Rebecca Frost

Henry suspected his lawyer was a fraud, or at least hadn’t passed the bar, but what could you expect up here? There were too many pine trees and not enough people to support a really good lawyer, so he had to make do with the one who showed up, and he didn’t even have a cell phone to Google her name and figure out if he was just being put on.

She seemed fine with Henry not surrendering any of his private papers, which was good, but she also put her foot down about Henry going back to Loon Lake for the night, even with the police watching the only road in. It wasn’t a question of danger from the missing residents, she informed him, but the ones who would be spending the night in their usual beds. “Your cabin’s sealed,” she told Henry, in case he forgot. “They can’t get in, and the police would have to break in, for which they have no warrant and no probable cause. You’ll get a room for the night, and stay there, and talk to no one, and when we get the chance, I’ll take you up so you can clear out your belongings. And just your belongings.” She’d repeated that talk to no one thing multiple times, like he was going to immediately start sharing the story—his story—with someone who would then just go and publish it first.

He didn’t have a car, and he didn’t have his wallet, so she found him a hotel room and paid for it with the understanding that really he was the one paying for it, and he ordered room service on the tab, and had a television he could watch, but other than that, it was just him, in the clothes he’d thrown on, with nothing to do. There wasn’t even a pad of paper and a pen with the hotel’s logo on it. It was simply a room, and honestly, he supposed he should be grateful there was an attached restaurant so he could get some food.

Henry tried finding local news, but there didn’t seem to be any. He could flip through maybe eight stations, and one of them was national news, but he didn’t see anything about Loon Lake. His lawyer probably liked that. Maybe she’d picked the place because she knew he’d be stuck with the Weather Channel, PBS, and Fox News.

Henry was bored out of his ever-loving mind. He didn’t have his notes, he didn’t have his knitting, and he didn’t have any way of pitching the story he was in the middle of living, or even starting to write that story. He was just stuck in this one-star motel in freaking Eagle Harbor, Michigan, which basically wasn’t on any map, simply waiting. He didn’t even know if today was the day he’d get to go north and get his stuff, including all those notes his lawyer had at least helped him keep, or …

Or. What was the or? He either got this story, this new and weird story, or he had nothing. He didn’t have Annabeth Deschain, and he certainly didn’t have Emily’s real name. He didn’t even have Alyssa’s phone anymore. Jane took that, and after he’d asked for a lawyer, he hadn’t seen Jane. He didn’t know what was going on at all, and that was annoying.

Plus Percy pointed a gun at him yesterday. When he showered with the hotel soap, it was partly to get the sticky spots off his arms and ankles. And his toe. He should’ve thought the whole shower thing through because water falling onto his ripped-off nail bed was painful, and he had to call the front desk and ask if they had Band-Aids or something. The police took the duct tape off him just fine, but he hadn’t mentioned the toe, so that wasn’t documented. Nobody cared. So here he sat, having drunk the serving of coffee provided in the room, not sure if there was breakfast anywhere around here, or if his underwear was dry where it hung on the rack in the bathroom, or if he’d have to somehow get through today and another night completely cut off and unable to make any decisions for himself. Really, it wasn’t fair.

---

Cold Comfort: Saturday, July 13, 2024 – Agatha (1), coming August 20

from Dina Lauritsen’s statement to the police, Friday, July 12

I was in the lodge, and I think I was alone. You can’t always tell if Lydia’s in the kitchen, but things were really quiet. Nobody was at the desk. I was sitting there with a book, sort of waiting for human contact, I guess, and things felt weird. I don’t really have a reason for it, but they did, so I was jumpy. I couldn’t eat. I just sat there in the dining room, keeping an ear out for the door and just … waiting.

I heard voices. Percy’s voice. He said something like “You cut all this off and she won’t die.” Then Jonathan said something, some protest, about Lydia. I couldn’t move. He was begging for her life, asking them not to hurt her, and Percy just growled at him to do whatever he was supposed to do.

I should’ve moved. I probably could’ve gotten up and at least put myself out of the line of sight from the desk without being seen—he was focused on Jonathan and whatever they were doing—but I didn’t. I froze. And I saw the gun, and I still froze. Then Percy saw me, and he kept the gun on Jonathan, but he pointed to me, and he said something like “Well, Agatha, time to live one of your mystery novels.”

I had my bag, the big hobo purse, and I automatically picked it up when I stood. I guess he figured I wouldn’t have a cell phone inside, so it was fine. I had my journal, and that’s … when he had me get into the back of the van, that’s when I wrote something to Aaron, in case he’d ever find it. Because I thought I was going to die. I didn’t know what I’d walked into, but I was going to die.

There were people already in the van. Lydia and Emily were in the back seat, hands tied together, and mouths duct taped. I don’t know if anything else was tied, because someone else sat in the van, and she had a gun, too. A gun, and bandages all over her face. Like the Invisible Man or something. It’s a big van, three rows of passenger seats, so she had me get in the middle one, and she sat there in the front one, next to the door, with her gun, and Percy got into the shotgun seat and told Jonathan to drive.

That’s when I snuck my journal out and wrote that. Nobody was paying any attention to the three women in the back. They didn’t tie me or tape me. I guess they figured the guns were enough. Which, I mean, they were. I didn’t even ask any questions. I didn’t want to die. I know what I wrote, what I wanted Aaron to see if he ever found it, but I didn’t want to die.

Percy told Jonathan what turns to take, and there were a lot of them. It was weird, because when Jonathan brought us up it wasn’t exactly a straight shot, but it was a lot more highway. Percy took back roads, but I don’t even know all the back roads. I didn’t look up anything about the area, because Jonathan picked me up at the airport and he’d drive me back, and otherwise I’d just stay at Loon Lake. So that seemed weird. That Percy knows the area.

I don’t know how long we drove. I didn’t check my watch when we started. I just know that Percy told Jonathan to pull over, even though there wasn’t a shoulder to the road. It was one of the skinny ones that’s barely enough pavement for two lanes, and no traffic. But Jonathan stopped, and Percy looked at the woman in the rearview mirror, and she sighed and opened the van door. “You, get,” she told me, and I grabbed my bag again. Habit, I guess. Or comfort. But they didn’t stop me.

