Rebecca Frost

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), coming August 15

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), coming August 14

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

---

Henry felt, vaguely, as though he should have volunteered to do the dangerous part rather than simply pulling some clothes on and gingerly slipping into a pair of shoes. That was what people in movies did after they’d been revealed to be double agents or worse: risked their lives for the people they’d betrayed. Except that was movies, not real life, Besides, he might be morally gray, but that didn’t mean he was the bad guy. He hadn’t wronged anyone. Even though he’d made Alyssa, perfect customer service Alyssa, want to claw his eyes out with her bare hands. It was a good thing Truman’s reflexes were so fast, although it also seemed to indicate that Alyssa was telling the truth or that Alyssa had already told Truman the same lie.

Right now he couldn’t think of why Alyssa would tell him that specific lie, though, or why the hell Gladieux needed to pay for a cabin if she was actually working here all summer. Although … Henry turned to Alyssa, but she was at the door, watching, so he focused on Jane instead. “She said Emily’s not Annabeth Deschain.”

Jane blinked a very cold, reptilian blink. “Correct.”

“But she didn’t say Agatha isn’t.” He said it carefully, like a pronouncement.

This blink was suddenly hot and flashing. “Are you kidding me?”

“Gladieux’s paying for a cabin,” he insisted. “I’ve got a copy of the receipt back home. He’s paying for one, she said it’s not Emily, so unless you’re telling me it’s you …”

“You’re unbelievable.” She wouldn’t even look at him.

“All I’m saying is—”

Her hand went to his mouth in a rather violent shushing gesture, since Alyssa slipped out the door. Jane pointed that way with a sharp gesture of her head, telling Henry to go next.

Any protests about women first were useless. Let her stay back if she wanted. Henry went up to the door, took the edge of it from Truman, and really couldn’t get over the fact that Edgar acting as lookout really was like Edgar playing lookout in any number of costumes, with varying facial hair. It felt like a movie. Percy held a gun on him this morning and it all still felt like a movie.

Henry couldn’t see Alyssa’s door from where he stood, but apparently Edgar could, because his hand came up again and he beckoned without looking back at Henry’s cabin. Feeling a bit like an elephant that failed the audition for Fantasia, Henry left his cabin at a quick walk, trying to see and hear absolutely everything around him while not tripping on anything at his feet. The door to Alyssa’s cabin looked closed, but she opened it as he approached and he went straight to the telephone.

Alyssa glanced back at him, but she kept hold of the door so it wouldn’t shut, like the click would be loud enough for an unseen Percy to hear. “And?”

The cord looked fine, so he picked up the handset and realized he was holding his breath. “Nothing.”

She sighed, slouching a little even as her eyes stayed vigilant. “He cut off the main switchboard.”

“Would Percy know how to do that?” Shoot, that was more accusatory than calm.

“Jonathan and Lydia do.” Alyssa made a vague gesture before she opened the door again and Jane came in.

She beelined toward the phone, too, like she thought it wouldn’t have occurred to Henry. “Dead.”

“Yeah, I already tried.” He tried not to sound smug, but he didn’t try very hard.

“Well, it doesn’t seem very smart to have a whole phone system that can be shut off at the lodge,” she sniffed.

Alyssa shook her head. “Cut off, not shut off. We haven’t tried the lights, either. It could be a whole generator outage.”

Jane looked at the switch on the wall, but at least Henry didn’t have to stop her from trying it. She probably would’ve fought him, for her own sake as much as Alyssa’s, and done what damage she could with her sensible nails.

Truman came in, followed shortly by Edgar, and Alyssa locked the door. At least the shades were down, although Henry realized that he was slow in noticing that. Truman raised his eyebrows at Jane, possibly since she was still closest to the phone, and she shook her head.

Edgar looked around the room. “How many seats in your car?”

“Five, if three people squish in the back.” Alyssa opened a drawer in one of the end tables and grabbed her keys, holding them out to Truman. “061720. That unlocks my phone.”

Truman just looked at the keys. “You’re coming, too.”

“Agatha and Emily might not even know something’s going on.” Her tone didn’t change.

He took a step closer to Alyssa but still didn’t touch the keys. “You’re coming, too.”

Alyssa shook her head. “Get them through the woods and drive on out of here. Jane?”

“Yeah?” She was alert, but no longer a deer. There was something predatory. This Jane was a meat-eater.

