Chapter 14

14

Will scanned the woods as he walked up the Loop Trail toward the main lodge. His injured hand was throbbing even though he held it to his chest in a permanent pledge of allegiance. The bandage had gotten wet again. He'd hosed himself down and changed into fresh pants while Kevin Rayman, the agent on loan from the GBI's North Georgia field office, was processing evidence from Mercy's bedroom.

Not that there was a lot to process. As with her financial situation, Mercy hadn't had much to her name. Her small closet was filled with utilitarian items. Nothing on hangers, just folded shirts, jeans, and outdoor attire. She had two pairs of worn sneakers and some expensive but old hiking boots. Will was struck by a familiar feeling. Every item of clothing he'd had as a kid had been donated by someone else. Mercy's clothes were faded and worn and in various sizes. He would've bet she hadn't bought them new.

In fact, nothing seemed new. Washed-out posters of O-Town, New Kids on the Block and the Jonas Brothers were on the walls. Some of Jon's childhood drawings were taped beside the door. Photographs documented the sixteen years of his life. School photos and some outdoor candids: Jon opening a stuffed giraffe at Christmas; Jon standing with Dave by a trailer; Jon lying on the couch where he'd fallen asleep with his phone resting against his chin.

Mercy's room seemed to have the only bookcase in the house. She had a snow globe from Gatlinburg, Tennessee, and at least fifty well-read romance paperbacks. Everything was dusted and tidy, which somehow made her meager belongings even more poignant. There were no secret papers hidden under her mattress. Her bedside drawer had what you would expect a woman to have. There was no bathroom connected to her room. Mercy shared the one at the end of the hall with the rest of her family. She hadn't taken her iPad when she'd packed to leave. The screen was locked. They would have to send it to the lab to try to break the code.

According to Sara, Mercy didn't have an IUD. They had no way of knowing if Mercy was even aware of the pregnancy. If she was taking birth control, the pills were probably in her backpack. Condoms didn't seem like the kind of thing a woman would grab if she was leaving in a hurry. The big questions remained: What had made her leave? Where was she planning on going? Why had she called Dave?

Will stopped on the trail and took his iPhone out of his pocket. He used the fingers of his injured hand to tap the screen, opening the recording of Mercy's voicemail to Dave. There was one section he kept coming back to.

I can't believe—oh, God, I can't— Please call me. Please. I need you.

Mercy's voice had a kind of hope tied up in desperation when she said the words I need you, like she was praying that this would be the one time that Dave didn't disappoint her.

Will returned his phone to his pocket and continued up the trail. He kept silently playing the message back in his head. He didn't understand how Dave had gotten here. Neither one of them had been given a choice about their shitty childhoods, but they had both decided what kind of men they would be. Will wasn't judging Dave for struggling with his demons. The alcohol and drugs made a certain kind of sense. But Dave had chosen to beat his wife, to strangle her, to terrorize her, to continually fail her.

That part was squarely on him.

Will silently berated himself for focusing on the wrong guy. He had to let go of being mad at Dave. Mercy's worthless ex-husband had been shunted to the periphery of the investigation. Identifying the killer, locating Jon; those were the only two things that Will needed to be worried about right now.

Sunlight bathed his face as he entered the main compound. Will adjusted the heavy satellite phone that was clipped to the back of his belt. He was wearing a paddle holster at his side. Amanda had loaned him her backup piece, a snub-nosed five-shot Smith and Wesson that was older than Will. He felt like an outlaw walking through town in an old Spaghetti Western. A curtain twitched in Drew and Keisha's cottage. Cecil glared at him from his wheelchair on the front porch. The two cats eyeballed him from their separate perches on the stairs. Paul was in the hammock outside his cottage. He had a book flat to his chest and a bottle of alcohol on the table. His mouth went into a smirk when he saw Will. He reached for the bottle and took a swig.

Will was going to let him stew for a bit longer. Paul was on his list of people to talk to, but he wasn't at the top. Interviews generally fell into two categories: confrontational or informa-tional. The two waiters, Gregg and Ezra, were teenagers. They'd probably be a good source of information. Will wasn't sure where Alejandro would fall. Mercy was twelve weeks pregnant. Guests were in and out of the lodge. Will's primary focus was on the men who were consistently around Mercy.

Not to say that the other men at the compound weren't going to have their time in the barrel. The McAlpines had suspended all planned activities, but Chuck had gone fishing with Christopher as soon as the storm had passed. Drew was holed up inside cottage three with Keisha. Gordon seemed content to drink the day away with Paul. Frank was playing Columbo by way of the Hardy Boys.

Will was waiting for Amanda to come through with the warrant so that he could search the property for bloody clothes and the missing knife handle. The UTV carried a thermal printer in the lockbox that would hopefully work with the satellite phone so that Will could print the document and physically serve the warrant. The McAlpines had granted Will and Kevin access to Mercy's room, but he had a feeling they would push back on the rest of the place, especially considering they were still trying to hold on to paying guests.

Bitty had told Will in no uncertain terms that she and her husband were too overcome with grief to answer any questions. Which was fair, but the woman hadn't seemed overcome with anything but anger. Sara had already searched the kitchen for the broken knife handle, so the house was low on his list. At some point, the lake might have to be dragged. That decision was above Will's paygrade. For now, the best use of his time was talking to people and trying to figure out who had a motive to murder Mercy.