I almost fell, because my legs were Jell-O, but Percy cranked down his window and leaned out. “Sorry you got dragged into this,” he told me, but he didn’t look sorry. He was just checking something off his list. Dusting his hands. “Wait until we’re out of sight, then follow this road until you hit the lake. Turn left.” That was it: hit the lake and turn left. He rolled up his window and I guess he told Jonathan to drive again.

They drove off. I didn’t have a camera or anything for GPS, and I didn’t have my knitting, but I had a spare charging cord for my kindle, and I tied that around a tree. They’re right up close to the road there, and the cord’s white, so it should be obvious. Then I scuffed an arrow in the dirt—I don’t know why, because it’s not going to last—pointing the way I was walking, and I started walking.

There was nothing. If there had been a house or even a street sign, I could’ve written down an address. Walked up to the house and asked to use the phone. There weren’t even any cars. I could’ve flagged one down, or at least caused enough of a nuisance that maybe somebody would’ve complained about the crazy lady. It was just trees and trees and trees, until I finally saw the lake, and at least I had a street sign so I could write that down.

I saw the beachy turnout, and there were cars, so you probably know this part. I asked someone if there was cell service and they could call 911, but their phone didn’t work. I guess they didn’t want to take me in their car and go however far to reach a police station with a stranger, but someone else said he had a CB on his motorcycle, so he’s the one who called. I didn’t talk to anyone while we waited, because I didn’t really know what to say, and it’s been, well, less than two weeks at Loon Lake, but I was never much for small talk, anyway. So I waited, and you came and picked me up, and brought me here, and can I ask my questions now? Because I saw Alyssa’s car outside, so if she’s here, can I see her? Is she okay?

---

Cold Comfort: Saturday, July 13, 2024 – Henry (1)

I want to talk to my dad. I don’t think they’ll let me, but I say it, anyway: “I want to talk to my dad.” I’m back in the lodge with Truman and Edgar and two guards who look at each other before one turns back to me.

“He’s busy right now, but I’m sure they’ll let us know when he’s available,” he says, like it’s supposed to be reassuring.

Busy. Busy telling them what he’s been up to whenever they think Annabeth died. Was murdered. That’s bad enough, and then, what, busy telling them all he can about Dina so they can figure out if she was supposed to be kidnapped or if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

I shake my head a little. “My brothers?” It’s not like I expect them to drop everything and come, but I just need someone who cares for me to know there’s more to worry about than me getting a bit homesick and cut-off this summer. My emails, especially to my brothers, have been blasé and dismissive: I’m fine. Getting lots of fresh air. Reading a lot of books.

The officers share another look, which is not reassuring. “We don’t know at the moment what the safest course of action will be.”

If they keep us here, the phones are down. If they let us go spend the night somewhere else, I still need to get my cell back from Jane, but I could make a call. Or even call on a landline or borrow Truman’s phone. If they keep us here, is that unlawful detainment?

“Hey.” Truman wraps his arms around me and kisses my temple. “They’re figuring it out. They don’t know who Percy’s really after, and they won’t know who he is until they find either him or Jonathan, so unless we think of something better, we just have to wait.”

Edgar crosses his arms and leans against the desk on my other side. “Any reason we can’t break into Jonathan’s cabin and find that information?”

“I don’t know if he has it on paper or digitally, but it’ll be in a safe behind a password and a biometric lock.” Truman shrugs at Edgar’s surprised huff. “He takes it all very seriously. That’s why there’s never been a security breach.”

“How did Percy get inside the other cabins?” Edgar challenges.

It’s my turn to snort. “He knocked. They opened the door. And then he didn’t shut them all the way behind him.”

He frowns. “Sloppy, or …?”

Truman starts to take a breath, but all that comes out is “Huh.”

“Or pointing the way?” I agree. “Shoot. We didn’t ask them. Jane or Henry.”

One of the officers steps out for a minute. Maybe their radios work here where cell phones don’t. I mean, they’d be pretty useless if they didn’t.

Wait, does that mean Jane and Henry are safe somewhere? A somewhere that these officers can contact, and ask for information, and get the answers we’re looking for? Maybe that was something they told Truman when I wasn’t paying much attention, or maybe they said it while I was in my cabin, showing my license and letting them do a quick look around to see that no one was hiding anywhere and it didn’t look like anything went down in here the way it did in Jane and Henry’s cabins.

It takes a while for him to come back, but his partner’s looking at him as expectantly as we are. “Percy was agitated. Close to panic.”

I nod, so they all look at me, and that was definitely not my intention. “It makes sense,” I explain, because all those eyes demand that I explain. “He went to Jane because he thought she heard something, but she told him he was wrong, so he went to Henry to find out the next part, and all that mattered was holding them back while he went on to the next person.”

“How long would it have taken you to notice something was wrong if the door hadn’t been left ajar?” one of the officers wants to know.

Truman shakes his head. “Alyssa was off today. She usually goes into town or stays in her cabin. Edgar and I were out kayaking. We don’t usually come in until lunch, and not everybody eats at the same time.”

“What about the Meyers?” he prods.

I shake my head. “If Lydia wasn’t around when someone wanted a hot sandwich for lunch, maybe, but otherwise not until dinner. And Jonathan’s in and out, shopping, doing the emails, that kind of thing. We don’t even have a strict meal schedule. Lydia puts the food out, but you can come in and get it whenever. People aren’t always predictable.”

“What about Dina Lauritsen? Uh. Agatha.” Seriously, it’s like these guys have never heard of nicknames. “Was she predictable?”

Edgar holds up his empty hands. “I was avoiding everyone as much as possible.”

I shake my head. “Some days she’d stay in for breakfast. Sometimes she did lunch with the other two—Jane and Emily—but other times I think she just avoided people, too. She’s been …” I close my eyes. “It hasn’t been a good time for my family. This isn’t really an ultimatum, but Dad wanted to give her some time away so they could both figure out what they want and finally have some sort of plan for moving forward, instead of just trying to make it day by day.” That feels like a betrayal, but he’s going to have to defend sending her here, on her own, to the police, to the media, and to himself.