“My phone’s in the glove box,” Alyssa explained calmly and clearly. “It’s probably still got some juice, but plug it in. 061720. Wait until you have bars. It’ll be a couple miles at least before it can support a call.”

She nodded. “061720.”

Henry cleared his throat. “Maybe I should stay—”

“No.” Alyssa didn’t even shake her head. “You get the fuck out of my sight.”

“Me?” Edgar offered and then, at her frown: “There are two of them. Emily and Agatha. They might not be together.”

“Stay,” Truman agreed with a nod. “If you’re willing.”

Edgar shrugged. “I’ve faced guns before.”

Sure, Henry thought. The same kinds you’ve handled: ones without real bullets in them. Except he wasn’t entirely convinced that this was what Edgar meant.

Alyssa turned back to Jane. “Tell them to come without sirens. If Percy hears them, I don’t know what he’d do, but he’d be warned.”

She nodded and looked at Truman. “Shall we?”

He hesitated, slowly reaching for the keys, but once he had them, he grabbed Alyssa’s shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss. Very action movie. All of it felt fake: the idea of danger. Splitting up, some of them going for help while others stayed.

If Henry was sure of the genre, he’d be able to figure out which course of action was safer, but there wasn’t time for that. Action movie kisses only lasted ages when they were shot in slow motion with an explosion behind them, and Truman gave Alyssa a long, hard look, nodded, and started toward the back door of the cabin. “Come on.”

“Hope you’ve got a good compass in your head,” Henry murmured.

Truman didn’t turn around. “You could always go back to your cabin. You’d probably be fine there.” The gun flashed into his mind again. It was possible that, once Percy had the information he wanted, he’d come back. Henry shut his mouth and ordered himself to keep it that way, no matter what.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Agatha (3)

I grab for Truman’s hand, or maybe he grabs for mine, but I’m gripping his hard and feel like I could pounce on Henry and take him to the floor. “What do you mean, Aaron Gladiuex’s paid for her cabin?”

He shrugs, like of course an employee of Loon Lake would be concerned about an information leak. “Look, I’m a reporter, okay? I found the receipt. Aaron Gladieux paid for a cabin for July, for a single person, and basically it’s confirming he’s having an affair with Deschain.”

“You’re a reporter?” Jane snarls, although at least she doesn’t resist when Edgar takes the scissors from her and sets them aside.

“At this point I feel like it’s the least of our worries—” Henry starts in an absolutely aggravating just calm down tone.

“Emily isn’t Annabeth Deschain.” Truman’s hand shifts in mine to hold it more naturally, or maybe to ask me to stop trying to break his bones.

Henry blinks, then laughs. “You can’t know that. You don’t know who anyone is here.”

I take a deep breath, but fuck it. “I’m Alyssa Gladieux. Annabeth Deschain killed my baby sister. I’d know her anywhere.”

Edgar and Jane look at me with almost comically identical expressions: a raised eyebrow and then a sort of understanding nod, like it all falls into place. Henry, though, laughs again. “That doesn’t make any sense. You work here. Your dad wouldn’t need to pay for a month.”

“Wait, you came here specially because you thought one of us was Annabeth Deschain?” Jane counters. “You thought I could’ve killed a little girl?”

“No, of course not. I dismissed you straight off.” Henry’s still looking at me as he says it, which means he never even considered me in the first place. “You’re not really Alyssa Gladieux.”

“The point is, we have no idea why someone was trying to call Emily,” Edgar cuts in, “and why that phone call seems to have led to someone wanting all of our identities.”

“Or why Percy’s going around tying people up,” Jane adds, shaking her head. “Truman, do you always get such a bunch of law-breaking ruffians in the summer?”

“If we do, they hide it better. Lyss, your cabin phone’s probably still working, right?” he asks me.

I shrug. “I was in there most of the morning. Unless Percy’s broken in since.” It’s my turn to frown.

Truman groans. “Or done something to the main switchboard. I didn’t see anything, but that light was flashing, so we just took off for Jane’s.”

“Do we have any weapons?” Edgar wants to know before holding out his hands, palm up. “I’ve never fired real bullets. I’m just asking.”

“You’re not supposed to have any weapons,” Jane snaps. “It’s one of the things we signed.”

“Great, so Percy can get the rest of his stay revoked after he kills us,” Henry shoots back.

“Well, what did you bring that you’re not supposed to?” she retorts.

His hand goes to his chest before he realizes what he’s doing, but Edgar gets it first because he looks around and snatches up the pendant Henry usually wears. “Unbelievable,” he growls, examining it. “Recording device. Anything you’ve ever said to him is on the record.”

