Rebecca Frost

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), coming August 17

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

---

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)