Rain again, seriously? Emily wasn’t going to do her risky/risqué bikini routine in this weather, even if she’d decided that she’d left him hanging long enough. Teases might walk away, but they never stayed away.
The problem was, holing up in his cabin meant staying away. Henry wasn’t sure he could afford to stay away. He was very aware of the date. They were almost a third of the way through the month, and he had his suspicions, but suspicions couldn’t go to print. He had transcripts, but Emily hadn’t said anything truly damning … yet.
The recorder pendant was waterproof, and under his shirt and raincoat, anyway, so that was probably fine. He switched his knitting to a different bag, which was water-resistant, so that was probably fine, too. He wasn’t sure his mood was fine, but damn, he couldn’t sit in his cabin and listen to the rain on the roof all day. The only time Emily came by was early, so if she hadn’t shown up by now … Henry sighed and pulled his hood lower and made sure the cabin door locked behind him.
It was a trudge to the lodge. The path was gravel, which helped, but it was also scuffed through in places, leaving muddy puddles open to soak the cuffs of his jeans. With the hood, he probably would’ve plowed into anyone else if he hadn’t been alone on the path, and then had whatever argument came out of that. He was tired, he was cold, he wasn’t sleeping well, and he hadn’t gotten his scoop yet. Woe betide anyone who got in his way.
Inside the lodge he flipped his hood back, noticed Jonathan was leaning on the high counter talking to Alyssa, and it seemed to hit a button in his brain. He didn’t feel any better, exactly, but details popped into view, and he wiped his feet on the mat and carefully removed his raincoat to hang it on one of the hooks by the door so at least he wouldn’t track water in. If he’d thought ahead, he could’ve brought a spare pair of pants and thrown these in one of the dryers.
Jonathan nodded when he turned back and gestured behind him. “Grab a coffee and take a chair by the fire.” Because there was a fireplace, and it was large, and it was roaring.
Plus it was in the main room, so Henry nodded his thanks, detoured for the hot drink, and brought it to one of the armchairs by the flames.
It didn’t seem early enough for Jonathan to have made a trip to town and back again, but Henry watched as he handed envelopes over to Alyssa before going into a door that must have led to the kitchen, reusable grocery bags in hand. Alyssa wheeled her chair over to the cubbies and put the envelopes—printed emails, Henry realized—into the proper spaces. He hadn’t gotten any yet, and didn’t expect any, so his mailbox was empty.
Honestly Alyssa’s job seemed cushy AF: sit behind a desk and maybe deliver a meal to someone, right? Eat the same meals they ate. Maybe the tiny cabin thing was annoying, but it was a roof over her head. And on top of that … sort mail? Cushy.
The phone rang and Alyssa wheeled back to answer it: “Loon Lake Retreat. This is Alyssa. How can I help you?”
And she was young. Clearly young. Probably not fresh out of high school young, but young. She had long straight hair that was just a shade darker than strawberry blonde and, unlike the other women here, she always seemed to wear it down. She wore jeans and sweatshirts and sneakers, and he wasn’t sure if the Michigan Tech hoodie was because she was local or if she’d picked it up for the summer, which just added to the fresh-out-of-high-school impression. Her voice was professional, though, and he didn’t mean to listen, exactly, but it wasn’t a normal phone call.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not the correct pass phrase.” Her voice was still carefully modulated, but there was something to her words. Henry couldn’t help looking up. “No, sir, I can’t patch you through without the pass phrase. What I can—”
Silence. Alyssa tilted her head to hold the phone to her shoulder and reached for a scratch pad, apparently waiting the caller out.
“What I can do, sir, is take your name and pass on the message that the resident should email you the correct pass phrase.” It was like a line she had ready to pull out when needed, the way some females memorized fake phone numbers to give out at the bar.
More silence. She wasn’t writing anything, though, so whatever the caller said, it apparently wasn’t a name and a word of thanks.
Without changing her posture or tone, Alyssa said, “Absolutely, sir. Let me put you on hold.”
The squawk from the phone indicated that the caller was not, perhaps, ready to be put on hold, but Jonathan came out of the kitchen and Alyssa turned to him. “Oh three.”
“Oh three,” he repeated, sighing and hooking a thumb back over his shoulder. “I’ll take it in there.”
