Paul and his husband were talking with Patty Horne, from the bakery.
“You met Patty before,” he said. “And Allison. Over there, white T-shirt and white baseball hat . . . that’s Shawn Greenvale, Sabrina’s ex-boyfriend. It took a lot to get him to come. He owns a water sports business—kayaks and canoes and things. I sponsored a bunch of free rentals, so he had to show up. That older woman sitting in that group over by the trees? The one with the striped top and the short hair? That’s
Susan Marks, the head of the camp in 1978. And that . . .”
He waved to a woman in a gray linen suit, which was out of place with all the shorts and light dresses.
“Hang on,” he said. “I have an important introduction to make.”
He stood and signed to Allison, who was coming out of the library. She approached the table.
“Allison!” Carson said. “It’s going pretty good, huh?”
“It is,” Allison said, looking out at the festivities. “It’s very . . . My sister would have appreciated this. We already have a crowd of kids in the reading room playing games and picking up books.”
The woman in the linen suit had reached the table.
“Oh, this is Sergeant Graves,” Carson said. “You know each other, right?”
Allison shook her head.
“I know you,” the woman said. “Or of you. I’m a cold case detective, and I’ve been assigned . . .”
The unfinished bit of the sentence indicated that she had been assigned to this case: the Box in the Woods.
“Nice to meet you,” Allison said, shaking the woman’s hand formally. “You know, we get someone new every year or two. It never comes to anything.”
“I’m aware of that. It must be very difficult for you. But I want you to feel free to reach out to me anytime at all. Here.” She reached into her bag and produced a business card. “Anytime. I’m happy to talk, to answer any questions I can,
whatever you need. Consider me a resource.”
Allison took the card and looked at it for a long moment.
“That’s kind of you to say,” Allison replied. “I don’t hold out a lot of hope, but there is one thing you could do for me.”
“Name it.”
“My sister had a diary,” Allison said. “It was very important to her. She had it with her at the camp, but when they sent her things home from her bunk, it wasn’t there. I know her things from that night are still in evidence. We’ve asked before if her diary was there—maybe it was in her bag. We’ve always been told it wasn’t. But it has to be somewhere. Could you look through the paperwork or boxes again? Maybe it was misplaced?”
“I’ve never seen anything in the files about a diary,” Sergeant Graves replied. “But I’m not about to pretend that things were handled well back then. I’ll go through everything and look for it. I’ll start tomorrow.”
“I would appreciate that,” Allison said. “It’s the one thing of hers I really, truly wish I had.”
“No problem. Good to meet you. Excuse me—I’m going to get something to drink.”
“I always ask about the diary,” Allison said when she was gone. “They always tell me they’ll look to shut me up. I guess they mean well. I don’t know.”
“I think it’s about time to do the honors,” Carson said to Allison, “if you’re ready.”
Allison nodded, and Carson got up and took his position behind the microphone. The DJ faded out the music, and