“And what do you think your father wants, Miss Gladieux?” It’s oh so pointed.

Right. I’m the one who started this. “He wants her to have some breathing space and time to think about it without being pressured. He’s already bought a ring.”

“And he told you that,” the other guy jumps in. “Before you left.”

“Yeah. You have to book the cabins pretty far in advance, and I had the job, so he knew I’d be up here and that would limit how much we could talk. I don’t think he told Dina that part,” I add, like they’re going to find her and immediately blow the surprise, “but he told us. Me and my brothers.”

He nods once, perfunctorily. “How do your brothers feel about the threat of a stepmother?”

That makes me jerk back. “It’s not a threat. They’ve been together for years.”

Truman rubs my back, maybe so I can take a moment and realize yeah, of course the cop said it that way to get a reaction.

“Living in sin?” he suggests.

“So?” It comes out just dripping with scorn.

“I’m just saying,” he presses, because that’s what police do. “Maybe they didn’t want her horning in. Threatening their inheritance.”

Sighing, I cross my arms, knowing full well it’s a defensive gesture and will be read that way. “We’re not in a Grimm’s fairy tale. The only problem my brothers have is that they’re dads of young kids and they have no clue how to respond to or support either Dad or Dina without facing the fact that kids can die.”

“Die.” It’s the one with the notebook, and he taps it with the tip of his pencil. “You believe your half-sister died by accident?”

My shoulders tighten. My arms are a straitjacket. “I know we’re supposed to want justice and stuff, but there comes a point when you run up against the fact that your baby sister’s dead, and nothing anyone does will bring her back.”

“You didn’t want Annabeth Deschain dead?” he asks as though it’s impossible to believe.

“I wanted the truth.” My shrug is tight and angry. “My entire family wanted the truth. If she got up there on that stand and answered questions or tried to straighten out the timeline, then maybe we’d have it. We wanted that trial for closure, officer. You said she’s dead? Annabeth’s dead?”

He nods once. “Likely murdered.” My head shakes before I tell it to. “That’s not closure. That’s just more pain.”

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Agatha (4)

The sheriff’s department looked like a house with a weird little sign out front claiming it wasn’t. Jane pulled into a parking spot, turned off the engine, and just sat there staring at the building like she was waiting for something.

Henry unclipped his seat belt. “Jane?”

“Give me her phone,” she ordered, small hand held out.

He looked down at it—Alyssa’s phone, with Aaron Gladieux’s private number somewhere in her contacts, and why had he only just realized it?—and sighed but passed it over. This was not the time to argue. It wasn’t entirely the time to make amends or any such thing, but if she felt better taking Alyssa’s phone, even when they both knew the passcode, then fine.

She got out of the car, so he did, too, stretching and looking around at what he supposed was a village. It was small, it was cute, and it was right on the Great Lake itself, but it wasn’t entirely reassuring. What did these people know about dealing with whatever the hell was going on at Loon Lake?

They went inside and the woman behind the front desk didn’t even look up. She had the phone crooked between her shoulder and her ear and a pen in one hand. The other came up to wave the two of them to take a seat, and come on. This was an emergency!

“She’s probably talking to someone who knows more than we do,” Jane murmured, choosing a chair as requested and rubbing at her wrist. With her shorts and tank top, the marks were pretty darn obvious. The tape on Henry’s own arms was tucked into his sweatshirt sleeves and it kind of surprised him that he’d somehow forgotten about it already.

A side door opened and a man in a khaki uniform and with a respectably bushy mustache came out, eyebrows going up slightly at the marks on Jane. “You’re the two from Loon Lake?” he asked, starting with his eyes on Jane’s and switching to Henry’s halfway through the question.

She nodded.

“Right, if you’ll just come back with me, I’ve got some questions for you,” he suggested in the tone of a man used to saying the same thing to everyone.

“Separately,” Jane said, standing up readily enough.

“I’m sorry?” This made him pause, one eyebrow raised, because that wasn’t the expected response.

“I’ll answer your questions,” she informed him, looking up frankly instead of insouciantly, “but not in front of him.”

The man blinked, then nodded once. “Right, Loon Lake. Come on back, though. I can talk to you separately, but I don’t want to just leave you out here.”

Even though the woman behind the desk barely said things beyond Copy and Repeat that. Henry had, of course, been paying attention. He stood up and gestured for Jane to go first, because antagonizing law enforcement was not the way to get them to open up to you later. He declined the offer of something to drink, accepted a chair in what looked like one step up from a holding cell, and waited while Jane made her statement or answered questions or whatever they wanted from her.

He couldn’t hear anything above murmurs from anyone. That was probably most of the point of this uncomfortable metal and fake leather chair. Hell, nobody would know what was going on at this point, anyway, but this guy was smart. He didn’t know what Henry did for a living, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Henry didn’t have any way of keeping track of passing time, but it felt like quite a while before the man came back with Jane in his wake. The first thing out of his mouth was “She said you’ve still got the tape on you?”

Henry nodded, so before he had to face the other man and answer whatever questions Jane’s statements brought up, he was photographed in his current clothes, then with the outer layers stripped, and then someone wearing gloves ever so carefully removed the duct tape so it could be bagged and probably fingerprinted and who knew what else. That part, at least, felt very CSI, so maybe they weren’t all country bumpkins up this way.

Dressed again, he was led back into an office where the desk between him and the officer was supposed to be offset by his smile and his casual gesture for Henry to take a seat. “I’m Deputy Kurtti. Jane there called you Henry.”

He nodded.

“But, when you’re at home …” He clicked his pen.

Henry sighed and gave his name, home address, and phone number as requested.

“Jane there says you’re a reporter,” he prompted, like a grunt was all most people needed to spill their guts.

“Yes.” This was an interrogation, so saying as little as possible seemed like the best course of action.

“And you specifically came to Loon Lake following a story,” he continued, still apparently calm.

“I did.” Shoot, did he need a lawyer?

“You found out somehow …” Deputy Kurtti paged back through his little notebook. “Via a source … that Aaron Gladieux paid for a cabin this month, so you decided he did so for Annabeth Deschain. I’m not entirely clear why he would do that.”

