“It is. It’s pretty country.” Ethan pointed at a giant, pale orange pumpkin among the cornstalks at one corner of the trailer. “That guy’s a Charlie Brown pumpkin, isn’t it? It’s so big, the orange ran out.”
Kelleher chuckled. “It’s huge. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one that big. Not real pretty, though, is it?” He sighed, awkward. “I should get to work. Good talking to you. I’ll keep an eye out for Wendy.”
As Kelleher walked back across the driveway toward the greenhouses, Ethan was half tempted to find some work to do himself. He was talking pumpkins in Vermont, and Bobby Tatro was on the loose. Ham Carhill was off on his own when he needed to be lying by the pool, letting the Carhill cooks and maids wait on him, resting, indulging himself, forgetting he’d ever heard of Mia O’Farrell and Bobby Tatro—or had ever met the Brookers. He was in no shape—physically or mentally—to take on the unanswered questions of his kidnapping, or whatever the hell he was doing.
Ethan’s cell phone rang, or tried to. He answered it, but, with the lousy coverage, could barely hear Nate Winter on the other end. “Mia O’Farrell didn’t show up for her meeting,” Nate said. “We’re checking her hotel. Has she been in touch?”
“I left a message for her. I haven’t heard back.”
Winter said something, but Ethan only made out Juliet, New York and Tatro.
“Her niece took off out the attic window.” Ethan had no idea if Winter could hear him. “Once we find her, we’re heading to New York.”
“We?”
The senior marshal’s skepticism came through just fine. “I think she doesn’t want me out of her sight.”
“Told you she’s got a good career ahead of her.” But, with the bad connection and work to do, he didn’t linger. “Let me know if you hear from O’Farrell.”
Ethan tucked the cell phone back into his jacket pocket, noticing Juliet on the grass, stepping over the array of pumpkins. She looked as impatient as he felt. “Joshua’s on his way.”
“How’d he react?”
“As you might expect. Exasperated, pissed off, worried.”
“I’ll help you all look for your niece.”
She nodded, her thumbs hooked on the pockets of her jacket, as if to control some of her restlessness. “Makes sense to check the lake first. We can walk. We’ll cover more ground we would driving, and if we find her sitting under a tree writing poetry, I can pack up my tent. My truck’s still there.” She squinted out at the sun-washed hills surrounding the picturesque spot where she’d grown up. Without looking at him, she asked, “Who were you talking to?”
“Matt Kelleher—”
Juliet shifted her gaze to him, clearly aware he’d known what she meant. “On the phone.”
“Nate Winter.”
Winter was a senior deputy and one of her champions in the USMS, but also a man she admired and respected. Her expression didn’t change. “And here I was thinking you’d come clean and told me everything.”
“He and I bonded in May when we saved you and Sarah Dunnemore from certain death.”
That drew a roll of her blue eyes. “You didn’t save us from anything. What did he want?”
“He says O’Farrell didn’t show up for her meeting this morning.”
The cop expression was back. “Do they know each other?”
“Sort of.”
“I swear, Brooker, if I thought thumbscrews would work on you—” Juliet sighed, dropping her hands to her side. “Let’s go.”
She spun around so hard, her heels kicked up little stones in the driveway. Ethan let her lead the way to the barn, where two hens had escaped their pen and were pecking in the grass, and onto a grassy lane, an apple orchard up to their right, woods and hills and the lake to their left. Juliet walked fast, bearing left, maneuvering comfortably over exposed rocks and tree roots, tall grass and wildflowers slapping against her jeans. She had strong legs. She worked to stay fit. For the past year, Ethan thought, he’d mostly worked at finding fresh distractions to keep him from thinking about Char’s death and life without her, to keep him from acknowledging that he hadn’t been a good husband and their marriage had sputtered and faltered long before she’d ended up in an Amsterdam morgue.
“Does this remind you of Texas at all?” Juliet asked abruptly, with a quick wave of her fingers that seemed to take in all of her surroundings, the hills, the orchard, the fields and woods and stone walls, the vibrant fall colors against a cloudless sky.
None of it was like west Texas at all. Ethan smiled. “No.”
“I have a friend from the Midwest who says Vermont makes her claustrophobic. She likes nice, flat, straight roads. She says the roads around here are narrow and twisting and that the trees grow too close to the road.”
“I don’t get claustrophobic.”
“Probably wouldn’t have made it into the Special Forces if trees overhanging a road got to you.” Even as Juliet continued along the lane at a healthy pace, distracting herself with her talk of Texas and Vermont roads, Ethan could see that she was scanning constantly for any sign of her niece. “Do you have barbecues with the Carhills?”