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                “I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things.”

                                Tom Waits

                The cups of coffee sat on the table in the middle of the small living room, untouched.  On the couch, Irene sat next to Til, both of them quiet.  Across from them, Lucas sat in the seat before Irene, a heavy and exhausted look in his eyes.  Next to him, on a seat from the kitchen, his wife sat, her hands in her lap.

                “<Esaias was a good man, >” Lucas said quietly.  His eyes trailed off as he spoke, his mind wondering to distant thoughts.  “<He was quite the jokester.  He loved to make others laugh.  At times, >” he grinned, sitting forward, his wife smiling as well, “<he spoke of traveling to Paris to become a stand-up comic. >”

                Irene smiled sentimentally.  “<What kind of jokes did he tell? >”

                “<Oh, >” Lucas grinned, a tear in his eyes, “<he had this one about a boy and his whale.  A pet whale.  I couldn’t even begin to do it justice.  The story wasn’t that funny; it was the way he told it. The, the voices and the looks. >”  His words trailed off for a moment, then he took a sudden, deep breath.  “<It wasn’t his stories so much, but how he told them.  Even the most normal of stuff, he could find the little things about and turn anything funny.  And he could tell jokes for hours.  We all loved to hear him talk. >”  He sat back, somber.  “<And now… >”

                Irene glanced up at Til, taking a deep sigh.  He glanced at her, his stone face unmoved.  “<I understand you have a daughter, >” she asked politely.

                “<Yes, >” the wife said.  “<Caroline.  She’s fourteen.  She’s at a friend’s house right now.  Her best friend’s father was one of the ones that… >”  Her voice trailed off as well.

                Silence descended on the four.

                “<Pierre! >” shouted the young woman, chasing after the tiny six year old.  The small, brown-haired boy went sprinting out the back door in the kitchen, into the small row of land that made up the backyard.  After a moment, before the door had even had time to slam shut, the woman came stomping back in, carrying a small child covered in mud.

                Emma sat in the chair in the living room, her hand over her mouth as she tried to keep from laughing.  Next to her, Lisa smiled in innocent amusement as the mother stormed up the steps, carrying the laughing child.

                With them gone, both women turned back to Joseph as he sat in the warm recliner in front of the empty fireplace.  “<And that’s my son, > ” he smiled.

                “Quite the hellion,” Lisa smiled, looking up the steps.

                Joseph looked at Emma, but she just shook her head.  “<You were telling us about your friend, >” she prompted.

                “<Oh, yes.  Right, >” he said, snapping his attention back to the conversation.  As soon as he did, the smile of his son faded.  “<Esaias. >”  He sighed, then reached for the small octagonal glass filled with a harsh, brown liquid.  He took a sip, inhaling sharply as he set it back down.

                After the drink, he leaned back, staring up at nothing.  “<Esaias, he was my friend since I joined the yard. >”  Another long sigh.  “<He actually loaned me and my wife the money for the down payment on the house. >”  He looked around fondly.  “<I know it doesn’t look like much.  In fact, it looks like every other house in the neighborhood.  But it’s ours. >”

                “<So he had money? >” Emma asked.

                “What are you asking him?” Lisa whispered. Emma brushed her off.

                Joseph’s head bopped a bout as he considered the appropriate answer.  “<Not exactly, >” he ultimately decided.  “<Esaias had plans.  Schemes if you will.  He could save his money, so he had a lot of it at a time, yes.  But he would then blow it on stupid things. >”

                “<Like what? >” Emma asked.

                “<Solar panels for his house, >” Joseph said with a laugh.  “<His house is the only one in the neighborhood, in the town, that has solar panels.  And he wanted to buy his wife a new car, one of those new Japanese cars that runs on…on…on not gasoline. >”

                “Did he say Japanese?” Lisa asked.

