Clive broke the silence. “Amazing her hair survived all these years.”

“It’s the cold,” Salazar said. “And the altitude.”

Suddenly, Nora realized both her legs had gone to sleep. She stood up with effort, massaging her calves. As she did so, she was startled to notice that someone was standing behind them, at the edge of the clearing.

It was Jack Peel. They had all been so focused on the discovery that they hadn’t heard his approach. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a long duster, and was staring at them intently.

Nora pulled off her gloves and waved. Adelsky did the same.

For a moment, Peel stood there, half-obscured by shadow. At this distance, his expression was unreadable. Then he raised a hand in acknowledgment, turned, and disappeared into the gloom of the trees, duster billowing behind him as he headed back to camp.

“He’s an odd one,” said Clive.

Adelsky and Salazar went back to their own tasks and Nora continued working, assisted by Clive, until she had finished the quadrant. At last, she put aside her tools and sighed. A pair of ravens cawed back and forth between two dead trees. A mist began settling down as evening darkened the sky. She gazed upon the delicate skeleton, with its silver clasp and tight braid of golden hair. Only the top part of Samantha was exposed in this quad; the body below the waist ran into the next quad, which Nora had not yet opened. That would be a job for tomorrow.

She reached over, grabbed a tarp, unfurled it, and secured it over the remains of the little girl.

* * *

Dinner around the campfire that evening was a quiet affair. Nora and her crew were bone-tired from the initial work of getting the dig under way. Clive was unusually quiet, and Nora thought he must still be ruminating about the failure to find the gold. Only Maggie seemed to be in her usual high spirits, dishing out extra helpings and needling Adelsky when he couldn’t finish his four-alarm chili, the sweat pouring off his brow. The dark came down quickly, and with it, a bitter night chill. Burleson built up the fire, and Maggie, after she’d refreshed everyone’s coffee, started in on one of her drawn-out jokes—this particular vulgarism involving a prostitute, a one-eyed parson, and a parrot that spoke French. Nora’s mind drifted away, coming back only when a burst of raucous laughter at the punch line interrupted her thoughts. But then she heard Maggie start in on one of her endless speculations about the Donner Party. With a twinge of dismay, Nora realized she was about to tell another ghost story concerning Samantha Carville.

“Maggie,” she interjected as mildly as she could, “I don’t think this is a good time for a story like that.”

Maggie fixed her with a look of mock indignation. “Why not? What else is there to do around a campfire but tell stories?”

“It’s just that particular story…” Nora took a deep breath. “We found Samantha Carville’s skeleton today.”

There was a brief, stunned silence. Maggie was the first to recover. “What about her leg?”

“We’ve only exposed the top half of her remains,” Nora said. She noticed that Peel dug viciously at the coals with a stick, scowling.

Clive came to Nora’s assistance. “As for Samantha’s leg, Maggie, I like a tall tale as much as anyone, but there’s not a shred of historical evidence to support that story. No doubt we’ll unearth it tomorrow.”

He was stopped by Wiggett, who’d put a warning hand on his shoulder and nodded out into the darkness.

For a moment, there was no sound beyond the crackling fire and the cold wind in the trees. And then Nora heard it: the thud of iron shoes, the snorting of a horse.

Nobody moved.

The slow, thudding steps came closer. And then, abruptly, a figure emerged out of the darkness: a young woman in a heavy jacket and gloves, a palomino horse trailing on a lead behind her.

21

THE WOMAN CAME to a stop in the firelight and looked over the group, an uncertain expression on her face. Closer up, she looked even younger than Nora had first thought, with a small upturned nose, pale face, and short brown hair in a choppy but professionally layered pixie cut. She stood just outside the circle, as if respectful of their space. Her body might have been still, but her eyes were busy, taking everything and everyone in.

Burleson rose. “I see you’ve ridden one of our horses up here,” he said.

“I did,” the woman said. “I rented it from your ranch. I…I’m sorry to intrude on you like this.” She hesitated, then pulled a badge out from under her coat, hanging on a lanyard. “I’m Special Agent Corinne Swanson of the FBI. I’m here as part of an investigation.”

Nora stared in disbelief. An FBI agent? This had to be a joke. What kind of investigation would take place out here? Anyway, she didn’t look old enough to be an agent—she looked barely out of high school.

Burleson was the first to recover. “Welcome, Agent Swanson.” He turned to Wiggett. “Drew, could you please take her horse over to the corral?”

Wiggett got up and took the reins from the woman, leading the horse off into the darkness. Agent Swanson stood there, looking uncertain.

“Well,” said Burleson, “won’t you sit down?”

“Thanks.” She came forward and took a seat in one of the folding chairs around the fire. “We didn’t have a way of contacting you in advance. I was hoping to get up here before sunset, but the ride was longer than I imagined. They told me to bring a guide. I should have listened. I got lost once or twice along the way.”

She gave them a slight smile and brushed back her short hair. “I imagine you’re all wondering what I’m doing here.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Maggie. “Was somebody murdered?” Her tone sounded almost hopeful.

“I’ll be glad to explain.” The girl—woman—shifted in her chair. Nora wasn’t sure what an FBI agent was supposed to look like; she had known only one, and he was obviously in a category all his own, but Agent Swanson was about as far from what she’d imagined as possible.

“I just want to say up front that no one here is suspected of any wrongdoing,” she said.

“That’s good,” said Wiggett, “because I was ready to panic about that damn speeding ticket I tossed two years ago in Utah.”

A ripple of forced laughter went around.

“I’m investigating a case involving grave desecration, homicide, and a missing person.”

At this the laughter dropped away and a silence fell.

“What does this have to do with us?” Nora asked, speaking up for the first time.

“In the past seven months, three graves have been illegally opened and the remains disturbed. A woman in Arizona has recently gone missing under suspicious circumstances.”

“Oh, Lordy,” said Maggie, pouring herself another glass of wine.

“It turns out that all the individuals I’ve just mentioned, including the missing woman, share a commonality.”

“Whoa, you said ‘graves illegally opened,’” Maggie said. “You mean grave robbing? Did they steal the corpses or something?”

“Well, this information is confidential, but, yes, portions of the remains were removed.”