Alicia Atkins

Despite not being able to match the name to the person...

I do, however, remember every detail about his crimes and his victims.

I remember every one of their names.

The ones they had connected to him, at least.

I can run down the list of victims as if I was reciting the alphabet.

And it wasn't just him.

The path is a little slippery where it starts to dip toward the creek, muddy with the viscosity of melted chocolate.

I have to catch myself, and that's when I see the white lump in the underbush.

Except for the misstep, I wouldn't have seen it.

There's a perfect gap in the twisted stalks and the heavy rain of the previous night.

Has battered the grasses to form an almost magical avenue.

A half-meter-high tunnel right to...

To what?

I scour my brain for the answer.

Puffball.

That's what it is.

I think, as my heart beats a little quicker with pleasure, that it's probably been a decade since I found one.

I can take it back to the house and fry it with eggs for my dinner.

Once I leave the path, it's harder to locate.

But I part every clump of undergrowth until I lay my hands on my prize.