I slowly turn to look at Henry. “And you went after Emily.”

“What?” Honestly, he’s got such a dumb, blank look in his eyes.

“You zoomed in on Emily because you wanted to get her to confess it, didn’t you. Murdering Dani Jay.” I shake my head a little. “You just wanted to mine my family’s tragedy for even more headlines.”

“Alyssa—”

“She was a baby, Henry!” I’m almost vibrating. “Barely more than a baby, and they pulled her out of that hot tub—”

“Alyssa!” Truman’s arms go around me in a restraint, not a hug. “Not now!”

“Later,” Jane agrees, crossing her arms and keeping her eyes coolly fixed on Henry. “We’ll deal with him later.”

Truman doesn’t want to let me go. It’s like he knows I have half an eye on the scissors. “Your cabin, Lyss. We’ll stick together and all head to your cabin, okay?”

“And if her phone doesn’t work either?” Edgar asks.

He nods at me. “Her car keys are in her cabin, and her cell phone’s in her car.” And the parking lot’s quite a trek from my cabin if you take the path and the road, but if he can keep a straight line through the woods, he’ll get there quickly.

Well. If Truman decides to do that, he’s probably leaving the rest of us behind to barricade ourselves in and wait for the cavalry.

Edgar nods. “I’ll check and see if it’s clear.”

Um. Like it’s one of his roles?

He shakes his head at Truman when he tries to protest. “You’re the one who’ll have to go for the car if we need it, right? So we don’t want him picking you off if he’s out there.”

“I’m sorry, so you’re risking your life?” Jane counters, but Edgar shrugs and grins.

“I bet I’ve had more training than you.” But he frowns down at his brightly colored bathing suit. “Henry, I need to raid your closet.”

Henry doesn’t protest. He’s probably realized exactly how badly he’s outed himself. A reporter, really? Shouldn’t Jonathan have caught that? His real name’s got to be on a bunch of bylines. And the freaking necklace! I’ve seen him zoom in on Emily, engaging her in conversations, including …

It’s a good thing Truman’s right here, because I sort of sag against him. The dead kids conversation. The one I didn’t want Agatha walking in on. He used the dead kids to try to get Emily to confess to murdering Dani Jay. Dani Jay, who never got old enough to say my name right. She’d run to the door, somehow not falling despite being so tiny, little pudgy hands held out, yelling Yissa, Yissa! Christmases with her were the best since Mom died. Even that first year, when she was too young to have any clue what was going on. We all got together for it, and both of my brothers came home with their wives and kids, and it finally felt like family again.

This past Christmas was the epitome of hell on earth. Nobody came together. My brothers made excuses and didn’t even go with their wives’ families. They just didn’t want to come home. Dad and Dina separately told me it probably wasn’t a good idea to visit, and they never even got a tree.

Fucking Henry. We’re supposed to be figuring out how to heal around this wound that just won’t go away, and he came up here because he found out Dad paid for a cabin?

Wait. I look at Truman suddenly, because that part’s true. Dad paid for a cabin. It’s not just Percy and Jonathan and Lydia out there.

“We’ll call,” he says quietly in my ear, either reading it in my face or thinking of the same thing at the same time. “If your phone works, we’ll call.”

Except maybe we won’t, because if that call goes to 911, don’t they ask you to stay on the line until help arrives?

Edgar comes out in khakis that don’t quite fit, but he’ll blend in better. “I’ll signal for you to come if it’s clear,” he tells us, holding up his hand in the gesture he’ll use. “Alyssa first to unlock the door. One at a time. Don’t move until I say so.” He at least sounds like he knows what he’s doing, but Edgar’s used to knowing what everyone else around him is doing, too: hitting marks. Only shooting at the acceptable times. Not using real bullets. Truman nods, though, because apparently it sounds good to him. Edgar goes to the back door, opens it slowly, and makes sure I’ve got a hold of it and I’m watching before he slips out, trying to look everywhere at once.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Henry (3)

Dear Diary,

The lodge is quiet. Too quiet. I guess Lydia doesn’t always put more things out for lunch, and I’ve never looked back in the kitchen for her, so I don’t want to just go poke my head in because I’m feeling weird. And I don’t usually see Jonathan, since he’s more likely to be out picking up emails or grocery shopping or whatever.

