Nobody knew for sure who the dead person was, but there was no sign of Arlen Walker.

“So listen, Zack,” Sarah said, a note of caution in her voice, “this has really just happened. They may not even have moved the body by the time you get there. In fact, I think Tracy has told them you’re coming, so they may leave things as they are so you can, you know, do an identification.”

“Okay,” I said. At the speed I was going, I’d probably be up there in a little more than an hour and fifteen minutes.

“I’ll come up, too,” Sarah said, and I knew she meant it.

“Why don’t I get up there, find out what’s actually happened,” I said, “and then I’ll let you know.” Because I am not normally someone to look on the bright side, or wait for all the facts before panicking, I was already making a mental list of people to call. My sister. The funeral director. The lawyer. The real estate agent. Sarah would be good at helping with that sort of stuff.

“What about Cindy?” Sarah asked.

I said I would call my sister when I knew everything.

“If I find out anything more, I’ll call you,” Sarah said.

The landscape changed so gradually as I headed north that I almost didn’t notice it happening, but when I was about half an hour away from Braynor I noticed, even in my preoccupied state, that the hills had grown more steep, the forests of pines more dense, signs of civilization less prevalent, and the road frequently walled on both sides with jagged rock where the highway had been blasted through a rise in the terrain. Every few miles the scenery would open up as the highway skirted the edge of a lake, and taking my eyes off the wheel for a moment, I could see small boats in the distance, some moving at speed, others sitting with middle-aged men hunched over their fishing poles.