Henry took a slow breath, clasped his hands, and immediately regretted the defensive gesture. “Annabeth Deschain’s diaries show an obsession with Aaron Gladieux. Everyone dismissed it as unrequited. I’m not so sure.”

“You think he paid for his girlfriend to come up here for a month so …?” The deputy drew out that last word.

“So he could get Dina Lauritsen out of the house.” Henry tried not to sigh.

Deputy Kurtti tapped the eraser of his pencil on his desk. “And you thought that Deschain was the resident named Emily.”

“Yes.” Jane had to have told him this.

“Until today, when you spoke to one of the employees. Alyssa.” Deputy Kurtti tilted his head. “She only has one name, and she told you she is in fact Alyssa Gladieux, daughter of Aaron Gladieux.”

“Yes.” Seriously. This was a waste of time.

The deputy nodded slowly. “That’s been confirmed, by the way. We’ve checked the ID of everyone still on the premises.”

“Wait, who’s not on the premises?” Henry only realized as he said it that repeating the officer’s phrasing sounded snarky.

Kurtti took his time flipping back more pages. “We have Truman, Alyssa, and ‘Edgar.’”

“Wait, but.” No Percy or Jonathan, of course, but no Lydia, Emily, Agatha, or Mary, either? “Did …?” He cut himself off, but Kurtti waited with a raised eyebrow. “Did anyone ever confirm that Mary Shelley actually exists?”

“Jane told me nobody’s ever seen her. I know the officers on the scene will be doing everything they can to confirm what’s happening.” Then, in the same tone, like it was nothing: “Jane suggested that you might have recordings of all your conversations with the other residents.”

Shit.

“Those might help us figure out who we’re looking for,” Kurtti pointed out, in case Henry hadn’t thought of it.

“You’re telling me there’s no record you can access without Jonathan?” Henry asked quickly, trying not to jump to the defensive and clearly failing. “He doesn’t have to leave any of that information in case of something like this?”

“Oddly enough, most people don’t leave such contingencies in case they get kidnapped.” Kurtti raised an eyebrow at him. “Did you? In case you disappeared?”

Henry swallowed. “No.” The safety deposit box would only be opened in the event of his death. He didn’t think he was going to die for this story. Need a lawyer after it broke, sure, because of the NDA and all, but not die. Even this morning, he hadn’t actually thought he would die. So why was he currently thinking that this was far worse?

Could they just go in and take it without a warrant? If the story was that they’d left Henry’s cabin empty, so of course Percy had already gone, then they’d want to get evidence of the cut phone line, maybe, but they couldn’t remove or search for anything that included in the warrant. Jonathan could allow them in, maybe, after they found him, but the belongings inside were all Henry’s.

He looked up at Kurtti, who waited silently, if not entirely patiently. “I’d like to consult a lawyer before proceeding any further.”

Kurtti sighed. “Lives are at stake, Mr. Bosch.” Maybe they were, but surrendering his notes and recordings wasn’t necessarily going to help. Even if they had a whole team ready to go over the recordings, it would take hours upon hours to listen to everything, and then try to draw their conclusions, and cross-reference, and by that point, if the others hadn’t been found, they’d probably never be. “Then I guess you’d better let me get that lawyer fast.”

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Alyssa (6)

I have no idea how close these cars must have been to get here this fast, but Truman steps forward and takes charge, overriding some of their questions to give them the important information first: he saw Jonathan driving the van away with Percy in the passenger seat; no one knows who else was in the van, but someone saw Henry with a gun earlier; and we didn’t get answers at two of the cabins but didn’t try the third, or the Meyers’ cabin.

Edgar offers me his arm and I tuck myself under it gratefully. Truman’s distracted, and I’m overwhelmed, and it doesn’t really matter to me if Edgar’s sincere or just working on his father-figure image. I lean against him and wait for someone to ask me a direct question.

Right now they seem to be doing a lot of nothing. Dad and Dina probably felt the same way, but there’s a world of difference when the missing people are adults. Two of them question Truman, and keep an eye on us, I guess, while the other two go check Dickinson, Christie, and Shelley. They report back that no one was inside and nothing looked disturbed before they head over to the Meyers’ cabin.

They had to break into all of them, right? Since Jonathan’s not here to use his thumb. Truman saw Jonathan driving away with Percy, and Henry saw Percy had a gun, and apparently the others really are missing, but it still feels like we’re doing something wrong by letting the police come here and have a look.

The Meyers’ cabin raises some red flags, but they don’t even ask Truman any specifics about it. They just come back, pull one of our guys over to confer, and get on their radios to call for more people.

The other one gestures to include all three of us instead of just Truman. “We’d like to do a quick sweep of your cabins just to make sure no one’s hiding in them and to check your ID.” So I guess at least Truman explained that we don’t have any on us, but it’ll be in the cabin safes.

And they’re not taking any chances. Two of them stay with Edgar and me and two go with Truman to his cabin. When they come back, Truman sort of takes up a position on my other side so Edgar can go off with the same two, which he at least doesn’t seem to resent. Then again, his identity is his face, so he knew what would happen as soon as he hit the panic buttons, but he hit all twelve of them anyway.

Truman leans his head against mine, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe they told him not to, or maybe he just knows you don’t offer information to the police if you don’t have to. Supporting me like this could be bad enough, although he took over from Edgar, so it’s not necessarily a specific claim or anything.

I blink and suddenly lift my head. “Did you tell them about Agatha?”

“Yes, Miss Gladieux,” one of the officers answers for him. “We’d like to ask you if you think that Dina Lauritsen was a target all along.”

“A target? Of … Percy?” None of this connects. It doesn’t make any sense.

He nods, pulling out a notebook.

“Uh.” I shake my head a little. “Henry’s a reporter who came because he thought Annabeth Deschain was here, and he thought Emily was Annabeth Deschain, but I don’t think he had a clue about Agatha. Dina. But I’ve got no idea who Percy is. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Miss Gladieux.” The other officer adjusts his belt and seems to change tracks: “How long have you been at Loon Lake?”

