Correction: out onto the back terrace, a wide flagstone area surrounded with a low stone wall, offering one of the most spectacular views I’d ever seen. The plywood doors had clearly replaced what was once a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
“We really are on a mountain,” I murmured. The terrace had a hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the surrounding countryside, all the hills and valleys sloping away beneath me, mostly dense woods interrupted with occasional pastures, all the way to the town of Riverton, nestled at the bottom of the valley like a toy village beneath a Christmas tree.
“Okay,” I said aloud. “All is forgiven. This is magical enough.”
A pity the previous occupant hadn’t left behind a few chairs or benches. I sat down on the wall that surrounded the terrace and drank in the scenery.
Below and to my right, I could see the first of the emu hunters fanning out through the meadow. A little farther to the left, Rose Noire was picking her way across a sort of rocky scree, bent almost double so she could scan the rocks beneath her. As I watched she pounced on something and held it up—something that glittered white and silver in the sunlight. Probably a quartz crystal. I couldn’t quite share her excitement at finding yet another pretty bit of quartz—she must have a ton of the stuff back home—but it made her happy. Or maybe she was finding more of the blue stuff she’d showed me back at camp.
“Mommy, look!” Josh came running out, waving an emu feather.
“Look what I found!” Jamie, also carrying a feather.
“Have they found the emus, then?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Michael said. “But evidently they left some feathers behind in the barn.”
“Mine is longer,” Josh said.
“Mine is more prettier,” Jamie countered.
“Just prettier,” I said. “Not more prettier. And they’re both very nice. Come look at the view.”
The boys marveled at the view, and we got them settled in with their small but powerful binoculars—a gift from my father, who was hoping to inspire the boys to share his love of birding. They alternated between watching the emu trackers and scanning the hillsides, hoping to spot emus themselves.
The binoculars kept the boys busy for a whole half hour. Rock hunting with Rose Noire proved more absorbing, especially since the shallow, pebble-covered slope where she was working also offered a rich variety of insects and lizards.
“This should keep them busy till lunchtime,” I said. “Mind if I take off and get a few things done back in town?”
“Fine with me,” Michael said. “We’ll call if we can’t hitch a ride back to town with someone.”
When I climbed back up to the house, I found that Grandfather had taken up a post on the terrace, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying the view as much as I had. He was studying the landscape beneath him through binoculars and growling sporadically. His bodyguards stood at either end of the terrace, starting and scowling whenever anyone came near.
“We’re not seeing any signs of the emus,” Caroline murmured.
“I’m sure it’s only a matter of time,” I said.
“It’s only a matter of time before I heave his cantankerous carcass over the side of the terrace,” she said.
I decided it was a good thing I was leaving.
Driving back solo was a lot faster than the trip up. As I cruised slowly toward the center of town, I tried to think where I could accomplish my first mission—making those phone calls for Annabel.
Downtown Riverton was remarkably quiet, and none of the businesses looked open. Of course, they hadn’t looked all that lively yesterday, but today you could have used the whole area around the town square to film one of those post-apocalyptic science fiction B-movies where most of the human race has been wiped out and the few survivors would spend the next hour and a half battling invaders from outer space or giant mutant cockroaches.
I spotted Chief Heedles’s blue sedan pulling into a parking space in front of a tree-shaded brick building. Perfect. She’d probably know where there was a pay phone, if such a thing still existed. I had the feeling they still might in Riverton. And maybe I could get her into conversation about Cordelia’s murder, as Stanley had suggested. I pulled into the slot next to her. She spotted me and waited on the steps of the building—which, as I now noticed, was the police station.
“Afternoon,” she said, as I got out of my car. “Were you looking for me?”
“Not specifically,” I said. “But when I saw you I realized you could probably tell me where I can find a working pay phone. Or a kind soul willing to let me make a couple of calls. My cell phone’s still out.”