“Are you in the mood to dig up another clue?” I ask with an awkward smile.

  ◆◆◆

  “What are you doing?” I ask suspiciously, trailing Luke as he strides onto the dock centered on the lake shores. He’s carrying a small shovel, and his pace makes me think he’s about to plunge straight into the lake like a madman until I spot a wooden rowboat at the end. I’ve never noticed it before since there’s plenty of decaying canoes back at the camp.

  He doesn’t answer me and tosses the shovel into the boat.

  Luke didn’t exactly lighten up at my suggestion to find the next clue, but he didn’t turn it down either. I’m starting to wonder if he regrets not declining.

  With one foot anchoring the boat, he turns to me and compulsorily offers me a hand.

  “Where are we going?” I ask, impatient and confused.

  “Have you forgotten, Wilkerson? To the Lover’s Tree.” He holds out his hand again.

  I’m even more confused. I look back at all the pines we left behind. “Is it in the water or something?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Yes.” Luke turns away from me and points to a spot toward the horizon. “It’s over there.”

  I don’t know if he’s joking or not but I grab his hand anyway, reluctantly, and step in.

  He settles into the seat facing me, unties the mooring lines, and pushes away from the dock with his left hand. He adjusts his oars and starts rowing backwards, just as the sun emerges from behind clouds.

  It’s two in the afternoon, so the rays hit his face from an angle. His trimmed blond beard lights up with gold, and I can spot freckles on his nose that I didn’t notice before. His white t-shirt is thin and worn, so I can see his muscles underneath flexing with each stroke. Luke’s eyes are pinned somewhere behind me, but once the boat starts gliding, his eyes finally land on me, and I realize I’ve been staring at him.

  I look anywhere else, and that’s when I notice the shore we left behind.

  It’s now hundreds of feet behind us.

  My heart begins pounding. My eyes immediately lock with his, because he’s been looking at me, observing my change in mood. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

  He scoffs. “Yes, I’m sure I’m going the right way.”

  “I just didn’t know we had to get there by the lake.” I dig my hands in between my knees. My shoulders hunch over and a shiver runs through them.

  “Is there something wrong with the lake?”

  I eye the water cautiously, taking my time to answer. “Where did Donna drown, exactly?”

  Luke suddenly releases the oars with a pop, and exasperation washes over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  I avoid his eyes. “No, I’m not.”

  “Well, I’m not going to allow you to ruin my daily swim,” he says, stretching his arms. We stay still for a few minutes, and the small ripples of water around our boat begin to settle.

  “You don’t ever . . . think about it? When you’re in the lake?”

  “Nope,” he says, his calm eyes glazing over the scenery.

  I stare at him incredulously. “How can you be so nonchalant about it?”

  “Come on, Wilkerson. Don’t tell me you’ve never been to a water park before. Kids drown at those places all the time.”

  I sigh defeatedly.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to continue rowing, so we can be done with this as soon as possible,” he says. “And don’t distract me with dumb questions.”

  I disregard the order. Moments later I ask: “How many feet down does the lake go? I mean, how deep is it?”

  “Enough to drown.”

  After that, silence.

  Chapter 30

  I’ll be honest; for a brief moment, I wonder whether we did leave the tree behind and whether Luke has another motive. It’s a shameful moment, and I tell myself that I’ve learned too much about Donna, Sadie, and Tim today that it’s impossible not to feel irrational and anxious.

  Luke is also as much of a curmudgeon this afternoon as I’ve ever seen him, and I’m surprised he agreed to this in the first place.

  But soon enough, I start to see a tree in the midst of the lake, like Luke said there would be. A group of trees, actually. A small grassy land mass begins to jut out from the line of trees on the opposite end of the lake, and I notice, as we get closer, that it’s surrounded by water. What I thought was part of the lake’s northern shores, when viewed from the Gableman camp, is in fact an island. And nestled on it, are several pines.