“Uh.” I’m really coming across as sharp and with it. “May. It was a Tuesday. The twenty-first.” Why does that matter?

“And when’s the last time you checked the news?” he asks briskly.

I blink. “Yesterday. Before lunch. I went to the library down in Houghton.” Well, it’s true, so I come out with it: “I looked to see if there were any updates about Annabeth Deschain. If she’s still in hiding.”

He nods slowly. “The news didn’t break until later yesterday afternoon.”

“Wait, what?” Seriously, no connections. No sense.

“There was a body found earlier this week only just identified as Annabeth Deschain,” he explains almost gently. “The coroner believes she’s been dead for four to six weeks, closer to four.”

I shake my head a little. “What do you mean, found?”

“Both your father and Dina Lauritsen are wanted for questioning.” He doesn’t even say it gently. It’s because he realizes I haven’t caught on yet.

That doesn’t answer my question. “Found murdered? Somebody murdered Annabeth?”

“It certainly seems that way, yes,” the first officer says quietly, little pencil poised at the ready.

“Four to …” I accept Truman’s help to sit down in the wheeled chair, so I don’t collapse to the floor. “No, they wouldn’t. Neither of them would.”

“But you understand our desire to confirm that,” he presses, each word a barb.

I shake my head a little, but they’re more likely to interpret it as disbelief and not a contradiction of their actual statement.

This has nothing to do with the phone call to Emily on Tuesday. If they only just identified her yesterday, it can’t have anything to do with the request for the residents’ full names, either. There’s something else going on, too. And clearly, it’s more than just Emily, unless Percy has something to do with Emily, but he’s also out there, presumably with a gun and a van full of everyone else he tracked down at Loon Lake.

Why didn’t he come looking for me? Why did he leave Jane and Henry tied up and alive, and Edgar and Truman out on the lake? If he’s got Jonathan, Lydia, Emily, Jane, and Mary, is it because he honestly wanted all of them, or were some of them just in the way? And in the way of what? What the hell could be so damn important to Percy that he’d do all this just to try to figure out who wants his real name?

The two officers come back with Edgar, who frowns and quickens his step as he approaches the desk. “Alyssa?” It doesn’t matter if that’s fake concern or real. I start crying and bury my face in my hands as Truman awkwardly pulls me toward him and tells Edgar the news.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Henry (6)

Henry didn’t need Jane to remind him of the code for Alyssa’s phone. June 17, 2020, was Dani Jay’s birthday. It didn’t mean she was Dani Jay’s big sister, but it definitely pointed to the depth of self-deception she was under if she wasn’t.

Jane sat rigid behind the wheel, leaning forward, knuckles white. She had the seat positioned properly, but she just couldn’t seem to relax. Henry supposed he could understand that. They were now leaving the relative safety of the retreat, and she didn’t want to speed in case they caught up to the Loon Lake van and its occupants.

He couldn’t seem to stop writing the one-star review in his head. Created panic. Let our privacy be threatened. Didn’t do proper background checks.

Part of the problem was how he was in the middle of this most excellent story, but he hadn’t exactly gotten here under a fully honest flag. When John Krakauer climbed Everest, there were no false pretenses. His guides all knew he was writing about the experience for a magazine. Just because he happened to summit on the first day of the 1996 season and make it down right before the deadly storm hit … and happened to be the first to get out a book about it … There was a reason everyone knew Into Thin Air was about Everest.

What sort of legal hoops did Krakauer have to jump through on that one? He said he wrote things that hadn’t made it into the official investigation, because certain people didn’t speak until after that was concluded, and he’d had to admit that he’d been very, very wrong himself about a couple things. There were accusations of him using others’ blood for money, but that was par for the course when you were writing about a crime. Henry had planned on writing about Dani Jay, not whatever the hell this all was.

Jane relaxed a full millimeter once they hit the paved road. “You’re a reporter.”

Henry nodded. “Freelance.” That was usually the next question.

“And you figured out Gladieux paid for a cabin?” Each word was pointed, and possibly poisoned.

He nodded again, even though she probably couldn’t really see him. Her focus was on the road.

“How did that happen?” she pressed on, relentless.

“I’m not throwing one of my contacts under the bus.” He glanced down at the phone again, hoping for bars.

Jane snorted. “Contacts.”

“Look, you realize I came up here to get a confession from a child killer, right?” God, seriously?

“Look, you realize you fixated on someone who isn’t a child killer, right?” she shot back, mimicking his intonation almost perfectly.

“According to Alyssa.” Come on, Verizon. Do your thing.

She shook her head slowly. “Sweet little Alyssa was ready to tear your throat out and see your blood paint the walls. You clearly hit a nerve.”

“Maybe she’s actually Annabeth Deschain,” he countered.

Jane groaned. “Don’t you ever quit? Exactly how many of our conversations did you record, anyway?”

That answer depended on whether our referred to the two of them in this car, or to everyone at Loon Lake, so Henry checked the phone again and dialed 911. It rang, so that was good. And then rang again. Good thing nobody was currently bleeding out, sheesh. A third time … a fourth …

“911,” someone answered briskly. “What’s your emergency?”

Ugh, he should’ve planned a script. “Hi, I’m from Loon Lake, and—”

“Loon Lake!” the operator interrupted. “We’ve been trying to get through. What’s going on there, sir?”

Henry blinked. “Uh. One of the residents—the guy we’ve been calling Percy—has a gun, and we think he kidnapped the owner? Jonathan Meyer? And maybe more. We saw them drive away in the van.” He blinked. “Oh, and he cut off the phones.”

“The suspect with the gun drove away in a van?” There was a clatter like the operator was taking dictation, but why did it need to be typed up?

“Uh. Yes.” And shit, he just thought This is being recorded, too. “The Loon Lake van. I don’t know the license plate number.”

“Where are you right now?” the operator asked crisply, her tone indicating that Henry should answer quickly and precisely.

Henry looked at Jane. “Where are we right now?”

“M-26, between Loon Lake and Copper Harbor,” she said, like obviously he should know.

Henry relayed that, and then did his best to answer the rest of the operator’s questions: how many people were at Loon Lake. Where the rest of them were. Genders and approximate ages and descriptions. And then—“We’re going to have to turn around”—directions to the sheriff’s department in Eagle Harbor.

