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Every driver slowed.

Every face turned toward us.

“We’ve been in town for four minutes,” Carson said. “We’re already entertainment.”

“It’s a small town.”

“How small?”

“Small enough that the sheriff probably knows we’re here.”

A truck passed.

The driver lifted two fingers from the steering wheel in greeting.

Carson waved back.

“Why did you do that?” I asked.

“He waved first.”

“You don’t know him.”

“That would be why people wave, Judy. To acknowledge another human.”

“I acknowledge people.”

“You show them a badge.”

“It saves time.”

Will crouched near the right post.

“Detectives.”

Something in his voice made us move.

He pointed toward a dark mark cut into the wood.

Someone had carved a small circle beneath the painted river.

Nine short lines surrounded it.

“Was that in the drawing?” Carson asked.

I removed the evidence photograph from my folder.

The tree.

The river.

And beneath them, something I had assumed was an uneven shadow.

A small circle surrounded by nine lines.

“Yes.”

Will photographed the carving.