Dust to Dust

simple reconnaissance had turned into something that she really thought was a bad idea. But even in the dark she could see the tight set of his face.
    Well, damn .
    “If you are determined to go in,” she said, “take Officer Daughtry inside with you. He has more police training than I have for that kind of thing. I’ll watch your backs from outside the house. We don’t know how many may be in the house and we don’t know whether they have more friends than just the shooter out in the woods. Izzy and Neva can keep an eye on the front door from where they are.”
    She glanced at the house. It looked more foreboding than it had just five minutes ago. In the darkness without the headlights shining on it, she could barely make it out. It was a shadowy giant looming in the night and Diane didn’t really want to approach it.
    Hanks stared at Diane a moment, nodded, and called for Daughtry to come over. Diane watched the patrolman race the few feet between them in a half-crouched position and dive next to them beside his car. Diane thought he was a little too dramatic. Daughtry looked wide-eyed and just a little scared—and he seemed very young. Diane called Neva again and updated her on the plan as Hanks gave the policeman a quick briefing.
    Diane was satisfied to let the two of them take the lead. With Hanks wounded and Daughtry looking rather green behind the ears, she didn’t want them behind her with guns. As they crept among the large grove of ancient pecan trees, Diane heard Izzy trying to talk the shooter down, and getting only gunfire for his trouble. From the direction of the shots, the shooter seemed to be moving about.
    This was not a good idea , Diane thought. The sound of pecan shells crackling underfoot was too loud. She slowed her pace, being careful where she put her feet, careful of tripping over unseen objects that might be on the ground. Weeds scratched at her legs and briars grabbed at her dress. She should have taken the time to change into jeans.
    Her foot hit something hard at the base of a tree. In the dark, its shape looked much like a gargoyle leaning against the trunk, nestled between roots. Guarding the pecan trees from evil spirits, no doubt , she thought. The wind picked up and blew open her shirt, bringing in chilly air. She pulled it close around her.
    It didn’t take long for the three of them to reach the first outbuilding—a one-room shack.
    Hanks stopped under its eaves, massaging his shoulder. “Daughtry and I’ll go from here to the back door,” he whispered.
    “And if it’s locked?” asked Diane.
    Hanks studied her for a moment. “Then we’ll check the windows,” he said. “They got in some way.”
    “It’s a big house,” said Diane, looking at the structure looming in the darkness. “It probably has a side door too, maybe a cellar door.”
    “We’ll look. You stay close to the house and watch,” Hanks added.
    Though his features were in darkness, Diane thought he was trying to stare her down. Was that what this was about, Hanks controlling the investigation? wondered Diane. Standing out in the chilly wind, she was growing increasingly irritated.
    “Please remember that the house is a crime scene and take as much care as you can not to touch anything, and remember where you walked,” she said.
    Hanks nodded. Diane thought the movement looked rather noncommittal.
    “Keep a line open with me,” he said. “And try not to shoot us.”
    Diane took her phone out of her pocket and keyed in the number he gave her. She heard his phone vibrate in his hand and put hers back in her pocket when he answered. With that, Hanks turned and made his way to the house with the patrolman close behind.
    Diane followed but walked more slowly, carefully picking her way through underbrush to the backyard. Ahead, she heard someone stumble and curse. She thought it was the patrolman. She stopped a moment and watched their dark figures making slow progress toward the house. Hanks hadn’t wanted to use a flashlight. No sense in making yourself a target. But it was dark and the thin layer of clouds that drifted past the quarter moon only deepened the darkness, making Marcella’s backyard look like a piece of grisaille artwork. The trees were deep black silhouettes against a black background. Diane made out a willow tree near the edge of the yard, its vinelike, black leaf-covered branches moving in the wind.
    From what she could see in the dim moonlight, the yard had the familiar