Jane grumbled, probably about how there didn’t seem to be many options for turning around, and then added, “Won’t you lose signal?”

Henry answered the question of the make, model, and color of the car, but he couldn’t tell the operator the license plate. He opened the glove compartment again before passing that question on to the operator and then the answer back: “Possibly, but at least then we’ll be at the right place.”

Jane shook her head a little. “We don’t have any ID.”

No, but he found Alyssa’s registration—Alyssa Jean Gladieux, so even though there wasn’t a photo on it, that seemed conclusive—and read off the license plate number and the state. His wallet was in the wall safe in his cabin, and he assumed Jane’s was in her own.

There was a pen in the glove compartment, and Henry wrote down the address of the sheriff’s department in case they did lose signal, although it didn’t seem like Eagle Harbor was all that big. They could just stop and ask anyone, or maybe even get out and walk the grid of streets to find it. Everything was so dinky up here.

He did lose signal, and when Henry lowered the phone to his lap, he noticed Jane’s frown. “What?”

“They didn’t ask for your name.” Once again, this was Jane telling him that he should’ve already thought of this.

Henry blinked. “What?”

“The operator didn’t ask for your name,” she repeated, and now he was a small child too stupid to understand. “They usually do that. Name and address. They want to know who’s calling.”

He tried to run the conversation back through his head. “I said it was about Loon Lake. They must know about Loon Lake.”

“I guess. She shook her head.

“Plus they have our car,” he said suddenly. “Alyssa’s car. They’ll send out an alert for it if we don’t show up in time.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Does that seem like enough?”

“She asked what’s going on at Loon Lake,” Henry added, realizing that no, Jane hadn’t heard that half of the conversation. “They must’ve found another phone and gotten through, but …” Now he frowned. “Huh.”

“Huh?” she prompted.

“She sounded stressed, almost panicked, like she knew something was going on, but she didn’t know what was going on, so that doesn’t sound like a phone call, does it?” There, now he was ahead of her with the information, thank you very much.

Jane shook her head slowly, eyes still on the road like it was a six-lane highway and not barely wide enough for two. “I don’t think anybody knows what’s going on. But they have to know Jonathan, don’t they? Since he does all his business around here.”

“Brings in the money,” Henry agreed. And, if he were that well known, then the whole secrecy aspect of Loon Lake had to be part of that knowledge, right? Or maybe they thought of it as privacy.

Jane glanced at Henry and then focused back on the road again. “If they search our cabins, they’re going to find your recorder.” And his notes. Shit. All the stuff pointing to Emily as being Annabeth Deschain, and there went his scoop. At least the actual evidence of Gladieux’s payment wasn’t in the cabin, but after they found all the rest … after that got out … Henry sighed and slumped in his seat and waited for the miles to pass.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Alyssa (5)

It’s an anticlimax: no one answers at Christie or Dickinson. When I go back to the lodge, adrenaline losing the battle to exhaustion, Edgar’s behind the desk with a whole line of panic buttons. “Are they supposed to light up or anything when they’re pushed?” he asks.

“Not there.” I come around the desk and wiggle the mouse to wake up the desktop and open an app. Each of the buttons is connected to a specific cabin, two to a cabin, and all twelve lights are lit up. 911 has been alerted, and hey, the power’s still on. When they try to call the desk to ask if it’s a real emergency or not, and get no answer, they’ll have to send someone out here to check. “Did you search the whole lodge?”

He nods. “Unless someone’s crammed into a tiny cupboard or something, there’s nobody here. Agatha and Emily?”

“No answer.” I want to relax. Dear God, I want to relax, but that could be the biggest mistake. No answer could actually be the worst outcome, because either they can’t answer, or they’re not there, and if they’re not there, and they’re not here, where are they?

“Okay, so.” Edgar gestures at the computer screen. “We wait here, right? Because if we’re found skulking around one of the cabins …”

He’s not white. Whatever cops show up will likely be white. “There’s nothing we can do about Dickinson or Christie,” I agree.

“Shelley?” Edgar shakes his head. “We’ve got no idea what’s going on with the two of them. Our luck, they’ve got booby traps strung up around the cabin.”

I blink, but they’re the last cabin. As far as I know, Percy’s been the only one in and out. Maybe Edgar’s living in one of his movies, or maybe he has a point. Honestly, the safer bet is staying here and waiting for … well. Waiting for some of the people who ended up botching the case about my little sister.

To be technical, it won’t be the exact same people. Dad doesn’t live up here. But the police showed up, and they made a mess of everything. I’ve heard arguments that the first forty-eight hours aren’t what we’ve been taught they are, but I’ve heard it both ways: that actually it’s the first twenty-four, or really things can be collected and connected after two days have passed.

I wasn’t there when it happened. It was my last semester, so I was in class, and by the time I got a phone call they’d found her and there was no reason for me to get in my car and rush home. But, by the time they found her, there’d also been a lot of people tromping through the house and yard and acting like she was a runaway or something.

Annabeth was allowed to do whatever she wanted and go where she pleased, so she could’ve covered up any evidence that wasn’t already trampled. Nobody made a note of whether the gate was closed or locked or what, so we don’t know for sure if Dani Jay could’ve gotten up there on her own or if someone must have helped her. When the police realized the hot tub cover was slightly off, they shoved it the rest of the way in a panic like they’d just seen her fall in, and not like she’d been missing for two hours. Were Annabeth’s fingerprints on the cover? If they weren’t, maybe she put on gloves, but we’ll never know. One of the officers even hopped in the tub, splashing water everywhere, and grabbed her out before any photos or anything could be taken—again, like it had just happened.

When you do the Red Cross babysitting course, you learn that a child can drown in as little as two inches of water, and it takes less than a minute. You don’t leave a kid splashing around in the bath even for a second, and Dani Jay was in the hot tub, sized for four adults.