Will scanned the trees, trying to figure out which way to go. Last night, they had gotten to dinner by following the bottom half of the Loop. Sara had led them to another trail down to the dining hall, but Will had honestly been paying more attention to Sara than the route.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the door to Frank's cottage crack open. A hand stuck out, waving Will over. He could see Frank hiding in the shadows, which would've been funny in any other circumstances. Will was literally out in the open. Everyone could see him crossing the compound toward cottage seven. He figured now was as good a time as any to interview Frank. Monica had been completely wasted last night. Frank could've easily slipped out for a tryst. He could've just as easily showered off Mercy's blood and slipped back into bed without his wife knowing.

Frank kept up the cloak and dagger as Will came up the stairs. The door cracked open wider. Inside, Will's eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. The curtains were drawn across the windows and French doors to the back. The door to the bedroom was closed. There was an odor of sickness in the air.

"I got the names you asked for," Frank handed Will a folded sheet of paper. "I found the guest registry in an office off the back of the kitchen."

Will opened the page. Thankfully, Frank had written in block letters, which made it easier for him to read. He tucked the note into his shirt pocket for later. For now, Frank was in the hot seat. "Thanks for helping me out. How did you get past the staff?"

"I threw a rich white guy tantrum and demanded to use the phone. Nobody told me it wasn't working." He sounded excited. "Anything else you need me to do, chief?"

"Yeah." Will was about to knock some air out of the guy's sails. "Did you hear anything last night?"

"Nothing, which is weird, because I have really good hearing. It's not like I got much sleep. I was up and down with Monica all night. If someone had yelled in this vicinity, I would've heard it."

Will's follow-up question was cut off by the sound of retching from behind the closed bedroom door. Frank tensed as they both listened. The retching stopped. The toilet flushed. The silence returned.

"She'll be okay." Frank's voice had the practiced cadence of a man who was used to making excuses for his alcoholic wife. "Have a seat."

Will was glad Frank was making this easy for him. The furniture was the same style as the couch and club chairs in Will and Sara's cottage, but it looked more worn. There was a stain on the carpet with a paper towel soaking up the dark liquid. That was where the smell was coming from. Will took the chair farthest away from it.

"What a day." Frank rubbed his face as he sank into the couch. He looked embarrassed. He also looked exhausted. His face was unshaven. His hair was uncombed. He'd clearly had a hard night even before Will had woken up the entire compound. "How's your hand?"

Will's hand was throbbing with every beat of his heart. "It's better, thanks."

"I keep thinking about Mercy at dinner last night. I wish that I had helped her, but I don't know what I could've done."

"There wasn't much anybody could do."

"Well, maybe?" Frank asked. "Like, I could've done what you did. Helped clean up the broken glass. Instead, I started talking about the food. I wish I hadn't done that, because I think it gave everyone permission to ignore what had just happened."

There was no practiced cadence to his voice now, but Will gathered his need to always smooth things over was a recurring dilemma.

"I want to do something now," Frank said. "Mercy's dead, and no one seems to care. You should've seen them all at breakfast. Gordon and Paul kept making dark jokes. Drew and Keisha would barely talk. Christopher and Chuck might as well have sealed themselves inside of an acrylic box. I tried to speak to Bitty and Cecil, but—do you get a bad vibe off of them?"

Will wasn't going to share his vibes. Frank was low on his list of suspects, but he was still on the list. "Did you tell me that you've been to the lodge before?"

"No, that was Drew and Keisha. Third time up here, can you believe it? Though I doubt they'll ever come back."

"You and Monica travel a lot. When was your last trip?"

"Oh, gosh, it must've been Italy. We went to Florence three months ago. Stayed two weeks. There was a lot of wine. Maybe that was a mistake on my part, but we've got to live, right?"

"Right." Will made a mental note to confirm the timeline, but it would let Frank off the hook for Mercy's pregnancy, if not the murder. "What were your impressions of Mercy?"

Frank leaned back on the couch with a heavy sigh. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. "My parents were both alcoholics. I don't know what it is about me, but I can pick up on it when someone is troubled. It's like a sixth sense."

Will understood. He had grown up surrounded by addicts. His first wife still had a passion for opioids. He was hyper-aware of anyone showing the same patterns.

"Anyway, that's what my Spidey-senses told me. That Mercy was troubled."

Monica coughed from the bedroom. Frank's head turned as he listened again. Will felt sorry for the man. It was an incredibly stressful way to live. Will still got inexplicably anxious if Sara's lips so much as touched a glass of wine.

Frank said, "Maybe that's why I kept such a wide berth. With Mercy, I mean. I didn't want to get tangled up in her drama. I guess I have enough on my hands. You know, Monica wasn't like this when our son was alive. She was funny and easy-going and she put up with me, which is saying a lot. I know I'm a handful. Nicholas was our shining ray of joy. Then the leukemia took him from us and … Our therapist says everyone handles grief in their own way. I really thought coming up here would give us a reset, you know? Believe it or not, before Nicholas died, Monica seldom drank. She liked an occasional margarita, but she knew about my parents, so …"

Will knew the compassionate thing to do was let the man talk. Frank was clearly alone inside of his wife's addiction. But this was a murder investigation, not therapy. He'd let Frank do some busy work, but that didn't take him off Will's list of suspects.

"Sorry." Frank's Spidey-sense picked up on Will's impatience. He stood up from the couch. "I know I talk too much. Thanks for listening. Let me know what I can—"

Monica coughed from the other room again. Will noticed the worry on Frank's face. The man had clearly seen a hangover before, but there was something that told Will this time was different.

He asked, "What's going on, Frank?"

Frank glanced back at the bedroom door, keeping his voice low. "Believe it or not, last night wasn't that bad. She had a lot, but not as much as usual."

"And?"