  Luke docks the boat amid some bushes, and we climb out. I follow him to a tree at the center, but I don’t need help to spot it. Its white bark is carved inch by inch with drawings, notes, and initials throughout the years, sometimes overlapping. Faint and old notes have been graffitied over with newer ones, and there doesn't seem to be any space left of bare bark.

  “Alright, let’s not waste any daylight,” Luke says as he pushes the shovel into the dirt.

  “Wait,” I say as I encircle the tree. If Grandma was going to leave a riddle at the Lover’s Tree, she would have done it properly. Luke immediately understands and squats down to observe the notes at the tree's base.

  A gasp escapes my lips as I catch the faint letters of “Ginny Hunt” at my eye level.

  “Find it?” Luke calls out from the other side.

  “No, just my grandmother’s initials.”

  “Okay, because I just found something that looks like a riddle. Four lines.”

  I hurry over just as Luke starts reading:

  “In the dark where voices rise,

  Flames dance, burning eyes.

  Never safe when you’re alone

  Where there lies a circle of stone.”

  Burning.

  I lower to my knees to see it for myself, making sure Luke didn’t fib.

  He didn’t.

  I fix my eyes on the tree for what feels like several minutes until Luke sighs impatiently. “Something wrong, Wilkerson?”

  “It’s different from the others, isn’t it? Tonally speaking?”

  Dark . . . Flames . . . Burning eyes . . . Never safe when you’re alone.

  “You mean like it’s not as . . . playful?”

  “Sure.”

  “Probably because she didn’t like carving all these letters while on her knees. Kept it short and sweet.”

  “If you say so,” I mutter as I take out my phone and snap a pic of the bark. It’s not very sweet.

  Chapter 31

  On the trip back to the Gabelman camp, Luke rows slower, probably since it’s clear we won’t lose the sun, and his eyes sweep over my face ever so often. “So what do you think it is, this time?” His temperament seems to have lightened with the discovery.

  “A campfire,” I answer readily. I avoid his gaze and focus on how the water hits the oars. And guess who was in charge of campfires.

  “What do you think we’ll find at the end of this game?”

  “I don’t know.” My words come out piercingly. Apparently, it’s Luke’s turn to ask dumb questions. And I’m not sure I want to know.

  “You got a sour mood, Wilkerson.” I glance at him to see him smirking, his eyes amused. His rowing is lazy, and our progress is slow.

  “Can’t be worse than yours.”

  “Really? I mean, I feel great.” He takes in a deep breath of the fresh air.

  “Yeah, but you were a jerk when we first rowed over here.”

  At first, Luke merely laughs, but a few minutes later, he adds, “Yeah, you’re right. I’ve been in a bad mood since this morning. So how’s James Canfield doing?”

  I know Luke doesn’t give a crap about James, so I only shrug.

  “Oh no, did your date with him not go well?” he asks blandly.

  “Thanks for your concern, but it wasn’t a date.”

  “So . . . then what were you two up to?”

  “Not much. We just visited his grandparents.”

  “So you got to see the famous monstrosity his granddad calls a house.”

  I bite the inside of my lip. “I thought it was nice.”

  “Don’t confuse ‘nice’ with ‘janky,’ Wilkerson.”

  I laugh despite my best efforts. “Oh right, two words commonly confused with each other.”

  “So James takes you out on a date to his grandparents to . . . do what? Watch infomercials?”

  I have to hide my face this time. I hear Luke’s loud chuckle as I do, which is more of a reaction to my own laughter than his lame joke. I’m surprised his laugh sounds more pleasant when it’s not sarcastic.

  “No, Gabelman, we did not watch infomercials.” I finally raise my eyes, and I’m alarmed to see the dock coming up close.

  Luke parks the boat and secures it, but he doesn’t climb. His smile fades. “So you’re already meeting his grandparents, eh?”

  It takes me a moment to understand the insinuation, and I quickly shake my head. “No . . . no . . . no. I just had a question . . . I wanted to ask his grandmother.”

