The pounding slowed, she controlled her breathing. "I'll be out in a moment," she called. Cold water swept away the dirt, yet the hint of gingerbread haunted her.

Stained dark by the bog, the old house was sturdy under the years among the ancient trees. Marie stepped out, eyes flitted around. The suddenness startled Tim, who waited for her.

"Bad night," he turned, though she caught the look of concern.

"I spent the night in the middle of nowhere," she smiled, grateful for him. "The ghosts of your past will haunt you," Marie joked, but the wildness in her eyes curdled the good cheer. "I mean, this place makes some odd noises."

"Oh, I put gas in your car, and I came to get you, so you can get it," he rubbed strawberry blonde hair.

"You certainly came early."

"Uh," his brow furrowed, "the sun has set."

She shifted, mind filled with the avatar of Ashless hollow, "What is the word around town?"

Tim took in her harrowed look, and touched her hand, "I was more concerned about you." He squeezed her hand, "I put gas in your car, but I didn't," Tim closed his mouth. "I overheard someone talking about some lady was in Mulberry Vineyard."

A wide grin drew beautiful lips up, "That is a lead."

The heavy sigh whooshed out, and he squeezed her hand. Lush green eyes, flecked with gold, sparked with renewed vigor. "Inky, did something…happen last night?" he asked.

She pulled her hand away, "Have you seen the Sheriff?"

"No," he thought for a moment.

"Rutger hasn't forgotten out little dip," she forced a grin, and pushed past him away from the house. "It took too long to get you out of your clothes, but I recall you appreciated what you saw," she cast a glance low, smile now wicked.

Skin of Tim's neck reddened, for he never forgot the moonlight on her body, "I recall him catching us."

"I recall you yelling for us to run," she chuckled, "and threw up your hands. The fuzz, the FUZZ, run Inky!" Marie stopped at the passenger side of the truck, "You had to drop your hands to cover your excitement."

Words jumbled in his mouth, as his mind returned to her body. "I don't think your car will make it here," he stammered, desperate for another subject, "So you can park it at my house. I'll drive you around, until you figure out something."

"Maybe," she leaned against his truck, "we'll end up at the old Bullock Stone Works." Marie giggled, when he tripped over a lump of dirt.

"Inky," he pleaded.

"But," she rolled her eyes, "I'll have to settle with going back to the Mulberry Vineyard trailer park."

"Oh," he frowned, "Why go back?"

"With the tall fence that surrounds the murder scene," she recalled the lay out of the property. "A witness could only see something from certain angles," she got in the cab.

Tim joined her, started the truck, "I forgot how much you like to torture me."

"You don't seem to mind," she said, but cast an eye back at the house Eleanor.

During the last hours of light, a dreamy dusk refused to let go, and deepened until night prevailed. The heat grew wetter as the sun passed. It sunk into the bones, skin grew feverish. Tim caught the hint of gingerbread, thought of Bethany. Shadows bled upon the pavement, skeletal grip of darkness was slow. Tinny, shrill sirens echoed over Lear Mountain, lingered. Marie rolled up the window, but the tang of drugs scrapped the tongue. Nervous energy lived in the faces that watched the truck pass. Murmurs followed, as if they passed through a wall. Among the faces, figures walked in darkness.

The scene had been cleared. Crime scene tape quarantined off the trailer, but she turned to the court. Trash had been left by the crowd, and a pair of dirty panties was stretched over a post. Only a few houses looked on the yard behind her. She narrowed the search, let her gaze focus on the world. Around the bottom of the trailer, tin had been set to keep animals from going under the home. One piece of metal was pulled open. She drew closer. Half dead grass was trampled about the slight gap. From the spot, one could view the scene of the murder.

"Wait here," she said, and moved before he could reply.

No lights were on in the house. Furtive movement stopped inside. After a brisk knock, Marie watched the windows. Silence filled the air as more light failed. Fetid air passed over the porch, words dwelled on it, though she could discern none of them. Low curses inside were rancorous, but Marie smiled. Gentle steps drew closer to the glass, blinds parted.

"Hello," she said with a smile, relaxed, "can I come inside, Madam. I would like to talk to you." The blinds closed, and the woman cursed. With a few seconds to let the woman think, she leaned closer, "We could talk outside, but I would prefer to talk inside. I'll make it worth your time."

A long sigh struck the other side, but the door opened, "Come in."

Inside the house, unlit candles were set throughout. Old food was tucked away in scented bags, chemical flowers acidic. Canned food was stored in cool, dry shelves. Vibrant, cheap clothes were neatly folded. Below the cheap smell of perfume, cheaper sex clung to the room like dirty secrets. Heat left over from the extinguished flames made the room sanguine warmth lazy. Darkness slid at the edges, though Marie was the only one who saw it. Words, low in pitch, slashed out from the corners.

The monarch of the trailer court was at the end of her reign. Sharon adjusted her hair, which was the product of an audacious beautician. Blonde streaks were frosted with vermillion-red, which struck the eye. "What do you want?" she grunted in a smoker's rasp, through thick cherry-red lips.