"I don't think it's an emergency, but—" Frank shrugged. "She keeps throwing up. I've gone through all the Coke in the fridge. I brought some toast from the kitchen. She can't keep anything down."

Will wished this conversation had happened twenty minutes ago. Sara had already left the hospital in the second UTV. "My wife is a doctor. I'll make sure she checks on Monica as soon as she gets here."

"I'd appreciate that." Frank was too relieved to ask how Sara had gone from being a chemistry teacher to a doctor. "Like I said, I don't think it's an emergency."

His minimizing cut at Will's better angels. He put his hand on Frank's shoulder. "We'll get her some help, Frank. I promise."

"Thanks." Frank gave an awkward smile. "I know it's crazy, but maybe you understand. I think you understand. I saw you and Sara together, and it reminded me, you know? She's worth fighting for. I really, really love my wife."

Will watched Frank's eyes fill with tears. He was saved coming up with something thoughtful to say when Monica coughed again. Her footsteps banged across the floor as she ran for the toilet.

"Excuse me." Frank disappeared into the bedroom.

Will didn't leave. He looked around. The couch and chairs. The coffee table. Frank had cleaned up. Nothing looked out of place. Will did a quick search, checking under the cushions, rifling the shelves and drawers in the tiny kitchen, because Frank seemed like a nice guy but he was also a lonely, grief-stricken husband who was looking to save his marriage—exactly the type of guest that Mercy had probably hooked up with before.

Frank had left the bedroom door ajar. Will used the toe of his boot to push it open the rest of the way. The room was empty. Frank was in the bathroom with Monica. Will stepped inside. Their clothes were still folded in their suitcases. He found a stack of books, mostly thrillers. The usual digital devices. The bed was unmade. The fitted sheet had soaked through with sweat. There was a used trash can on the floor by the bed.

No bloody clothes. No knife handle with the blade broken off.

Will backed out of the room. He looked at his watch. He wouldn't feel right until Sara was standing in front of him. At the very least, she could give him that look like he was an idiot for not taking pain medication for his hand.

Which was a valid look, but it wouldn't change the situation.

Cecil was still glaring when Will walked out of the cottage. Will spotted a sign with a plate and silverware beside an arrow. This had to be the Chow Trail. Will recognized the zigzag shape from last night. The crushed stone was flattened in parallel rows from Cecil's wheelchair.

Will put a zig between himself and the house before he looked at the guest list Frank had given him. He could easily make out some of the names, but that was only because he already knew them. The last names were a different story. He found a tree stump to sit on. He placed the paper on his lap, inserted his earbuds. He used his phone's camera to scan the names, then loaded the scan into his text-to-speech app.

Frank and Monica Johnson

Drew Conklin and Keisha Murray

Gordon Wylie and Landry Peterson

Sydney Flynn and Max Brouwer

Will set up a hot spot with the satellite phone and sent the list to Amanda so she could run background and criminal checks. The upload took almost a full minute. He waited until she had texted back a check mark that the information was received. Then he waited to see if she texted anything else. Half of him was relieved when the three dancing dots disappeared.

Amanda was extremely furious with him right now. More than usual, which said a lot. She had tried to take the case away from Will. Will had told her he would work it anyway. It had turned into a thing. All he could do was wait for that moment in the near future when she would shove her razor-sharp claws down his throat and rip out his intestines.

For now, he had a chef and two waiters to interview. Will folded up the list and stuck it back into his shirt pocket. He tucked his phone and earbuds back into his pants pocket. He clipped the satellite phone on his belt. He pressed his injured hand to his chest and resumed his trek.

The Chow Trail took another gradual curve before zigging back toward the dining hall. The design made sense considering Cecil's chair couldn't handle a sharp, downward slope, but Will would have to tell Faith to adjust her timeline. Mercy wouldn't have bothered with following the curves, especially if she was running for her life.

Will waited until he was standing on the viewing platform to look back up the trail. He thought he could see the roof of the main house. He went to the edge of the platform that overlooked the lake. The tops of trees obscured the shore, but the bachelor cottages were down there somewhere. He leaned over the railing and looked straight down. The drop was steep, but he imagined someone who'd grown up on this property would know how to get down quickly. Will had a feeling he was going to end up being the one sliding down the side of a cliff while Faith held the stopwatch.

He walked around the back of the building toward the kitchen, glancing through the window on his way. The chef was working at a commercial food mixer. The two waiters were carrying large black plastic bags of trash out the back door.

Will was about to go inside when the satellite phone vibrated on his belt.

He took a few steps away from the building before answering, "Trent."

"Are you still doing this?" Amanda asked.

He heard the clear warning in her prickly tone. "Yes, ma'am."

"Very well," she said. "I've been trying to reach a circuit judge up here who has phone service. Apparently, the storm took out the main transformers that service the northwestern part of the state, but I'll make the warrant happen. The dive team is currently searching for a body in Lake Rayburn. Let's keep that as an option of last resort. As you know, it's very expensive to search a lake, particularly one that deep, so I need you to find that knife handle quickly and on land."

"Understood."

"I located Gordon Wylie's marriage certificate. He's married to a man named Paul Ponticello."

"Anything on their sheets?"

"Nothing. Wylie owns a company that developed a stock market app. Ponticello is a plastic surgeon with an office in Buckhead."

Will imagined the men were not hurting for money. "What about the others?"

"Monica Johnson picked up a DUI six months ago."

"Makes sense. And Frank?"

"I found a death certificate for their child, twenty years old. Leukemia. Solid financial picture on both of them," Amanda said. "The same with all the others. Wealthy, educated professionals for the most part. Drew Conklin is the exception. He has a fifteen-year-old charge for aggravated assault."

