They enter the darkened part of the path into The Hundred Acre Wood, the shadows heightening Callahan?s instincts. From the direction of the osprey nest, she hears a distant scream of bird-protest.
Something?s disturbing those ospreys. That?s the next place to look for tracks leaving the road.
When she reaches the clearing where the messy stick-built nest sits on its high platform, no little osprey heads are now visible. Cautioned by their shrieking parents, no doubt, the babies have crouched out of sight under the lip of the nest.
Callahan brakes and gets out. The noonday sun sears her back as she squats on the harder dry sand by the side of the road. Behind her, she hears the “sszzt” of Honey spraying mosquito repellent. It takes her a few minutes to spot the disturbed earth she?s looking for and more time to find the slight depression beyond it in the grass to her right. The golf cart?s faint tire marks lead away from the road into a dense growth of high shrubbery near the base of the osprey platform.
“Oh, my gosh,” Honey whispers when Callahan gets back in the cart and turns off the road. “You?ve found him. Are you sure he came this way?”
“It sure looks like it.” Callahan drives through thorny undergrowth, shrubs tearing at the sides of the cart, for no more than a hundred yards before spotting a shiny green reflection behind some myrtles. She speeds around them, eager to eyeball a healthy little boy with quizzical brown eyes, then exhales, disappointed. “Call Pepper and Cole, Honey. Tell them we?ve found the golf cart, but Harry?s not in it.”