She couldn’t have moved that cover on her own. If the gate was properly latched, she couldn’t have gotten up to the deck on her own. Dad’s not even sure she could’ve managed the stairs on her own but, given enough time, Dani Jay could’ve done it. She was stubborn. Dad and Dina and Annabeth all went on the record saying of course they latched the gate, because they always latched the gate, but I know it haunts Dad and Dina because they can’t know for sure. There’s no photographic evidence because the police didn’t take any and there aren’t cameras in their backyard. They worry that maybe it was them: that they didn’t pull the gate closed the last time they went through, and that they were distracted and accidentally bumped the hot tub cover while moving the deck furniture around or something.

If Annabeth was ever haunted, she hid it well.

She said she spoke to Dina and officially transferred Dani Jay to her custody. That Dina was on the laptop and didn’t look up, but said something like “Yeah, sure.” So she puts herself in the clear, off duty, and unresponsible. It’s clever, in a malicious way, because Dina can’t say she doesn’t recall that without making it look like she was simply distracted, and her distraction means Dani Jay died.

Edgar takes a step closer to me. “Hey.”

I look up, but it takes a moment for me to see his face instead of the thoughts in my head.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” he says softly.

Oh, is it that obvious? I swipe at my eyes again and clear my throat. “That’s my only interaction with the police, you know? After,”

He nods, but the door opens before he can say anything, and Edgar’s reaction time is astonishing. He turns, taking half a step to the side to place himself between me and the newcomer, arms spread to keep me back, all before either of us can focus and see that it’s Truman and none of that was necessary. Edgar drops his arms, but only a little, one hand gesturing for me to stay back. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Jane and Henry left. They’ll make the call. We saw the van leaving. Jonathan driving, Percy in the passenger seat.” Truman shrugs and shifts to the side so he can see me. “I’ve got my keys. We can get out of here. However many we are.”

“Emily and Agatha didn’t answer. But Edgar reminded me of the emergency buttons, and he pushed all of them.” I gesture at the desk.

Truman blinks. “I didn’t even think of those buttons. God, that’ll panic them. All twelve going off at once?”

“Maybe they need to be panicked.” Edgar steps aside, and it’s taken me this long to realize he thought Truman might’ve been some sort of double agent. “If we hit those, and Jane’s calling, then is leaving our best course of action?”

Truman shakes his head, not to say no but to say he doesn’t know, and he shrugs a little apologetically as he leans over the desk to pick up the phone. “Huh.”

Wait, it works?

“How did he take the phones down but leave the computer?” He says it loud enough that he’s asking us, not just himself.

I am so not the IT person here.

Edgar steadies himself on the edge of the desk and crouches down to look underneath it. “But it’s all of them, isn’t it? So there has to be some sort of, what, main switchboard?”

I don’t think he’s ever played an IT person.

“I’ve never seen anything like that here,” Truman argues.

I close my eyes. “It’s got to be in their cabin. The Meyers’ cabin.”

Edgar looks up at me. “You think?”

“That’s the real base of operations.” Like we keep running into today. Jonathan never imagined that both he and Lydia would be gone. “This is just the hub for the residents.”

Truman groans and rubs both hands over his face. “Maybe Percy came here, but he probably also went there. That’s what we’re thinking?”

At this point I’m not sure what we’re thinking. Or even if we’re thinking. None of this makes sense, so maybe we’re trying to force some sort of explanation on the inexplicable. If he went from Henry’s to the lodge to the Meyers’, though, that is a bit roundabout and backtracking, especially for ending up in the parking lot taking the van. But it doesn’t make sense for him to grab Jonathan from the cabin and then force him to come to the lodge when Jonathan would have to know that Percy would just threaten Lydia, unless maybe Percy promised that Lydia would be fine as long as Jonathan obeyed. It doesn’t take the most observant person in the world to pinpoint Jonathan’s one weakness.

Truman starts to take a breath, then turns, head cocked. A moment later I hear it, too: sirens. More than one.

Here they come, but it’s not Dani Jay missing and in major trouble this time. It’s her mom, and probably Jonathan, and maybe Lydia and Emily, too. God, I hope they know what they’re doing.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Henry (5)

Truman had to be half deer or something. Did you call that a faun, or were fauns goats? No, the goats were satyrs, and the satyrs were the horny bastards always after wood sprites and female anything. A lot of women got turned into trees or something to keep them away from lecherous satyrs, but fauns? Or were fauns only girls?

The point was, Truman had to be at least partly a mythical creature. He moved through the woods in a straight line and didn’t wobble on the uneven ground or get smacked in the face by a branch when he looked down to make sure he wasn’t stepping in a hole. Seriously, the trees seemed to bend out of the way for him and mark some sort of luminous path to follow.

Henry panted and cursed and wished he’d had time to do more than slip on a pair of shoes that really weren’t cut out for this and would, at any moment now, start showing a bloodstain over his injured toe.

Jane didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was the whole ballerina thing. All the noises Henry heard came from himself: his lungs, his feet, his pounding heartbeat. It couldn’t be the physical exertion, right? He was used to gyms instead of the outdoors, but he did at least make use of gyms. And honestly, it wasn’t actually fear, unless it was fear of getting lost in the woods.

Okay maybe it was fear of getting lost in the woods.

He breathed a sigh of relief when Truman slowed down, and yes, things looked lighter up ahead. It was even nicer when Truman held out a hand to tell them to stop, and Henry did, holding onto a handy tree. A tree oozing sap. He had the ridiculous duct tape still clinging to his limbs under his sweatshirt and jeans, and now his palm was sticky, too. Great. Just great.

Jonathan might carefully select the reviews to put on the website, but that didn’t mean Henry couldn’t put scathing comments on Yelp and Google. Seriously, Loon Lake needed to screen its residents better.

Truman looked back, held a finger to his lips, and then gestured for the others to come join him. Henry peeled his hand away from the tree and resisted the urge to try to wipe it on his shirt, where it would just get stuck. He made it up to Truman in time to see the Loon Lake van leave the parking lot, Jonathan at the wheel and Percy in the shotgun seat.

It was impossible to tell if they were alone. The windows in the back of the van were dark, for the passengers’ privacy.

Henry sighed and felt his shoulders drop. “So that’s all right, then.”

Jane ignored him. “How many people can you take in your car?”