The information surprised him. "Do you have details?"

"I'm tracking down the arrest report for the specifics. Conklin didn't serve time, so a plea deal was made."

"Do you know if a weapon was involved?"

"It wouldn't have been a firearm," Amanda said. "He would've gotten mandatory jail time."

"Could've been a knife."

"Do you like him for this?"

Will tried to put his personal feelings aside, but it was hard. He needed to know what business Drew had wanted to talk with Bitty about. "It definitely moves him up to the top of my list, but I don't know."

"Kevin Rayman is a highly accomplished and decorated agent."

She was talking about the GBI field agent. "He's doing a great job up here."

"Faith is a dogged investigator."

"That doesn't sound like a compliment."

"Wilbur, you're supposed to be on your honeymoon. There will always be murder cases. You can't work them all. I will not let this job take over your life."

He was tired of hearing the same lecture. "No one cares that Mercy is dead, Amanda. They all abandoned her. Her parents haven't asked a single question. Her brother's literally gone fishing."

"She has a son who loves her."

"So did my mother."

Uncharacteristically, Amanda didn't have an immediate comeback.

In the silence, Will watched one of the waiters pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with trash bags up yet another trail. He assumed it was a shortcut to the house. Faith was definitely going to need the map. And her running shoes. Will's stride was twice as long as Mercy's. Faith would be the one who got to run around the forest.

"All right," Amanda finally said. "Let's get this closed quickly, Wilbur. And don't expect compensatory time. You've made it quite clear this is how you're choosing to spend your vacation days."

"Yes, ma'am." Will ended the call and clipped the phone back on his belt.

He glanced into the kitchen window. The chef had moved to the stove. Will walked around the octagon to the back of the building. The trail up to the house also went down toward the creek that fed the lake. Faith was going to have some choice words for him by the time the day was over.

A free-standing freezer was under a lean-to on the other side of the trail. The door to the kitchen was closed. The second waiter was still outside. He was stacking cans into a paper grocery sack. His hair had fallen into his eyes. He looked younger than Jon, maybe fourteen years old.

"Shit!" The kid had seen Will and dropped the bag. Cans rolled in every direction. He scrambled to gather them, shooting Will furtive looks like a criminal caught in the act, which was obviously accurate. "Mister, I'm not—"

"It's all right." Will helped him with the cans. The kid hadn't taken much. Green beans, condensed milk, corn, black-eyed peas. Will knew what it was like to be desperate and hungry. He was never going to stop someone from stealing food.

The kid asked, "Are you gonna arrest me?"

Will wondered who had told him that Will was a cop. Probably everybody. "No, I'm not going to arrest you."

The kid seemed unconvinced as he packed cans back into the bag.

"You've got some good stuff here."

"The milk is for my baby sister," he said. "She's got a sweet tooth."

"Are you Ezra or Gregg?"

"I'm Gregg, sir."

"Gregg." Will handed him the last can. "Have you seen Jon?"

"No, sir. I heard he ran off. Delilah already asked me if there was anywhere he'd go. I talked to Ezra about it and neither one of us know where he'd run off to. I'd tell you if we did, that's for sure. Jon's a good guy. He's gotta be torn up about his mama."

Will watched the kid hug the grocery bag to his chest. He was more worried about losing the food than talking to a cop.

"Keep it," Will said. "I'm not going to tell anybody."

Relief flooded the kid's face. He walked around the standing freezer and got down on his knees as he hid the bag in what was clearly his usual spot. Will saw a dark oil stain had spread across the wood decking. There didn't seem to be a recycling tank, which meant the oil was going down the drain into the septic system, which could get into the groundwater, which was something the EPA frowned on. Will put the information in his back pocket in case he needed to pressure Bitty and Cecil with it later on.

"Thanks, mister." Gregg cleaned his hands on his apron as he stood back up. "I need to get back to work."

"Take a minute."

Gregg looked scared again. His eyes went to the hidden food.

"You're not in trouble. I'm just trying to get some idea of what Mercy's life was like before she died. Can you tell me about her?"

"Like what?"

"Like, whatever comes to mind. Anything."

"She was fair?" he asked, testing the waters. "I mean, she could tear you a new one sometimes, but not out of nowhere. You knew where you stood with her. Not like the rest of 'em."

"What are the rest of them like?"

"Cecil's mean as a snake. He'll cut you just as soon as look at ya. Not that he can move like that anymore, but before the accident, he was scary." Gregg leaned against the freezer. "Fish, he don't talk much. I guess he's okay, but he's weird. Bitty, she burned me real bad. Pretended she was my friend, then I didn't do something she asked fast enough and she turned on me something fierce."

"How'd she turn on you?"

"Cut me off," he said. "She helps me and Ezra out sometimes. Like, if you're nice to her, she'll slip you a ten- or a twenty-dollar bill. But now, I walk by and she won't even look me in the eye. Being honest, with Mercy gone, I'm gonna look for work in town. They already told all of us they're cutting back our wages on account of they don't know what's gonna happen next."

That tracked with what Will had learned about the McAlpines and money. "Have you ever seen Mercy talking to any of the male guests?"

He snorted. "That's a funny way of asking."

"What am I asking?"

His face turned red.

"It's okay," Will said. "It's just you and me. Did you see Mercy with any of the guests?"

"If she was talking to a guest, they were either asking her for something or complaining." He shrugged. "We're up here at six every morning, then back down the mountain by nine. There's a lot of work to do in between meals. Washing dishes, food prep, cleaning. Not a lot of time to watch what people are up to."

