Dead Hunt

Diane.
The plane landed and they disembarked at Craven County Regional Airport and rented a car. Diane drove. Kingsley was right; she much preferred being in a machine she could control. He read the map they had printed off the Internet while Diane found the route on the GPS that came with their rental car. emptied
    hundred
    Carley Volker did not live in the city of New Bern, but about ten miles out. Diane had never been to New Bern but she knew something of the area. It was a pretty town with a lot of history dating back to the 1700s. There were hundreds of sunken ships all up and down the coast, some of them visible from the shore. The Outer Banks of North Carolina were also Blackbeard’s stomping ground. There were many things she’d like to see, and here they were, looking for Clymene. All in all, she’d rather look for Blackbeard’s treasure.
    ‘‘What did you tell Carley?’’ asked Diane. Kingsley had called her while Diane was getting the rental, a Mitsubishi Outlander.
    ‘‘That we are from the FBI and the Rosewood, Georgia, police department and would like to see her. I thought it might confuse her if I told her we were from the FBI and the Museum of Natural History.’’
    Diane laughed. ‘‘Did you tell her what it’s about?’’ ‘‘A little. I told her in general terms it’s about a woman who escaped from prison. I told her we located her through the DNA she posted. That’s all. I didn’t want to dwell on the fact that she might have a homicidal maniac in the family tree.
‘‘Turn left here,’’ said Kingsley. ‘‘It should be right
    over this rise.’’
    Diane looked down at the GPS map display. It agreed with the printed map Kingsley was using.
Diane had expected a quaint older home but realized when she made the turn that they were entering a new subdivision of boxy, vaguely Victorian-style houses. They were pretty, but close together. The houses were new enough that the landscaping still contained small, spindly trees, flowers that had not yet bloomed, and grass that was just coming up through straw covering. The house Carley Volker lived in was gray with white trim. They turned in the driveway. Diane put the SUV in park and turned off the ignition.
Carley came out the front door of the house and met them. She was much younger than Diane expected. She looked to be in her early twenties, goldblond hair, blue eyes, and slim. She wore blue jeans and an apricot-colored T-shirt. She grinned broadly.
‘‘Come in. It’s such a pretty day, Mom’s serving tea on the deck.’’
‘‘Thank you,’’ said Diane. She reached in her pocket for her ID and showed it to her. ‘‘I’m Diane Fallon, and this is Agent Ross Kingsley.’’
‘‘Hello, Miss Volker,’’ said Kingsley, holding out his identification.
She looked at each and grinned as if indulging them. Clearly Carley was too trusting.
She led them up the steps and through a gate to a deck at the back of the house, where her mother was setting out glasses of iced tea and cookies.
‘‘See that window up there?’’ Carley pointed to a bay window on the second floor. ‘‘That’s my room. It has a great view of the marsh and the intracoastal waterway. We just moved here,’’ she added.
Diane saw that Kingsley was thinking the same thing she was. Carley was giving away too much information about herself. How nice to live in the innocent world she did, but how dangerous. Maybe I’m too cynical, thought Diane.
Diane looked across at the green marsh grasses waving in the breeze and the waterfowl about to make a landing. It was a pretty view, a restful view.
‘‘Hi, I’m Carley’s mother, Ellen Volker. Carley is so excited that someone saw her posting.’’
Ellen Volker was an older image of her daughter, not quite as slim, and her hair was starting to get gray. She seemed just as glad as her daughter to see them.
‘‘Did your daughter explain why we’re here?’’ said Diane.
‘‘Something about a woman who escaped from prison. I’m not quite sure I understood. Please sit down and have some tea and cookies.’’
‘‘Mom makes the best cookies,’’ said Carley, pulling up a chair. ‘‘So. You found me through my DNA profile I posted. Does that mean that this is someone I’m related to? I’m trying to research my family tree. I’m also doing something called deep ancestry. Do you know what that is?’’
Kingsley shook his head. ‘‘I don’t have a clue, but I’m sure Diane does. She’s a