It was nice to sit in the main room of his cabin with a hot cup of coffee at his elbow and one of the windows cracked just enough to let in some early morning air, but not enough for that air to blow his papers around. He’d debated even bringing them, but the security measures in the cabin were the deciding factor. Even then he’d made sure the papers were in his carry-on and that Jonathan didn’t get ahold of them.
There wasn’t much use to being an undercover reporter if you blew your own cover before you’d even identified your quarry, much less gotten the confession. He’d be hit with all kinds of suits and things when—if—it got out that he made his recordings here, but fuck it. He’d take that risk. Someone like Annabeth Deschain didn’t deserve a refuge.
Henry had his files on her, and some fuzzy photographs, but he didn’t really know what she looked like. Average height, average weight, in her early twenties, but she could have cut her hair, or dyed it, or purchased a wig. There was fake tanner and makeup for contouring or skewing apparent age. She could change her clothes to hide or accent her build, or even binge or starve herself to change that build and then throw the clothes on top of it. There simply weren’t any known photographs of Annabeth Deschain to begin with and, now that she was here, she could be anyone.
Henry sipped his coffee and perused the known facts, which were few.
Annabeth Deschain worked as a nanny for Aaron Gladieux. He had three older children with his late wife, who didn’t matter, and a three-year-old with his hot new girlfriend, who did. The three-year-old was Danielle Jacqueline, known to her doting parents and in headlines everywhere as Dani Jay. To put it bluntly, Dani Jay was found dead in her father’s hot tub in late spring 2023. Early in 2024, Aaron Gladieux was informed that there was not enough evidence to proceed with charging Annabeth Deschain for Dani Jay’s murder.
Like most of the rest of the country, Henry was convinced that Annabeth Deschain was guilty. There was one other fact that Henry jealously guarded: Aaron Gladieux booked a cabin at Loon Lake Refuge for the month of July. It had been hell to get that information, and he’d paid through the nose, first for the record and then for his own cabin. The thing was, Henry didn’t think Aaron Gladieux was using the cabin for himself.
Although Annabeth Deschain managed to keep her face from becoming public knowledge, her private diary was another story. Legally or illegally—it didn’t matter to Henry—entries were leaked, and he wasn’t the only one who knew that Annabeth Deschain had spicy daydreams about her employer. That was as much as could be concluded from the entries: that it was pure fantasy, a young woman lusting after a good-looking older man. Henry was here because he was betting a month of his life and a huge chunk of his bank account on it being reciprocated.
There were four women here this summer, and two men other than Henry himself. He’d already seen Edgar and clearly identified him as someone other than Gladieux, so he was out. He hadn’t seen Percy yet, but Percy was in a double cabin that necessitated author names of a married couple, and the most secret of Henry’s documents, the one in a safe deposit box back home and not in his file folder, indicated a single occupancy. He doubted he was looking for Mary Shelly, but that left Jane Austen, Emily Dickinson, and Agatha Christie in his sights.
He hadn’t seen Emily yet, and Agatha only from a distance, but Jane was next door. The cabins were positioned so that their front windows looked out over the lake and not toward another cabin, and there were screening trees between them, so he wasn’t going to be able to spy on Jane that way, and any attempt would be obvious. Obvious, suspicious, and possibly the sort of behavior that would get him kicked out.
The website had a map of the grounds, so even though he hadn’t known for sure which cabin would be his, he’d been aware of the setup. He’d found out in time to snag a cabin for himself for July, and in time to make his plan. As soon as he’d finished his coffee, Henry figured he’d head on up to the lodge and pick one of the rocking chairs they had on the long porch.
Cold Comfort: Tuesday, July 2, 2024 – Agatha, coming July 5
Rebecca Frost 
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