Will didn't ask him when he found time to go to school. The kid was probably helping to support his family. "When's the last time you saw Mercy?"

"I guess around eight-thirty last night. She let us go early. Said she'd finish up."

"Was anyone in the kitchen when you left?"

"No, sir. She was alone."

"What about the chef?"

"Alejandro left when we did."

Will hadn't seen another car on the parking pad. "What does he drive?"

"We all take horses up and down. There's a paddock yonder down from the parking pad. Me and Ezra double up since it's his horse. Alejandro went the other way cause he lives on the other side of the range."

Will would follow up on the paddock. "What do you think of Alejandro?"

"He's all right. Takes his work real serious. Not a lot of joking around." He shrugged again. "Beats the guy who was here before. He was always looking at us funny."

"Did Alejandro spend time with Mercy?"

"Sure, she had to go over stuff with him a couple times a day on account of the guests are real particular about their food."

"Did Mercy and Alejandro have these conversations in front of you?"

Gregg's eyebrows went up, like he'd just put it together. "They'd go back to Mercy's office and shut the door. I never thought about the two of them together. I mean Mercy was kind of old."

Will guessed thirty-two was ancient to a fourteen-year-old.

"Mister," he said. "Sorry, but is that it? I gotta get the Hobart going or I'm gonna get my hide tanned."

"That's it. Thanks."

Will waited until the door was closed before going to the standing freezer. The lock was open. He looked inside. Nothing but meat. He walked around the back and spotted Gregg's stash shoved up against the wall of the lean-to. The trash cans were empty. The area was clean.

No bloody clothes. No broken knife handle.

Will got on his knees and used the flashlight from his phone to look under the freezer.

He heard voices from the forest. Will stayed down behind the freezer. He was obscured by the slats on the side of the lean-to. Christopher and Chuck were on the lower part of the trail below the dining hall. They were carrying fishing poles and tackle boxes. Chuck had the same gallon water jug he'd sported at dinner last night. He drank so loudly from the clear, plastic container that Will could hear his gulps from twenty yards away.

"Crap," Christopher said. "I forgot my stupid gaff."

Chuck wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. "You leaned it against the tree."

"Crap." Christopher looked at his watch. "We're supposed to have a family meeting. Can you—"

"Family meeting about what?"

"Hell if I know. Probably the sale."

"Do you think the investors are still interested?"

"Give me your stuff." Christopher wrangled Chuck's tackle box and pole alongside his own. "Even if they're not interested, it's over. I'm out of this business. I never wanted to do it in the first place. And without Mercy, it just won't work. We needed her."

"Fish, don't talk like that. We can figure it out. We can't give this up." Chuck held out his arms to indicate their surroundings. "Come on, buddy. This is a good thing we've got going. A lot of people are depending on us."

"They can depend on somebody else." Christopher turned and headed back up the trail. "I've made up my mind."

"Fish!"

Will ducked down so that Christopher didn't see him as he walked past.

"Fishtopher McAlpine. Come back here. You can't bail on me." Chuck was silent for way too long before he figured out Christopher wasn't coming back. "Dammit."

Will stuck up his head from behind the freezer. He could see Christopher heading toward the main house. Chuck was making his way down to the creek.

A decision had to be made.

Alejandro would probably be in the kitchen for the rest of the day. Unlike the rest of the men on the property, Chuck was a complete mystery. They didn't know his last name. They hadn't been able to do a background check. More importantly, Mercy had embarrassed the man in front of a group of people. Roughly eighty percent of the murders Will investigated were perpetrated by men who were furious about their inability to control women.

Will headed down the trail. If it could be called a trail. The narrow strip toward the creek wasn't lined with crushed stone like the others. Will could see why it wasn't meant for guests. The perilously steep trail could've resulted in some lawsuits. Will had to concentrate on his footing to get through the worst of it. Chuck was having an easier time of it. He was swinging the water jug as he traipsed through the forest. The man had a strange way of walking, like his pronated feet were kicking imaginary soccer balls. He resembled a lesser Mr. Bean. His back was swayed. He was wearing a bucket hat and fishing vest. His brown cargo shorts hit below his knees. Black socks slouched around his yellow hiking boots.

The trail turned even steeper. Will held on to a branch so he didn't slide on his ass. Then he grabbed a rope that was tethered to a tree like a handrail. He heard the shush of white water before he saw the creek. The sound was soft, more like white noise. This must've been the area Delilah had called the waterfall that wasn't really the waterfall. The terrain dropped about ten feet in the space of a dozen yards. Some flat stones had been placed in the water to create a footbridge at the head of the mini falls.

Will remembered seeing a photograph taken in this area on the lodge website. It showed Christopher McAlpine standing in the middle of the creek throwing out a fishing line. The water was up to his waist. Will guessed the rain had made it twice as deep. The bank on the opposite side was mostly submerged. The tree canopy was thicker overhead. He could see clearly, but not as clearly as he would've liked.

Chuck was taking in the same view, but from a lower vantage. He was kneading his back with his fist as he looked across the creek. Will catalogued the ways Chuck could hurt him if there was some kind of struggle. The hooks and lures on the man's vest would hurt like hell, but fortunately, Will only had one hand that would be shredded. He wasn't sure what a gaff was, though he had noticed that most of the instruments for fishing could easily be turned into weapons. The plastic jug was half full of water, but would feel like a hammer if Chuck swung it with enough force.

Will kept his distance, calling, "Chuck?"