I did see Truman and Edgar come in, but I don’t think they saw me. I was in here, trying to read some fluffy romance novel, and I guess they saw a message on the desk or something because they took off right away, basically just passing through. I’ve got no idea what that could mean, but my stomach keeps twisting, and I don’t want to eat lunch. Maybe I’ll just wait here until someone comes back.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Alyssa (2)

Being duct taped to the chair wasn’t so bad, but the last thing Percy did before he left—if he did leave, and right now Henry doubted his own senses—was put Henry’s own sleep mask over his eyes. It was a very high-quality sleep mask, so not a single bit of light got through and, try as hard as he could, Henry couldn’t shift it. He was trapped, and he was blind, and both the front and back doors opened only to his thumb, so how long would it take for someone to notice he was missing?

At this point he wasn’t even entirely sure time was passing. He struggled but wasn’t able to see if the tape actually cut into his skin, so he couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat on his wrists. Everything was a mess, a jumble inside his head, and had he been so focused on Annabeth Deschain that he’d missed an even bigger story? A more dangerous one.

Emily was self-medicating with alcohol, but still in enough control that she hadn’t confessed anything to him. Still in enough control that she felt shame for throwing herself at him. She wasn’t pathetic, exactly, but she also wasn’t living the high life and happy with her actions, which would’ve made the better story. Defiant young woman, laughing in the face of the death she either caused or didn’t stop, so on and so forth. If you wanted to find someone pathetic at Loon Lake, you had to look in the Longfellow cabin.

He couldn’t be sure that he’d heard Percy leave, because he didn’t think he’d heard the door shut. Every single thing he thought he heard was clearly Percy coming back for him, to shoot him or cut his throat or who knew what, for reasons Henry didn’t understand.

That was the worst part, really. He could’ve understood if Emily came after him, because hey, he’d gone after her in the first place. It made sense. It wouldn’t be good, but it wasn’t dying for no reason. This, though …

“Henry?”

He jerked, but couldn’t move too much because of the duct tape around his chest and his arms and his wrists. Was that Percy’s voice? And, if it was Percy’s voice, why was it so quiet?

Were those footfalls, or just the blood rushing in his ears? There were things said in low voices he couldn’t catch, but those were voices, plural, and then maybe the sound of a door snicking shut, and, closer: “Jesus, Henry.”

The light flooding in made his eyes water, but there wasn’t anything he could do about that except blink and let them run.

“Phone’s cut,” someone reported from behind him as he tried to focus on the face in front of him.

“You’re not going to want to use your scissors after this.”

“I look terrible with bangs, anyway.”

Henry couldn’t make sense of it. The “Hold still” seemed to be directed at him, and he’d laugh if he wasn’t struggling to breathe, but the dark shapes shifted and someone started tugging on his left arm.

The panic flared, because maybe the tape was tightening, except suddenly it was looser, and there was a ripping sound and his wrist was free. “Start at the one on your mouth,” someone too grown-up and businesslike to really be Jane told him, and the slowly sharpening blurs moved again, and the process was repeated with his right hand.

The tape was stuck, and of course he hadn’t shaved since yesterday morning, and it felt like he was waxing his entire face and doing some sort of chemical peel besides. He nearly had to scrape gouges into his cheek to even get the end of the tape to come up, and when his right hand was free, he started in on the other side of it, too, while they worked on the rest of the tape holding him to this freaking solid heavy chair.

He sucked in a deep breath through his barely-parted lips as soon as he could and yanked a good portion of the tape, and his skin, off when he started coughing and needed the airway. It made his eyes well up again, but at this point crying in front of other people seemed insignificant compared to slowly suffocating in front of them. “Percy,” he finally gasped when he could, although it was strange they hadn’t asked him any questions yet. “It was Percy.”

“Where did he go from here?” someone snapped.

Henry blinked and shielded his eyes, wincing at the hanging duct tape still attached to his arm, because yes, that was Jane. “Where …?”

“He got me and I told him you overheard that phone call. Then he came to you.” She shrugged and put one hand on her hip. “Where did he go next?”

“I …” That dangling tape was really annoying, but the part still on him was stuck to his arm hair. Henry shook his head and looked around, trying to identify the others: Edgar, Truman and then, at the end, Alyssa. “I told him I’d only heard what you said, but then you had Jonathan take the call.”

Alyssa looked immediately at Truman, who shook his head. “I didn’t see either Jonathan or Lydia at the lodge. Just the emergency light flashing for Austen.”

“He has a gun.” Henry cleared his throat and repeated it more intelligibly: “Percy has a gun.”

