"And how did he die?"

"That's sheriffing. I do the science."

Down the hall Hank Williams crooned the "Long-Gone Lonesome Blues." Static made the music sound like it was coming from another era.

"Is this enough for a warrant?" I asked.

The sheriff studied the paper for another full minute. Finally she looked up, the eyes to die for hard on mine. Then she reached for the phone.

By the time I left the sheriff 's office a light rain was falling. Headlights, stoplights, and neon signs twinkled and shimmered in the dusk of early evening. The air was heavy with the smell of skunk.

Outside at High Ridge House, Boyd lay in his doghouse, chin on paws, gazing at the raindrops. He raised his head when I called and gave me a look to indicate I should do something. Seeing that I wasn't, he sighed noisily and settled back down. I filled his dish and left him to ponder his sodden world.

Inside, the house was still. I climbed the stairs to the slow ticktick-tick ticktick-tick of Ruby's hall clock. No sound came from any bedroom. of Ruby's hall clock. No sound came from any bedroom.

Rounding the corner at my end of the hall, I was surprised to see the door to Magnolia slightly ajar. I pushed it inward. And froze.

The drawers in my room had been rifled, the bed stripped. My briefcase had been emptied, and papers and manila folders lay scattered across the floor.

My mind locked on one word.

No! No! No!

I tossed my purse on the bed, flew to the wardrobe, and threw open the doors.

My laptop sat tucked in back, exactly as I'd left it. I pulled it out and clicked it on, my mind still racing.

What was in the room? What was in the room? What was in the room?

Quick mental inventory. Car keys. Credit cards. Driver's license. Passport. All had been with me.

Why? Why? Why?

A quick ransack for valuables, or was someone after something specific? What was there that anyone would want?

What? What? What?

When the computer booted I checked a few files. Everything seemed fine.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Then I closed my eyes and played a childhood game I knew would calm me. Silently, I ran through the lyrics of the first song to come to mind. "Honky Tonk Women."

The time-out with Mick and the Stones worked. Steadier, I returned and began gathering papers.

I was still filing when I heard a knock, and opened the door to Andrew Ryan. He held two DoveBars in his right hand.

Ryan's eyes swept the mess.

"What the fuck went on in here?"

I just looked at him, not trusting my voice.

"Is anything missing?"

I swallowed.

"The only thing of value was the computer, and they left that."

"Pretty much rules out robbery."

"Unless the intruder was interrupted."

"Looks like they tossed the place looking for something."

"Or just to be ornery."

Why?

"Ice cream?" Ryan offered.

We ate our DoveBars and considered possible explanations. None was persuasive. The two most likely were someone looking for money or someone letting me know he or she didn't care for me.

When Ryan had gone, I stacked the remaining folders and went to run a bath. Throwing back the shower curtain, I got my next shock.

Ruby's ceramic figurine of Orphan Annie lay at the bottom of the tub, her face smashed, her limbs shattered. Sandy dangled from the showerhead, a makeshift noose tight around his neck.

Again, my mind flew, my hands trembled. This message had nothing to do with money. Someone clearly didn't care for me.

Suddenly, I remembered the Volvo. Was that episode a threat? Was this intrusion another? I fought the impulse to run down the hall to Ryan's room.

I considered the lockless doors and thought about bringing Boyd inside. Then who would be threatened?

An hour later, lying in bed and somewhat more logical, I reflected on the strength of my reaction to the invasion of my space. Had it been anger or fear that had sent me over the edge? At whom should I be angry? What should I fear?

Sleep did not come easily.

WHEN I I CAME DOWNSTAIRS THE NEXT MORNING, CAME DOWNSTAIRS THE NEXT MORNING, R RYAN WAS questioning Ruby about my intruder. Byron McMahon sat across from him, dividing his attention between the interrogation and a trio of fried eggs. questioning Ruby about my intruder. Byron McMahon sat across from him, dividing his attention between the interrogation and a trio of fried eggs.

Ruby had one comment.

"Satan's minions are among us."

I was annoyed by her nonchalance toward the rifling of my possessions, but let it go.

"Was anything taken?" asked McMahon. Good. The FBI was on my case.

"I don't think so."

"Been irritating someone?"

"I suspect my dog has. Dogs bark." I described what had been done to Annie and Sandy.

Ryan looked at me oddly but said nothing.

"This place isn't exactly Los Alamos. Anyone could walk in and out of here." McMahon forked up fried potatoes. "What else have you been up to lately? I haven't seen you around."

I told him about the foot and the courtyard house, ending with the VFA profile I'd gotten the day before. I did not tell him about my current status in the crash investigation, but left that gap for him to fill. As I spoke, his grin slowly dissolved.

"So Crowe is going for a warrant?" he asked, cop cool.

I was about to answer when my cell phone sounded the William Tell William Tell Overture. The men looked at each other as I clicked it on. Overture. The men looked at each other as I clicked it on.

The call was from Laslo Sparkes at Oak Ridge. I listened, thanked him, and rang off.

"Rossini calling?" Ryan asked.

"I was testing the ring options and forgot to change it back." I jabbed my egg and yolk spurted onto the table. "I wouldn't have pegged you you as an opera buff." as an opera buff."

"Zinger." McMahon reached for a slice of toast.

"It was the anthropologist at Oak Ridge."

"Let me guess. He's profiled the soup, and the missing body is D. B. Cooper."

Ryan was on a roll. Ignoring him, I directed my response to McMahon.

"He found something while filtering the remaining soil."

"What's that?"

"He didn't say. Just that the item might be useful. He's going to stop by Bryson City sometime later in the week on his way to Asheville."

Ruby returned, cleared plates, left.

"So you're off to the courthouse?" Ryan.

"Yes." Terse.

"Sounds like detecting."

"Somebody's got to do it."

"It can't hurt to know who owns that property." McMahon drained his cup. "After today's briefing I have to shoot down to Charlotte to interview some asswipe claiming to have information about a militia group up here in Swain. Otherwise, I'd tag along."

He drew a card from his wallet and placed it in front of me.

"If they're uncooperative at the courthouse, wave this. Sometimes the acronym induces a mood swing."

"Thanks." I pocketed the card.

McMahon excused himself, leaving Ryan and me and three empty mugs.

"Who do you think tossed your room?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"They were looking for your shower gel."

"I wouldn't belittle this. How about I poke around, ask a few questions?"

"You know that'd be a journey into pointlessness. These things are never solved."

"It would let folks know that someone is curious."

"I'll talk with Crowe."

I rose to leave and he took my arm.

"Do you want backup at the courthouse?"

"In case of an armed attack by the recorder of deeds?"

He looked away, back at me.

"Would you like company company at the courthouse?" at the courthouse?"

"Aren't you going to the NTSB briefing?"

"McMahon can fill me in. But there's one condition."

I waited.

"Change your phone."

"Hi-Ho, Silver," I said.

The Swain County Administration Building and Courthouse replaced its predecessor in 1982. It is a rectangular concrete building, with a low-angled roof of red galvanized metal, that sits on the bank of the Tuckasegee River. Though lacking the charm of the old domed courthouse at Everett and Main, the structure is bright, clean, and efficient.

The tax office is located on the ground floor, immediately off a tiled octagonal lobby. When Ryan and I entered, four women looked up from computers, two behind a counter directly ahead, two behind a counter to our left.