Oh three, Henry assumed, was an irate caller who flubbed someone’s pass phrase. He further assumed that there was a phone in the kitchen, which was closer than a phone in the Meyers’ cabin, since he didn’t think Jonathan had an office.
Interesting. A caller for Edgar? Or Percy. The only person who knew Henry was here had his pass phrase. It was amusing to think that maybe some hotshot L.A. director was on the other end of that line, trying to chew someone out because he couldn’t reach Edgar exactly when he wanted. Although, considering time zones, the Hollywood director had to be an early riser.
But wait. Alyssa said sir, but she very specifically didn’t indicate the gender of the resident. So maybe it was just an annoyed friend or absent-minded family member who’d scrawled the pass phrase and couldn’t read his own handwriting. It wasn’t as interesting, but it was a facet of Alyssa’s job he hadn’t considered.
The kitchen door opened just enough for Jonathan to say her name. Henry thought there was something not quite smooth about the way she first straightened and then got up to join him, like maybe she wasn’t often asked to come into the kitchen to talk to Jonathan where no guests could hear them. Which, of course, made Henry’s ears try to swivel and activate some sort of superpower.
There wasn’t a keyhole to peep through or listen at, but if he thought he’d have enough time to get away from a door and, say, hide the glass he’d been holding up to it with his ear at the bottom … Did that even work? There were glasses, actual glasses, in the dining room, but he wouldn’t have time to go and get one and listen at the door. Plus it opened outward, which could be a safety hazard, and would probably drive the glass into his head. Even without breaking, that would be painful.
Most of his coffee was gone, so he got out his knitting, still on high alert.
The porch door banged open, making him jump, but of course he’d picked the chair that didn’t face it so he had to twist around awkwardly to see who, exactly, had just blown in.
Percy’s raincoat looked expensive but not very waterproof, and it didn’t have a hood. Burberry or London Fog or whatever brand that was hadn’t been made for the north woods. “Phew!” he announced with a broad grin. “I guess we’ve been lucky with the weather so far!”
“I guess so,” Henry agreed, cursing to himself when he saw he’d pulled some of the stitches off his needle. He focused on that, mostly so he didn’t have to keep looking at Percy, who just rubbed him the wrong way. That had to be at least in part because Percy acted like the kind of guy who was fawned over everywhere he went.
“So, uh.” It was like Percy thought Henry should be able to read his mind. “Alyssa’s not …?”
“Just stepped out. Jonathan …” Henry’s hands were busy, so he made a vague gesture with his head.
“Ah. Okay. Um.” Percy came in a little further and gestured at their mailboxes. “I’m probably not supposed to just reach over and grab that, huh?”
What, an urgent email sent during his month at Loon Lake? “I would guess not.”
Percy couldn’t sit down. He couldn’t stand still, either. “Usually, if they leave the desk, they put a radio up so you can call them.”
When they leave the desk? Henry had never seen the chair empty. What time of day was Percy going after his apparently dire emails? “They’re just in the kitchen.” All three of the staff currently on call, even.
The blood drained out of Henry’s face when he realized that the call could’ve been Aaron Gladieux, trying to warn Annabeth Deschain that someone had found her, or was ready to find her. Because if it was just someone calling for a resident and messing up the pass phrase, then it wouldn’t be a major issue, but if that person then said Well, the police are on their way …
There was no reason for the police to be on the way. There wasn’t enough evidence to proceed with a trial, so there was no reason to send the police after Annabeth Deschain now. Right?
The kitchen door opened and Percy whirled on one heel, but he was knocked back a step by the expression on Jonathan’s face. It was only there for a flicker, before he realized he had guests, but Henry saw it.
Jonathan told Henry to take a seat here, but he came out of the kitchen looking drawn and worried. He morphed it into a smile. “Percy. How may I be of service?”
Alyssa, coming out of the kitchen behind him, at least emerged with her pleasant customer service face already in place. That didn’t mean much, though. Henry couldn’t say his stomach settled any as Jonathan saw to Percy’s mail and excused himself, grabbing a bright yellow rain slicker before heading out again. And it wasn’t much comfort when Alyssa didn’t look at Henry as she went back to her seat, either, because it just made him suspect that a longer look would have meant she’d give something away.
Cold Comfort: Tuesday, July 9, 2024 – Agatha, coming July 26
Rebecca Frost 