Chuck whipped around, startled. His glasses had fogged at the edges, but his eyes easily found the revolver on Will's hip. He asked, "You're Will, right?"

"That's right." Will picked his way down the last part of the trail.

"The humidity is a bitch today." Chuck cleaned his glasses with the tail of his shirt. "We barely missed another storm coming through."

Will kept around ten feet between them. "Sorry we didn't get a chance to talk at dinner last night."

Chuck pushed his glasses up his nose. "Believe me, if I had a wife who was that hot, I wouldn't talk to anybody, either."

"Thanks," Will forced himself to smile. "I didn't catch your name."

"Bryce Weller." He reached out to shake Will's hand, then saw the bandage and waved instead. "People call me Chuck."

Will kept his response neutral. "That's quite a nickname."

"Yeah, you'll have to ask Dave how he came up with it. No one remembers anymore." Chuck was smiling, but he didn't look happy. "Thirteen years ago, I went up the mountain a Bryce and came down a Chuck."

Will wondered why the guy was suddenly speaking in an accent, but he didn't press it. "I should tell you I'm here in a work capacity. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind talking to me about Dave."

"He didn't confess?"

Will shook his head, glad that the word hadn't spread from town yet.

"I'm not surprised, inspector," Chuck said in another weird voice. "He's a weaselly vermin. Don't let him get out of this. He should get the electric chair."

Will didn't tell him it was done by lethal injection. "What can you tell me about Dave?"

Chuck didn't answer immediately. He uncapped the water jug and gulped down half of what was left. He smacked his lips as he flipped the cap back in place. Then he let out a burp that was so putrid Will could almost taste it from ten feet away.

"Dave is a typical Chad." Chuck's jokey voice was gone. "Don't ask me why, but females can't resist him. The more terrible he is, the more they want him. He doesn't have a real job. He scrapes by on whatever scraps Bitty throws him. He smokes like a chimney. He's an addict. He lies, cheats and steals. He lives in a trailer. Doesn't own a car. What's not to love, right? Meanwhile, all the nice guys are relegated to the friend zone."

Will wasn't surprised that Chuck was an incel, but he was surprised the man was so open about it. "Did Mercy put you in the friend zone?"

"I put myself there, friend." Chuck seemed to really believe this. "I let her cry on my shoulder a few times, but then I realized nothing was ever going to change. No matter how much Dave hurt her, she always went back to him."

"You were aware of the abuse?"

"Everyone was." Chuck took off his hat and wiped the sweat off his forehead. "Dave didn't try to hide it. He would hit Mercy right in front of us sometimes. An open-handed smack, never a punch, but we all saw it."

Will held back his judgment. "That must've been hard to watch."

"I spoke up in the beginning, but Bitty pulled me aside. M'lady made it clear to me that a gentleman does not interfere in another gentleman's marriage." The stupid voice was back. Chuck leaned toward Will, pretending a confidence. "Even the harshest ruffian cannot say ‘nay' to such a petite and delicate creature's request."

Will finally got what Sara meant when she said that Chuck was weird. "Mercy divorced him over a decade ago. Why was Dave even up here?"

"Bitty."

Rather than explain himself, Chuck decided to take another swig from the jug. Will was beginning to wonder if it was just water in there. Chuck drained the entire thing, his throat making gulping sounds like a slow toilet.

Chuck burped again before he continued, "For all intents and purposes, Bitty is Dave's mother. He has a right to see her. And of course Bitty has a right to invite him to every holiday. Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Mother's Day, Kwanzaa. Whatever the occasion, Dave's always here. She snaps and he jumps."

Will took that to mean that Chuck was always there, too. "How did Mercy feel about Dave being included in every family event?"

Chuck swung the empty jug in his hand. "Sometimes, she was glad. Sometimes, she wasn't. I think she tried to make it easy for Jon."

"She was a good mother?"

"Yeah." Chuck gave a curt nod. "She was a good mother."

The admission seemed to take something out of him. He took off his hat again. He tossed it onto the ground beside a black fiberglass rod that was leaning against a tree.

Which is how Will learned that a gaff is basically a four-foot-long pole with a big, nasty hook on the end.

"The property is huge," Chuck said. "Mercy could've avoided Dave. Hid in her room. Stayed out of his way. But she never did that. Every meal, she was at the table. Every family gathering, she was there. And invariably, she and Dave ended up screaming at each other or hitting each other and, honestly, it got boring after a while."

Will said, "I bet."

Chuck placed the empty jug beside his hat. Will had a sense of déjà vu taking him back to Dave and the boning knife. Was Chuck freeing up his hands or was he just tired of carrying things?

"The worst part was watching how all of this affected Fishtopher." Chuck started kneading his back again. "He hated how Dave treated Mercy. He was always saying that he was going to do something about it. Cut Dave's brake lines or throw him in the Shallows. Dave's a terrible swimmer. It's a wonder he's never drowned before. But Fish wouldn't do anything, and now Mercy's dead. You can see how it's weighing on him."

Will couldn't see anything. "Christopher is a hard man to read."

"He's devastated," Chuck said. "He loved Mercy. He really did."

Will thought he had a funny way of showing it. "Did you go back to your cottage after dinner last night?"

"Fish and I had a nightcap, then I retired to my cottage for some reading."

"Did you hear anything between ten and midnight?"

"I fell asleep with my book. That explains the kink in my back. I feel like I've been punched in the kidneys."

"You didn't hear a scream or a howl or anything like that?"

Chuck shook his head.

"When's the last time you saw Mercy alive?"

"Dinner." Irritation sparked his voice. "You witnessed what happened between us at cocktails. That's a prime example of how Mercy treated me. I was only trying to make sure she was okay, and she screamed at me like I had raped her."

