Jenna Czock waited for them on the front stoop of her two-story Federal-style house. The boxlike home sat close to the road, but had a backyard comprising almost an acre of land. To the right of the house, a separate, more modern garage had a dark blue, mid-size sedan in front of it.

      They pulled up behind it and got out, leaving the windows down for Patty. At Tyler’s strict “Stay!” the dog stretched out on the backseat. Jenna came down the steps to greet them, looking like someone who’d just gotten home from work, with her red oxford cloth shirt, charcoal-gray slacks, and the thick makeup some older women seemed to prefer. A fleeting smile creased a worried face, and she motioned for them to follow her around the side of the house. She used a flashlight to augment the flood lights that shone from beneath the eaves of the house.

      “I hated to bother you, and I’m hoping this isn’t what I think…that it’s just trash. I usually check the can just to see if there’s room for another bag, and this was on top, just lying there. I’ve been following the case and listening to what the folks are saying around town. Everyone’s still talking about that precious little girl.”

      They reached the back of the house, and Jenna pointed at a latticework cage set back from the house about forty feet. “The cans stay back there. I had that built for the garbage and the firewood. Cuts down on the raccoons in the garbage and the snow on the firewood.”

      Raccoons, indeed, thought Tyler. This backyard must be a haven for them. Towering old trees dotted the richly green and well-tended lawn, many of them surrounded by flowerbeds ripe with new spring flowers. The cage, with its slanted roof, had vines of clematis and morning glories running up its sides, allowing it to blend into the landscape. The yard had a gentle but steady slope from the house to the stream at the back of the property. Yellow dots of fireflies danced among the bushes at the edge of the water.

      “People walk their dogs along the stream almost every day.” Jenna pointed to a well-worn path that edged the water. “Even after dark like this. And there are two hiking trails on the other side that run close.” She shrugged and hugged herself as she followed them toward the cage, where Wayne had set up a bright spotlight on a tall mount. “It’s just not unusual to see people in my backyard, but I should have realized this one was up closer than most. I just didn’t dream someone would get into my garbage.”

      “Man or woman?”

      Jenna shrugged. “Not sure. It was already pretty dark. It looked as if they were wearing a cap, maybe sweats. Somewhere between my height and yours, I guess.”

      “So about five-nine, five-ten.”

      Jenna nodded. “I’m five-eight, so yes.”

      They rounded the edge of the lattice, to find Wayne bent over next to the cage’s opening, peering at the ground illuminated by the white light of the quartz spot he had set up. He spoke without greeting. “Only one set of prints, but it’s been pretty dry the last couple of days. Doesn’t match either of the sets in the woods.”

      Tyler cleared his throat, and Wayne looked up at Tyler, puzzled, then his gaze darted to Jenna and back to his boss.

      Jenna perked up. “In the woods?” She grabbed Tyler’s elbow. “Does this have anything to do with Dee being attacked this morning?”

      Fletcher let out a long sigh and squatted next to Wayne. “Small town.”

      Before Tyler could respond, Jenna bolted on. “Phil, down at the convenience store, had the scanner on this morning, heard it and called his sister, she works at the hospital, saw Dee in the E.R. Is she OK?”

      Tyler patted her hand. “She’ll be fine. Just a few scratches.”

      “Is she back at the retreat?”

      Tyler nodded. “But—”

      “I should send her some flowers. Roses, do you think?”

      “Maybe—”

      “Or tulips. I think she said one time in the café that she likes tulips. You know, she talked about how she used to grow tulips and—”

      Fletcher straightened and cut off Jenna’s rapid words. “Ms. Czock, would you mind if I got a glass of water?”

      Jenna paused in her flower review and smiled. “Certainly. Follow me, and I’ll show you where the glasses are.” She took his arm, and they turned for the house.

      Once they were out of earshot, Wayne also rose. “Sorry,” he muttered.

      Tyler waved away the apology. “I shouldn’t have let her follow us down here. The whole town will know about the connection today.” He reached to adjust his hat, then realized he didn’t have it on. “What do you have?”

      Wayne pointed a gloved hand at the open Dumpster-type receptacle. “The dress is spread out as if it’s on display.”

      Tyler looked. The blue gingham dress lay draped across two plastic garbage bags, one of which had been ripped open, so that paper, eggshells and days-old milk had leaked out into the can and over the dress. Tyler winced at the odor. “So the kidnapper intended for it to be found.”

      “I think so. If he had wanted to hide it or just dispose of it, it would have been simpler just to shove it down in the can beneath the bags.”

      “A message. But why here? Why not leave it on a bench in town or some other place like that?”

      “My guess is that it would be too risky. Someone might see it, or the dress could be picked up. Here it’s protected, yet it’s doused in a forensic soup. No way we’re going to get an uncontaminated clue out of this. Since Jenna’s the florist, her hours and routine are easy to determine. And he knew that Jenna would be following the case and would spot it right away.”

      Both men stood silent for a moment, then Wayne cleared his throat. “I’ve finished processing everything I could. I’m ready to bag it.”

      Tyler nodded and stepped back, watching as Wayne eased the dress out of the garbage with a pair of tongs and slipped it into a brown paper bag. “Any blood?”

      Wayne