Jane let out a low whistle. “He didn’t use a gun on me.”

“How did he get into your cabin?” Truman all but demanded.

She shrugged. “He knocked. I opened the door.”

“Same.” Henry shifted and winced. “Anyone know how to get duct tape off?”

“Olive oil or WD-40,” Edgar said promptly.

He blinked and decided not to ask any of the dozen questions that came to mind. “I don’t have either of those.”

“We’ve got both up at the lodge.” Truman looked over to Alyssa, who frowned and rubbed nervously at her mouth.

“Was that call for Percy?” Henry demanded, because hey, the man was running around with a gun, cutting phone wires.

“No,” Jane answered. “Alyssa already told me that.”

“Who was it for?” Edgar asked, and it was his tone—calm, like he wanted to know if it was going to rain later—that made them all turn to Alyssa expectantly.

“If he finds out, he’ll probably go after that person next,” Truman added softly.

Alyssa took a deep breath, shook her head, and said it: “Emily.”

“Ah.” Henry hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud until they all looked at him.

“Do you know something about this?” Jane demanded, and Henry saw she still held the shiny pair of scissors.

“Well.” Henry cleared his throat, but he’d already put his foot in it, and there was a man running around out there with a gun. “I’m pretty sure Emily’s Annabeth Deschain, and Aaron Gladieux paid for her month here.” They all stared.

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Agatha (2)

I’m restless. The hammock isn’t doing it for me today. I don’t want to drive anywhere, but I don’t really want to stay here, either. I don’t know what I want, which I guess is pretty par for the course, but it’s really the first time I’ve felt so out of sorts at Loon Lake. Mostly it’s fine, if not good, but this? I don’t even know.

I don’t really want to think that I just need to catch a glimpse of Truman and then I’ll feel better, but it’s also occurred to me, so it’s the lodge. I’ll head up to the lodge, and pick up some lunch instead of staying in here, and maybe look for another book. Hercule Poirot’s starting to wear on me.

I just don’t know what’s up with me. Maybe it’s Truman. Truman coming over again last night and the two of us kissing, finally kissing, until he said he really should go and not rush things. Like we’re rushing things. I told him I don’t feel like we are, but he shook his head and then kissed my forehead. I don’t know if he escaped or slunk out or what. He left when I thought he could’ve stayed, but if he didn’t want to stay …

Pulling on a hoodie, I head out of my cabin and up the path toward the lodge. I’m off-duty, but habit is habit, and that means glancing up the little trails toward each cabin as I pass them in case I need to greet a resident or something. Jane’s door is ajar. It’s not open all the way, and it shouldn’t be, anyway, because there’s no screen door to cover the opening. The front door has a screen, but not this one.

I stop and look up and down the path, but there’s nobody. Henry’s cabin is back there, behind me, and Edgar’s is up ahead, but Edgar’s probably still out on the water and Henry should be knitting in his rocking chair. Jane hasn’t really shown a regular sort of schedule, but she also doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to be casual about her possessions. The doors have locks for a reason, and those locks mean only the cabin’s resident can get in.

Well. Unless someone lets them in. I look around again, more of a hesitation than making sure, and go up to knock on the door. “Jane?”

I tilt my head and listen, not opening the door any further just yet. I don’t really know why. I just wait, and straighten up a little when I think I might hear something. The sound someone makes when just awakened from a heavy sleep? “Jane?”

It’s a little louder this time, almost a moan, or the stifled sort of noise you might make if someone had a hand pressed over your mouth, either consensually or non. If it’s consensually, then I feel like I’d also hear other noises.

I put my thumb on the scanner on Jane’s cabin door and check my watch. I have ten minutes to thumb it again and stop the alert from going off at the lodge, which could be an eternity if something’s really wrong, but it’s supposed to give us enough time to check on the resident and be able to decide on an all-clear.

The light on the lock flashes yellow, so it’s logged, and I push the door open slowly.

It’s dark in the cabin. The lights aren’t on, and the blinds are down across the front windows. The noise comes again, and a squeak that’s almost what I half-expect, but the bedroom door’s mostly shut and it’s not a repeated creaking. I knock, because it’s a delay, and say her name again: “Jane?”

There’s that same muffled sound, but it’s not words. No go away, and no come in, but I push open the door and drop back half a step, because okay, this doesn’t look consensual. “Shit, just …” I’m in the main room before I can say anything else, reaching for the phone and one of the buttons, but my brain doesn’t have to pick between the lodge and 911 because the phone cord’s been cut.

