The path through the woods came up before the pool, poorly marked but well trodden, right across from Margo and Paul Wellman’s house. I imagined her watching now as I followed Ruby down the sloped dirt, the black iron gates of the pool above us, to our right. I couldn’t see anyone watching, didn’t hear any voices—just the hum of mosquitoes and the squirrels darting through the brush. Though I was sure people had noticed two women carrying a bright pink kayak through the neighborhood.
Eventually, Ruby’s steps echoed over the slabs of plywood, and I could hear the water lapping at the dirt and roots in front of us.
On the edge of Lake Hollow, we were accustomed to a breeze, a cool gust off the water. The illusion, at least, as long as the air was moving. Sometimes, in the early morning, I would walk down here, staring out at the expanse of water like I was waiting for something to happen. Something to push back against, like a boat pressing through the current. Remembering that surge of adrenaline out on the ocean, the way you had to shout to be heard, the cold slap of the water, the bitter sting of the wind—feeling the need to move, to act.
But over the summer, the water had started to recede here, a drought that exposed the roots under the shoreline. And the stillness only managed to stir something up in the restlessness. Something quieter.
I saw Ruby scanning the area as we eased the kayak to the ground, like she was struggling to reconcile it with her memories.
“The whole lake has been going down,” I said. “It hasn’t rained all month.”
She kicked off her flip-flops—my flip-flops, half a size too small—and nosed the kayak into the water. “Thanks for helping me lug this thing down here. I can probably get it back up on my own.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. Not that I believed she couldn’t do it. I no longer underestimated all the things Ruby could do. But I didn’t want to let her out of my sight. I didn’t want to miss what she was doing here. “What else am I gonna do?” I slipped off my shoes and stepped into the lukewarm water, my feet sinking into the mud. “Feels good down here.”
“All right,” she said, “I won’t be too long. I’ve just spent a long time thinking about getting to do this again.”
She set out, heading straight down the center of the narrow inlet, toward the main body of Lake Hollow. If not for the topography of the coastline, the jagged fingers branching out from the main channel, I would’ve been able to see clear across the lake to the boathouse of the college and, beyond that, the tops of the low brick buildings, stretching into the trees.
As it was, all you could really see was the other side of the inlet—a thicket of trees and overgrown brush, the perfect home for muskrats and snakes. It didn’t belong to us. The land was private property, with an area set back from the lake that was cleared but never built upon, and a roughly graded, narrow access road. There was a sign on the closest tree to remind us of our boundaries.
It had taken the investigators a week to search it all for evidence. To hear Chase tell it, all they found were beer bottles, half buried in the dust, and the remnants of a firepit at the center of the clearing from long ago.
The sun reflected off the water like glass, burning my eyes as Ruby cut a path through the still surface. I was watching her, hand shading my eyes, feet sinking deeper into the mud, when I heard a whistle behind me.
I spun around but couldn’t see anything. Birds in the trees, calling to each other.
Another whistle, sharper this time, coming from up the slope. I stepped to the side so I could get a better angle through the trees. I could just make out Mac’s profile at the concrete edge of the pool in the distance—tall, thin, trademark blue hat, one hand through the iron bars, gesturing me closer.
Mac’s light brown hair curled out the bottom of his hat, and he wore sunglasses, so I couldn’t tell where he was looking. All I could see was my own reflection as I approached, stepping carefully through the wooded terrain.
He looked over his shoulder once, then circled his hands around the bars, pressing his face closer. “Hey,” he said, reaching for me as I came up the slope, fingers circling my wrist to steady me. “Was that her?” Nothing about the text I’d sent him yesterday and the silence that had followed.
“Yeah. She wanted to take the kayak out.” With my free hand, I gripped the iron post beside him. But he didn’t remove his other hand from my wrist, his thumb resting on my pulse point.
“She wanted to…” He shook his head, started over. “I’m sorry, Preston told me he saw the two of you at the pool yesterday, but I’m stuck on the part where she’s here at your house.”