Will watched his face change, like he regretted choosing the word rape. Before Will could follow up, Chuck reached for his hat on the ground. He hissed air between his teeth.

"Jesus, my back." He left the hat on the ground and slowly straightened up. "The body tells you when you need to take a break, right?"

"Right." Will was thinking about the fact that Mercy didn't have any defensive wounds. Maybe she had gotten in some punches before the knife had subdued her. "You want me to take a look at that?"

"My back?" Chuck sounded alarmed. "What would you see?"

Bruises. Bite marks. Scratches.

Will lied, "I worked as a physical therapist in college. I could—"

"I'm fine," Chuck said. "I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. That's all I can tell you."

Will could tell Chuck wanted him gone, which made Will not want to leave. "If you think of anything—"

"You'll be the first to know." Chuck pointed up the hill. "The trail will take you back to the main house. Just go past the dining hall on your left."

"Thanks." Will didn't leave. He wasn't finished making Chuck uncomfortable. "My partner will follow up with you later."

"Why?"

"You're a witness. We need to get your written statement." Will paused. "Any reason we shouldn't?"

"No," he said. "No reason at all. I'm happy to help. Even though I didn't see or hear anything."

"Thanks." Will nodded up the trail. "You heading to the house?"

"I think I'll stay out here for a while." Chuck started to rub his back again, then thought better of it. "I need some time for reflection. Despite the persiflage, I've suddenly realized how affected I am by her death, too."

Will wondered if Chuck's brain had told his face that news, because he didn't look like he wanted time for reflection. He was sweating profusely. His skin was pale.

Will asked, "Are you sure you don't want company? I'm a good listener."

Chuck's throat visibly worked. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he didn't wipe it away. "No, thank you."

"Okay. I appreciate your talking to me."

Chuck's jaw was clenched.

Will lingered. "I'll be at the main house if you need me."

Chuck said nothing, but every part of his body said that he was desperate for Will to leave.

There was nothing to do but oblige him. Will started back up the trail. The first few steps were tricky, not because Will couldn't find his footing, but because he was calculating how far the gaff could reach. Then he was listening closely for the sound of Chuck running. Then he was wondering if he was being paranoid, which was statistically probable, but not all statistics corrected for reckless behavior.

Will kept his uninjured hand loose at his side, close to the gun on his hip. He saw a fallen log twenty yards ahead. The other part of the rope handrail was tied off to a large eye-bolt. He told himself he would turn back around to check on Chuck when he reached the log. His ears burned as he tried to pick out any sound other than the shush of the water flowing over the rocks. Going up the trail wasn't as easy as going down. His foot slipped. He cursed when he caught himself with his injured hand. He pushed himself up. By the time he'd made it to the log, he figured Chuck would be gone.

He was wrong.

Chuck was lying face-down in the middle of the creek.

"Chuck!" Will started running. "Chuck!"

Chuck's hand was trapped between two rocks. Water rushed around his body. He wasn't trying to lift his head. He wasn't even moving. Will kept running, unclipping his gun, the satellite phone, emptying his pockets because he knew he was going to have to go in. His boots slid in the mud. He made it down the slope on his ass, but he was a second too late.

The current pried Chuck's hand from the rocks. His body went spinning down the creek. Will had no choice but to go after him. He made a shallow dive into the water, then surfaced with an overhand stroke. The temperature was so cold he felt like he was moving through ice. Will pushed himself to keep moving. He was just barely keeping up with the flow. He pushed harder. Chuck was fifteen feet away, then ten, then Will reached for his arm.

He missed.

The current had grown stronger. The water frothed and churned as it hooked around a bend in the creek. He slammed into Chuck's body, his head jerking back on his neck. Will reached for him again, but suddenly, they were both tossed around by rapids. Will searched for the shore but he was spinning too fast. He tried in vain to find purchase with his feet. He heard a loud roar. Will thrashed, trying to get a lock on the horizon. His head kept going under. He pushed himself up and was momentarily paralyzed by what he saw. Fifty yards ahead. The turbulence flattened out as the surface of the water kissed the sky.

Shit.

This was the real waterfall Delilah had been talking about.

Forty yards.

Thirty.

Will made one last, desperate lunge toward Chuck, his fingers catching on the vest. He kicked his feet, trying to find something to brace against. The current wrapped around his legs like a giant squid, pulling him downstream. His head was dragged below the surface. He was going to have to let go of Chuck. Will tried to shake his hand loose, but he was caught on the vest. His lungs ached for air. He struggled to kick himself backward.

His foot landed against something solid.

Will pushed off with every ounce of strength he had left in his body. He flailed across the current, blindly reaching out his hand. His fingers touched something solid. The surface was rough and unyielding. He'd managed to grab onto the side of a boulder. It took three tries before he was able to pull himself up. He hooked his hips on the ledge to give himself time to breathe. His eyes were burning. His lungs were shaking. He coughed out a torrent of bile and water.

Chuck was still tethered to his hand by the fishing vest, but he was no longer dragging Will toward the waterfall. The man was floating on his back in a shallow gorge. His arms and legs were straight out, almost perpendicular to his body. Will looked at Chuck's face. Eyes wide. Water flowing through his open mouth. Well and truly dead.

Will crawled up the rest of the way onto the rock. He put his head between his knees. Waited for his vision to clear. His stomach to stop turning. Several minutes passed before he was able to survey the damage. The fishing vest was hanging off Chuck's shoulder. The other end was tightly twisted around Will's wrist and hand. The same hand that had been injured twelve hours ago. The same hand that was now pulsing like a bomb was ticking down inside.

