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fluttering tarp anchored down around the body, but finally managed it. Sitting down on a piling to wait, he began to shiver, so he went back to the boathouse, bringing the wheelbarrow with him. Finding an old, tattered, foul-weather coat, he put it over his uniform jacket, and then returned to his vigil on the dock. He tried to ignore the lump under the tarp.
    A chocolate bar was what he needed. Sugar always seemed to calm him down, especially chocolate. Even a jellybean would have helped, but he hadn’t put a bag of them in his pocket this morning.
    He unsnapped a pouch on his gun belt and took out his boatswain’s knife, which he’d bought many years ago from a ship’s store. Unlike a regular clasp knife, it had a long, pointed metal bar that folded out opposite the regular blade. He dug in his pocket for a small, half-carved piece of soft pine. Snapping the knife open, he held the pine in the claw and began to carve it using the knife in his good hand. He’d taken up carving as an enjoyable way to get used to being right-handed. Pausing occasionally, he stroked the grain of the wood, to see if he was carving true. Shadow never knew what he would create when he began carving; each particular piece of wood would tell him as he fingered it. This one was assuming the shape of a bear. Now, after the emotional upset of handling the body, the feel of the slick wood and the pine-resin scent soothed him as he brought out the spirit of the bear in the wood.
    He’d only been at it for a few minutes when a beige sedan with a Virginia State Park logo on the doors emerged from the trees. Tires crackled on the gravel road as the car pulled up next to Alex’s pick-up truck. Shadow dropped the bear into his pocket, put away his knife, and stood up. A small man in a business suit emerged and headed toward him. Shadow assumed this must be the State Parks Commissioner, Joshua Barnett, whom he’d never met.
    The commissioner was a thin, eagle-nosed man; in his early forties, perhaps. The wind was blowing wisps of sparse hair from the top of his head, exposing the baldness he obviously attempted to conceal by careful combing.
    He looked down at the covered cadaver as he approached, and then his gaze shifted to Shadow, regarding the ranger with a stern glare. Shadow was well aware his uniform was a mess and he was wearing a rag of a jacket, but this wasn’t an inspection and he had no idea why the man had such an attitude. Jonesy often said the commissioner was a bit of an ass and Shadow had a feeling this would soon be confirmed. He noticed the man’s suit was expensive looking and his shoes were highly shined. A stickler for detail, most likely.
    “Wilson, up at the contact station, said two girls were missing and a body had been found,” he said. “I came down here to find McGuire. Where is he?” His voice had a hint of a whine in it.
    “He walked over to his trailer,” Shadow answered. “He had to make some phone calls.”
    Barnett nodded down toward the lump in the tarp. “This the body?”
    Shadow had to stop his eyes from rolling in disbelief. What did Barnett think it could be?
    “Yes, sir,” he said, deadpan.
    “What happened? Drowning?”
    “Don’t know for sure. We found her in the bay, but she’s got a horrible wound to her throat. Alex and I couldn’t decide what to make of it.”
    “Alex...? Oh, Chief Ranger McGuire. What kind of wound are you talking about? Gunshot? Maybe a hunting accident?”
    “No, sir. Not like that. It looks like her throat was ripped out. I think something killed her.”
    “Something? What do you mean? Like an animal, maybe?”
    “Maybe.”
    Barnett looked at him quizzically. “You’re new here.” He made it an accusation. “What’s your name?”
    “Shadow Fletcher.”
    “Fletcher’s a Scottish name, isn’t it?” Barnett’s brow wrinkled as he squinted. “You don’t look Scottish, more like some kind of Pakistani or Arab or something. And Shadow?”
    “I’m Native