Spring. Back in fashion, making everything new again—the woods decked in green, leafy boughs prancing on the arm of the wind. Megan at my side. Passenger to die for.

“We should be about there,” I said, glancing at the odometer and easing up on the gas. Not that I was going all that fast on a road that had more curves than a house full of females.

“There it is,” said Megan.

The wooden cross stood five feet in from the road. The fits of winter had left it salt-bleached and lopsided, but it was still there, still bearing witness. Lone soldier at the sight of the unknown.

I pulled onto the shoulder, got out and stood for a moment, admiring the look of my Mustang against the wooded wilderness. Or what passed for it in Willow Falls county.

“Your white walls are dirty,” said Megan.

“And you have crusties in the corner of your eye.”

“Crusties?”

“Perhaps you prefer eye boogers, gooey gum, yuck, muck or—”

A warm slender finger crossed my lips. “I’m sorry I badmouthed your beloved Mustang.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Speaking of cars, Webb asked if I’d like to have a company vehicle.”

“He did not. He wouldn’t. I don’t even get a mile allowance.” I touched Megan’s arm. “Really, did he?”

She laughed. “And what would you have done if he had?”

I took a moment to mentally review possible responses, and settled on, “Probably help you pick it out.”

Her eyes sparkled as she smiled.

I said, “You want to do it in the woods?”

“Oh, Acey…”

“What? You thought I’d never ask?”

That got me a sigh. I said, “Don’t know what Webb expects us to find out here.”

“He just wants us to get a feel for the place. See where it happened.”

“Whatever it is,” I said.

Megan reached into the car and took out the case file—a copy of everything the Washburn Police Department had regarding the disappearance of Kathy Zopak, single, middle-aged female.

“Did you read this?” asked Megan.

“Enough to know it gives us next to zilch.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“We don’t even know if her car was locked when they found it abandoned.”

“At least they took pictures and we can be pretty sure she wasn’t forced off the road.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Megan pointed at the Mustang. “Look at the way you’re parked. Your wheels are straight. You’re parallel to the road and snug with the woods to be away from traffic. If someone had forced you off the road, you probably would have been nose in and crooked.” She handed me a photo from the file. She was right. The missing gal’s vehicle was parked pretty much like mine.

I said, “What month did she go missing?”

“August. Why?”

“Windows are up.”

“Probably had the air on.”

“Do we know where the car is now?”

“I would imagine her folks have it.”

“We should check it out. See if she has air. Do we have their address?”

“Webb gave it to me.”

I walked over to where the cross stood. It had been planted in front of the same tree that, in the photo, was lined up with the driver’s door—a medium sized maple with a split trunk. Whoever had planted the cross had an eye for details. Might have even come here with the photo in hand.

“Want to play DA?” I asked, giving the photo back to Megan.

She placed it in the file. “Would that be district attorney or devilish Acey?”

“I suppose I could manage a little deviltry out here in the wild. At least I’m with the female of my choice.”

“Let’s be serious, please.”

“I was. You’re the one who turned it personal.”

“Play DA… I’m supposed to take that seriously?”

“Devil’s Advocate. You can argue that whatever happened out here was foul play, and I’ll argue that it’s a case of an over-the-hill female making a last ditch effort at a life.”