My heart slams into my throat as implications jam up along my neural pathways, because that’s not going to help right now. Am I going to help right now? Hell if I know. I make sure the front door’s locked, and do a quick sweep of the big front room, and go back to close the back door and check the bathroom and the bedroom, but it’s just Jane on her side, eyes huge above the duct tape over her mouth, awkwardly bent because her hands and feet are tied to each other and secured to something that’s kept her from sliding off the bed.

“We’re alone,” I tell her. We are, but God, I’m useless. “I can’t call the lodge because the phone cord’s cut. I don’t want to just rip that off your mouth”—I have visions of it coming away with her lips attached, leaving her teeth bare and gleaming—“so I need a knife.” Except I don’t have a knife. It’s not something I carry with me.

Jane’s not struggling, and she waits for me to catch her eyes before twitching.

“The bathroom?” I guess, because it looks like she’s trying to gesture that way, and she nods. Okay, looking for a knife in the bathroom.

I check the medicine cabinet first, then the drawer under the sink, and bingo: not a knife, but some wicked-looking shears she probably brought in case she wanted to give herself bangs. I’d guess, at any rate, because why else would you have scissors in the bathroom? It doesn’t matter, because they’re sharp, and now it also doesn’t matter that she’s been struggling and the knots in the rope—who brought all this rope with them?—have tightened, because I can cut through it.

First I get the part somehow tied to the bed frame, and then the part keeping her ankles and her wrists close together. It’s digging into the flesh around her wrists, but thank God she actually seems calm. “Hang on,” I tell her, or maybe tell myself. “It’s really tight.”

She might chuckle. I probably didn’t have to tell her that part.

It occurs to me that this is seriously awkward and personal, but Jane’s not thinking about how I’m bent over her or any of the rest. I get the scissors between her wrists enough to snip through a strand of the rope, and she groans, pulling her wrists apart so she can roll onto her back. She holds up her right hand, which still has rope around it, and starts gently working at a corner of the duct tape with her left hand.

Once her wrist is free, albeit red and puffy, with marks of the rope on it, she uses both hands and I get the rope off her ankles, too. They maybe fared better than her wrists, but she’s in shorts so it’s still bare skin.

“Percy,” Jane manages, duct tape still clinging to her upper lip like a mustache, but she steels herself and slowly peels the rest of it off. She flings it onto the floor and wipes her mouth on her forearm, because she must’ve been drooling into the duct tape for a while and her chin’s shiny with spit. “It’s Percy.”

“Percy.” I realize I’m still holding the scary shiny scissors and put them on the nightstand. “When? Any idea?”

She nods at the bedside clock. “Just after nine.”

And it’s almost noon. “Okay.” It’s not okay. “Your phone wire’s been cut.”

“My phone wire?”

“We can’t call the lodge, but they should try to call us in …” I check my watch. “Three minutes. When they can’t, someone—Jonathan or Truman—will come down here.”

Jane blinks. “Why would someone try to call us?”

“I thumbed your lock,” I explain. “The system won’t let me in, but it sets up an alert at the main desk, and if I don’t thumb it again in ten minutes, they come check.”

She has to blink a couple more times. “That seems oddly specific. Do they expect you to get hurt?”

“Truman’s had to start giving a resident CPR.” I shrug, because he said it so offhandedly and I didn’t ask for many details.

Now she’s fully into a frown. “How in the world did he know …?”

“The resident wasn’t answering his phone, so he went down to do a wellness check.” Is this really what we should be concentrating on right now?

Shivering, she crosses her arms and quickly looks away from the rope. “And how did you know …?”

“Your door was left open.” No, I guess she wouldn’t know that, but it still feels like a delay.

Jane swallows. It looks painful. “I think he went to Henry’s next.”

“Henry’s?” I look in that direction.

“Yeah.”  Her cheeks flush and she stares at the floor. “I told him Henry overheard your conversation. On the phone. With the person after our names.”

Now it’s mine turn to blink, because I didn’t say anything that would’ve told him who the person was, or who he was after.

Jane keeps sneaking looks at me. “Was it someone calling for Percy?” I shake my head, because it’s the truth, but now there’s this new part. Percy went over to Henry’s. How much could Henry have overheard? And why, exactly, is Percy so paranoid that it was someone calling for him?

---

Cold Comfort: Friday, July 12, 2024 – Henry (2)