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.
Rebecca Frost 
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