                “Hush,” Emma bit.  She turned back to Joseph.  “<You make him sound like such a great guy. But, and I’m sorry to have to ask this, but do you know if Esaias had any enemies? >”

                Through the window, she could see everything.  The young blonde woman stared out, her eyes drifting with the sea of trees in the distance as the window danced on the branches. She breathed in slowly, staring at them.

                “<Miss Archoldas? >” Eliot said.

                The woman turned to Eliot and Sarah as they stood in her living room.  She looked at them for a moment as if not understanding what they were, then smiled as if she had just seen them.  “<Yes.  I’m sorry.  Where was I? >”

                “<You were explaining how you’re family had come to France, >” Sarah said, her tone its usual cold and detached.

                The woman swallowed.  “<Yes, that’s right.  Let’s see.  My grandfather’s family came here after World War II.  They wanted a new start and so did Esaias’ family.  Our families have been friends since they first settled in these mountains.  But they never actually joined until Esaias and I. >”

                Eliot stood at the fireplace, staring at the pictures on the mantle.  One was of the woman sitting before him, but with a smiling, dark-haired man hugging her around the neck.  “<Did you and he go to school together? >”

                She smiled with a sudden warmth as she sat back in the wooden rocking chair, drawing her legs up to her.  “<Yes, >” she said as the scent of memories passed over her.  “<Since he was two years older than me, we were never in the same class, but ever since high school…>”  Her voice trailed.  “<We kind of always knew. >”

                But as she spoke, a harsh silence fell over her.  She wallowed, choking back tears, then she looked up at the two.  “<Please forgive me, but I don’t know how much more I can…>” she choked.  “<Is there anything else…>”

                “<No, >” Eliot said, smiling understandingly.  “<But we’ll let you know what happens. >”

                “You shouldn’t say things like that,” Sarah said as she and Eliot headed away from the house.

                “Things like what?” he exclaimed, glancing back towards the house, able to see the widow staring out from her almost-closed door.

                “That we’ll let her know,” Sarah went on.  “No we won’t and you won’t either.”

                “It’ll give her comfort,” Eliot protested.

                “It’ll give her hope,” Sarah reprimanded.

                “The security cameras showed no one,” Til maintained, sitting on the hotel bed, a plastic dinner tray holding a large salad in his lap.  With his legs crossed together, he sliced up the thick romaine lettuce, a hungry look in his eyes.  About him, other trays of food sat, waiting.

                Next to him, Sarah and Emma sat at the table. Emma stirred her soup while Sarah ignored her Rueben in favor of her laptop.  On the screen were dozens of tiny displays, all playing at a super speed.  “Someone had to get in,” she insisted, scanning absently over the video feeds.

                On the bed next to Til’s, Eliot and Lisa sat together, both dining on hamburgers.  Lisa poured some mayonnaise on her bun, then looked at Eliot.  “So this is what you guys do?” she asked, taking a bite.

                “This is what we do, yeah,” Eliot agreed with a grumble.  He took a bite, struggling to get his mouth around the large sandwich.  “Lots of investigating and lots of ruling out evidence.”  Behind Lisa, the door opened and Irene came out, holding her stomach.  “You okay?” Eliot asked.  She nodded weakly, then went back to the third chair at the table.

                “Well, what if we consider Occam’s razor?” Emma presented.  Sarah looked over the edge of her laptop at her as if annoyed.  “Let’s say for a moment that Til’s right and no one got into the forest.”

                “No one did,” Til insisted.

                “Then it had to be someone in the forest,” Emma concluded.

                “No way,” Irene said.  “The police combed that entire area from the air, using a thermograph.”

                “What are they doing with a thermograph?” Eliot piped up, pouring packets of ketchup on his fries.

                “Its for avalanches,” Til explained.

                “Ah.”

                “No one is in the forest,” Irene insisted.

                “No one got into the forest, no one was in the forest,” Emma said.  She shrugged.  “That leaves us with one solution.”  Everyone looked at her.  “The forest.”

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