  Luke nods casually. “Would you like to have dinner with me, then?”

  The question, coming out of nowhere, hits me squarely in the chest. And not in an unpleasant way. “Uh . . . ”

  I think about the date I scheduled with James earlier today. I can’t.

  Luke notices the hesitation. “I mean you can call it whatever you want. Two friends having dinner. Two friends meeting up for a meal . . . ”

  “Two friends getting hungry at the same time . . . ?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, I’m up for that.”

  He helps me up onto the dock, and we walk slowly up to the shore. “I’m flattered you think of me as a friend, Luke, and not just as a neighbor you dig up riddles with,” I say after a while.

  Luke only smiles. “I’ll be at your door at 6:30.”

  And he leaves for his cabin.

  Friend. Deep inside, I wish I took up his first offer.

  I sigh deeply as I trek up to Grandma’s house. And here I was, at the start of the trip, worried that he was going to sacrifice me to the lake god.

  Chapter 32

  First, I put on a new pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then, I take the shirt off and choose a dressier blouse. Still unsure, I rummage through my closet and opt for a dress.

  I don’t remember being this indecisive for James. What in the world do I wear for a night out with Luke? I’m confident that we’re going to order pizza and watch a movie at his place. If that’s the case, why am I trying on dresses? By the time I’ve tried on the third dress, the doorbell rings.

  Luke stands at the door, freshly showered and wearing a button-down shirt, so I’m glad I stuck with a dress. Behind him, his truck is still running. “Are we going somewhere?” I ask, puzzled. I close and lock the cabin door behind me and walk towards the truck’s passenger side.

  “Yeah, did you think I was going to make you dinner myself?” He laughs, and I quickly remind myself to temper expectations. “I’m sorry if I led you to believe I was the complete package. Watch that—”

  The passenger door’s handle breaks off at my touch.

  “I keep meaning to buy a new car, but then I always ask myself if it’s really necessary,” he explains once we’re inside.

  “And where are we going?” I ask.

  “Somewhere not in this town, obviously.”

  It takes us half an hour to reach the town of Clearwater, at which point Luke gives me the option of Thai or steak. I choose the former, and I can tell he regrets giving me the choice.

  The inside of the restaurant is surprisingly nice. It’s dimly lit, and all of the tables are covered with white cloth. Behind Luke sits a massive fish tank that reflects onto the edges of his blond hair with a blue hue.

  We’re silent for a while as Luke stares at the menu. I immediately settled on my comfort food—a simple pad thai.

  “I don’t know what half of this is,” he admits after several minutes.

  I chuckle. “I assumed you’ve been here before.”

  “Nah. It’s just that this and that other one are the only restaurants Clearwater has.”

  “You grew up here, right?” I remember James mentioning that at the diner.

  “Until I was twelve, we lived in Siskinoa. But my mom got sick of it. Of all the staring and gossip, and so we moved to Clearwater. And she still lives here. She’ll get annoyed if she finds out I came up here and didn't say hello,” he trails off while still analyzing the menu.

  I’m taken aback by his response; I wasn’t aware he had to grow up in that environment. I wonder if he managed to make friends as a kid.

  “Why did you choose to live in Siskinoa now?” It’s something that I’ve wondered ever since that experience at the diner. Here, at this restaurant in Clearwater, no one batted an eye when Luke entered. If I were him, I’d hate Siskinoa. “You know, considering everything?”

  Luke finally looks up at me and shrugs lightly. “I inherited that cabin and some of the surrounding forest. You think I’d give that up just because a bunch of forest bumpkins don’t like my last name?”

  I laugh behind my glass of water.

  “Do me a favor, yeah?” he continues. “If I ever decide to leave for that reason, shoot me in the face. It means I’ve been possessed.”

  “But do you ever feel . . . lonely?”

  Luke looks back at the menu and smiles. “No, because a few weeks ago, I got a new neighbor.”

  I blush, despite myself, and look away.

