrying the smell of water, trees, and hot pavement.

Will stopped several feet from the sign and photographed it.

“What are you expecting to find?” Carson asked.

“I won’t know until I find it.”

“That sounds convenient.”

“It’s how investigations work.”

“It’s how psychics work.”

Will ignored him and moved closer.

I stood where the Keeper might have stood if he had come to Eagle River.

The sign was older than I remembered. Fresh paint covered some of the letters, but the wooden posts had cracked near the ground. Small rocks and weeds surrounded the base.

Cars passed us.