“Five, same as Alyssa’s. Three in the back seat.” Truman even hooked a thumb over his shoulder to demonstrate.

She started popping up fingers: “Alyssa, Edgar, Emily, Agatha … maybe Mary … we didn’t see Lydia … could you cram two people in the cargo space if you had to?”

Truman shrugged. “If we had to, we could make people sit on top of each other.”

Jane held out her hand. “We’ll go far enough to call. I’ll hang back so I don’t see them.”

“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” he asked, not ready to surrender.

She nodded. “Out to the highway and take a left. Drive until we get signal.”

Truman handed over the keys.

“Okay, but we’re like safe here,” Henry protested.

“We just saw someone you told us has a gun drive off with Jonathan,” Jane pointed out. “None of us is getting out of this without a police interview, so either you come with me now, or you wait here for them to show up.”

Neither of those sounded like a good idea, thanks. “What are you going to do?” he asked Truman.

“Get my keys and find Alyssa,” he answered promptly. “See how many we can round up and get the hell out of here.”

Henry pointed up the drive toward camp. “This is the one place you know Percy isn’t!”

“For now,” Truman agreed. “But we don’t know how long he’ll be gone. Get out of here, make that call, and put people on this.” Jane nodded as she and Truman started walking, veering away from each other in a V, and Henry found himself limp-running after Jane to catch up.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Alyssa (4)

Edgar waits for the back door to close before speaking. “Can you get into our cabins?”

I shake my head. Jonathan should’ve told him this, but maybe he’s just double-checking that it wasn’t merely part of the spiel. “Even after you leave, the button we push resets it to Jonathan’s print.”

“What about an emergency?” he wants to know.

“If I hit the scanner, an alert goes off in the lodge ten minutes later, but then it still needs Jonathan to override it.” Which, yeah, seems a bit short-sighted now.

He raises an eyebrow. “So, in a medical emergency …”

“Part of the informational packet says you can get alert pendants at the lodge that notify the desk and call 911, if you’re concerned.” Ugh, that’s still so customer service of me.

Edgar smirks. “I have people who read that kind of thing for me.”

“Hey, as long as the signature’s real.” I pull out a half-used notepad and grab a pen, quickly drawing a bunch of rectangles and the connecting path. “Okay, so the only cabin on this side that we can’t be sure of is the Meyers’.” I put an X over mine, Longfellow, Austen, and Poe, assuming Edgar made sure the door shut behind him when he left.

He nods, so we’re going with that. “What about the cameras in the lodge?”

“They’re live feeds and they go to the kitchen and maybe the Meyers’ cabin. I don’t have access to them here.” It’s another short-sighted decision that’s never been questioned before.

“Damn.” Edgar shakes his head. “Okay. As far as Percy knows, neither of us has a clue what’s going on, but you know who that caller was after.”

I do, but that’s all I know. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how it turned from May I please speak with Emily Dickinson? into Jonathan calling us all together like that.

“I can stay with you,” Edgar offers. “We don’t have to split up.”

My nose wrinkles before I can stop it. “It’s my day off. You’d never bother me on my day off.”

He tilts his head in a concession. “So am I going to the lodge or to one of the cabins?”

“The lodge,” I answer immediately. “I’ll go to Agatha’s first and see if she’s there.”

“And if she’s not?” He’s really looking for every contingency here.

I shrug. “Then I’d check the lodge next.”

“Why would you be looking for Agatha in the first place?” he wants to know, like he’s simply being reasonable.

I can’t tell if the warm brown eyes thing is a real part of Edgar being Edgar or if he’s just perfected it for the cameras. “My dad hopes she’ll agree to be my stepmom.”

He blinks and looks away, maybe calculating how old she appears—younger than my oldest brother, but still a little older than I am—and then nods. “Okay. You leave first. I’ll wait for you to get out of sight and then go to the lodge. If she’s in her cabin … shoot, all the phones are out.”

“Percy’s most likely in the lodge, the Meyers’ cabin, or the Shelley cabin,” I muse. And, wait, I can’t reprogram one of the locks on my cabin to open for Edgar because Jonathan has the master thumbprint.

Edgar takes a deep breath and nods once. “Okay. We meet here. If I’m first, I’ll wait around back. If you’re first, you’ll see me come and open the door without having to knock.”

“Who’s checking Emily’s cabin?” See, he’s not the only one who can pay attention to details.”

“Um.” He frowns. “That should probably be you. After you get Agatha.”

Ah, the power of positive thinking. “Okay.”

“Hey, so those buttons that automatically call 911.” Edgar raises an eyebrow. “They’re in the lodge somewhere?”

That makes me blink. “Yeah. They’re in the desk, lower right-hand drawer. If it’s locked, the key’s in the skinny middle drawer.”

Edgar nods. “Got it. If no one’s around, I’ll hit as many as I can.”

He means if Percy’s not around. If it’s Jonathan or Lydia or Emily or Agatha, then maybe he’s okay. If there’s a strange woman who might be Mary, he’s probably not.

“Go on,” Edgar urges me. “Be safe.”

There have been a lot of times in my life where it didn’t seem to matter if I lived or died. Try watching your own mother die from cancer, or getting a phone call where your dad’s voice sounds so lifeless you have to question whether it even is your dad, except it’s not his voice that’s dead. It’s your little sister, the only sibling younger than you are, and she’s never going to laugh and call you Yissa ever again.

This isn’t one of those times, but it’s not just me. It’s Agatha, who needs to be safe because otherwise my dad’s going to have another blow, and he can’t take that. If she came back and told him she’d thought it over and didn’t want to stay, that would be bad enough, but endurable. Probably. I don’t want to think about how he’d be if she doesn’t come back at all. I swipe at my eyes without thinking about it, and nod, and leave the safety of my cabin because I simply don’t have another choice.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Henry (4)

Dear Aaron,

I hope this page survives, and I hope you know I love you. You were wrong about a lot of things, but you were right about a lot of them, too. If there’s something after death, I’ll find Dani Jay and we’ll wait for you, but you have to go on and live a full and happy life in the meantime.

I love you. I wanted the rest of our lives together, all three of us and maybe more. You were right about that.

Love always and forever, Dina

---