  But it’s then, as I avert my eyes, that I realize we’re being watched.

  Two rows of tables away, in a darker area of the room, a pair of glasses peers in our direction. My eyes adjust, revealing that they belong to a man in his fifties, with dark, thinning hair and a dinner jacket. His eyes are obscured by his lenses catching the reflection of the fish tank, so I’m not sure we’re the target of his gaze until he moves his face in the other direction in an attempt to obscure his prying. It’s when he shifts his eyes peripherally that I can clearly see him glance at Luke.

  “Luke,” I whisper. “Someone is looking at us.”

  Our waitress comes by to get our orders. While I ask her a question about the menu, Luke quickly scans the room. Once the waitress leaves, Luke leans in. “I don’t recognize anyone here. Could just be a forest bumpkin who managed to get up to Clearwater.”

  This lightens the mood, and I shrug off the moment until much later, after we’re halfway done with our plates, when the man and who I presume to be his wife stand up to leave. He only needs to walk straight ahead to reach the exit, so I know something is up when he swerves in our direction. Just as Luke is distracted with his food, the man walks by, his jacket brushing up against the tablecloth, and a note falls by my plate.

  I stare at it for a while, and without telling Luke, I pocket it.

  Chapter 33

  The note I was given has a name and number: “Peter de Vries 206-555-4567”.

  Early the next morning, I look up the name along with “Siskinoa,” certain I’ve heard the name somewhere around town, but I can’t place my finger on where or when. A “Peter” doesn’t show up, but an “Eric de Vries” does, and just as his old articles pop up on the search, I finally remember: he’s the journalist whose byline appeared underneath articles about Sadie Sanderson for The Siskinoa Daily.

  I drum my fingers on Grandma’s breakfast table as my phone lies inches away. What does he want? If he hadn’t provided his name, there’s a good chance I would’ve just thrown the note away.

  I dial the number quickly before I’m overwhelmed with indecision, suddenly wondering if I called too early, but he picks up after a few ringing tones.

  “This is Peter.”

  “I’m Sydney Wilkerson. You gave me your number last night.”

  I hear him move quickly, as if to stand up and shuffle somewhere else. He then replies in a lower voice. “I think it’s best if we meet in person.”

  I’m adamant that we either meet at the Siskinoa Public Library or we don’t meet at all. It’s public but private at the same time, and it’s nearby.

  Peter agrees to my terms.

  ◆◆◆

  Just as I had expected, the library is as nearly empty as it was the other day. Nevertheless, Peter chose a table with maximum privacy, close to the newspaper morgue that I spent time in days prior.

  “Who are you?” is the first thing I say to him. He stands up to shake my hand, but I ignore it.

  “My father was a journalist for The Siskinoa Daily. He knew your grandmother well back in the day. I also knew your grandmother well. We both served on the city council simultaneously, but she retired the year after I started. You don’t remember me? I was at her funeral . . . ”

  “Oh, sorry. There were a lot of people.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, wiping the sweat that has already accumulated on his brow. “My condolences, by the way.”

  I nod, and that’s when I notice that Peter has a fat folder in front of him, nearly bursting with loose leaves of paper.

  “She was a great woman,” he continues, a bit nervously.

  “So why are we meeting?”

  He nods and gulps, readying himself. “So my father kept extensive notes on the investigation during the time of Sadie Sanderson’s disappearance and Donna Marchand’s death. Are you famil—”

  “Yes. I’m aware of what happened.”

  “Fantastic! Well, my father, Eric de Vries, was on the frontlines of both of those tragedies, reporting on them, since he was already one of the few reporters they kept, and he was also given the chance to interview the lead detective years later . . . Anyway, he kept extensive notes on these investigations. I’ve studied these notes for years and nearly memorized some key quotes, b-but that doesn’t matter. These notes include quotes from witnesses—from Tim Gabelman and even your grandmother . . . and um . . . Forgive me, but I don’t think you should be close to someone like Luke Gabelman.”

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23