There was nothing to do but get it over with. Will slowly peeled away the heavy, wet canvas, unwinding it like a puzzle. It took time. Hooks had doubled back on the material. They were in all shapes and sizes with multi-colored ends tied to look like insects. It felt like forever until Will got to his actual skin.

He stared in disbelief.

The bandage had saved him. Six hooks had clawed into the thick gauze. One hook was wrapped around the bottom of his index finger like a ring. The skin bled a little when he pulled the hook away, but it was more like a paper cut than an amputation. The last hook had clawed into the cuff of his shirt sleeve. Will wasn't going to mess with the barb. He ripped it out. He held up his hand to the light to make sure he was really unscathed. No blood. No sight of bone.

He'd gotten lucky, but the feeling of relief was short-lived.

Will had started out the day with one victim. Now he had two.

January 16, 2016

Dear Jon—

I sat down to write your gotcha letter and I just stared at the blank page so long because I didn't think there was much to tell you. Things have been real calm lately, which I'm grateful for. We've got a nice routine going. I get you up and ready for school and Fish drives you down the mountain and then we all get to work helping guests.

I know your uncle Fish would prefer to start his day in the creek but that's the kind of man he is, giving up his mornings for a little boy. Even Bitty is helping out, going to pick you up from school in the afternoons. I think she just needed you to get a little older. She's never liked babies. You two are getting real close. She'll let you in the kitchen when she's making cookies for the guests. Sometimes she'll even let you sit with her while she knits on the couch. And I'm okay with that for now. Just remember what I told you about how she can turn. Once you're on her bad side you will never see that sweet side again, and you can trust me on that cause it's been so long I don't even know what that side looks like anymore.

Anyway, I was thinking back on last year and wondering what I could tell you, but mostly that was the important part, that things have been easy for a stretch. It ain't much of a life up here on this mountain, but it's a life. I walk around this place and I think about you running it some day and that makes me happy enough.

But one thing I remembered was something that happened in spring of last year. Maybe you remember part of what happened, because I lit into you like my hair was on fire. I'd never done that to you before and I never will again. I know I can be short, and your daddy would be the first to tell you I've got some of Bitty's iciness, but you've never been on the bad end of one of my tempers. So I felt like I should tell you why I was so mad.

What I want to say right up front is that your uncle Fish is a good person. He can't help it that Papa beat the fight out of him. I know that him being the oldest and also being a man means he's supposed to protect me, but life just made it the other way around. Which I'm fine with to be honest. I love my brother and that's a fact.

Now this next thing I'm going to tell you should always be kept a secret, because it belongs to me and not to you. What happened was, you were reading in bed instead of going to sleep. I told you to turn off your light, then I went back to my room and lay down in bed. I was thinking I'd give it another minute before I checked on you again. Then I must've fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, I woke up and Chuck was on top of me.

I know you and me laugh about Chuck, but he's still a man and he is strong. I guess he's always had a thing for me. I went out of my way to never encourage it, but maybe I did something by mistake. I was always grateful that Fish had a friend. Your poor uncle gets so lonely up here. Truth be told, I think Fish would probably throw himself off the big falls if he didn't have Chuck up here keeping him company.

All of those thoughts were going through my head, believe it or not. The brain part of me was making the calculations about how much it would hurt Fish if I screamed and woke up the house. The body part of me had disappeared. I learned how to do that a long time ago and I hope you never find out why. But just know that I wasn't going to break my brother's heart.

But none of that ended up mattering because Fish walked in. Now I will say that in all my years, Fish has never just walked into my bedroom. He's always knocked first, then usually stood out in the hall. He's respectful like that. But maybe he heard me struggling since he's right next door. I don't know what brought him there. I'm sure as hell not going to ask him because we haven't talked about it since and never will as far as I'm concerned. But what happened was, this is the only time I think I've ever heard him yell. He never raises his voice. But what he said was STOP!

Chuck stopped. He got off me so fast it was like it never happened. He ran out of the room. Then Fish just looked at me. I thought he was gonna call me a whore, but what he said was, "Do you want me to tell him to leave?"

There was a lot in that question, because it told me Fish knew I didn't ask for it. Being honest, that was what mattered the most. People always assume the worst of me, but Fish knew that I was never interested in Chuck that way. And he was willing to give up his only friend in the world to prove it.

So what I told him was, as long as it never happens again, Chuck can stay. Fish just nodded and left. And I'll say that Chuck has acted like it never happened, which is a relief. We're all just ignoring it. But it wasn't without a consequence, and that's why I'm telling you this story. I was real shaken when Fish closed my door. Some of my clothes were torn. And it's not like I can go into town and buy new things with all my money. Ain't nothing I've got up here that didn't come from a donation box.

But when I stood up, my knees gave out. I hit the floor. I was so angry at myself. What did I have to be upset about? Nothing actually happened. It just almost happened. And that was when I saw that your light was still on.

Now, I've lived my life watching shit roll downhill and come right for me. Papa gets mad and he takes it out on Bitty. Bitty takes it out on me. Or the other way around, but I'm always at the bottom of the hill. That night, I took it out on you, and I am sorry. This isn't an excuse, it's just an explanation. And maybe I just want to write this down so that somebody knows what happened. Because what I've learned with men like Chuck is that they get away with something once, they're gonna try to get away with it again. I've seen it happen so much with your daddy that I can set my watch by it.

Anyway, I'm gonna leave it at that.

I love you with all my heart and I'm sorry I yelled,

Mama