Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Yolanda agrees to help Nicole warn female residents. Up next on my list is Isabel, mostly to ensure she can also help with that. I don’t get anything new from our resident bar owner and psychologist beyond echoing Yolanda’s sense of guilt that the drink tray had gone unattended.
We’ve already become complacent in Haven’s Rock. Yes, we got off to a rocky start with Max’s kidnapping, but we’ve locked down even tighter, with new protocols and mandatory wilderness training, implementing our wish-list items faster than expected. It helps that things have been so quiet, giving us time to double down on resident safety.
Our complacency came from within. We’ve had only minor issues from the residents themselves, which reassured us that we’d fixed those problems from our Rockton days. Unlike Rockton, Haven’s Rock isn’t a refuge for criminals, not even white-collar ones willing to shell out handsomely for protection.
émilie had decades to learn how Rockton worked and think about how she’d handle intake better, once she was freed from the council’s need for profits. Everyone coming into Haven’s Rock is as much a victim as she and her husband had been when they arrived in Rockton fleeing political persecution.
Add in the fact that Haven’s Rock accepts couples and families, and the vibe has changed significantly, especially as the staff settles in. Rockton had a tension to it we could never shake. Separated from their support systems, people acted differently. For some, it was like a trip to Vegas—go wild and be whoever you wanted to be, knowing none of it would follow you home. For most, though, arriving among strangers only added to their unease and anxiety.
Haven’s Rock is different. The vibe is more wilderness-lodge getaway, which is exactly what we wanted. Or, maybe more accurately, it’s like taking a job in a remote community for a few years, accepting the isolation in return for the rewards. In this case, the reward is safety.
We’ve been aware of the possibility of sexual assault, but we lowered our guard. Since we opened, we haven’t had so much as a complaint of unwanted attention. That doesn’t mean unwanted attention hasn’t occurred, just that it seems to have been dealt with and never reached the stage requiring police intervention.
In Rockton, Isabel taught her bartenders to never leave drinks unattended. You filled it and you handed it over, and if the buyer wasn’t around, it waited on the back counter. Take no chances.
Isabel hadn’t intentionally left the drinks on the counter. She just didn’t think about it. She made them, set them out for Yolanda, and then realized she needed to grab more beers to replace the ones she just used.
Feeling guilty means Isabel has started preparing for my questions before I can ask. She already has a list of everyone she saw that night, especially those she recalls seeing between eleven thirty and midnight. It’s not a short list. It was Saturday night, and the weekends might work differently here, but people cling to those old patterns. Saturday is pub night, where you’re pretty much guaranteed to walk in and find a table of people you know.
Of the sixty-seven adults in Haven’s Rock, fifty are on Isabel’s list, having been in the Roc at some point. Of those, at least half didn’t leave until that final half hour, which means any of them could have dosed that drink. It’s also possible that Kendra’s attacker slipped in and out, and Isabel never noticed. A busy night means a busy bar.
I secure her agreement to do the rounds with Nicole and Yolanda. She wants to speak to them first, to solidify the message and include a warning about leaving drinks unattended. That’s not blaming anyone. It’s just a reminder of a rule every woman learns by the time she’s twenty.
Three interviews down, two to go. I’ve moved Gunnar to the bottom of the list. He left first, and he’s unlikely to give me anything new. Up next is my most important witness—the woman who was there when Kendra left the Roc.
It’s just past eleven when I find Lynn at work in the general store. She’s been working there for a few months, after spending some time at the restaurant. While we have some professional positions in Haven’s Rock, most of the jobs are unskilled labor, and we rotate people among them to reduce dissatisfaction.
Anyone walking into the general store could be forgiven for thinking it’s shutting down. Half the shelves are empty, with the goods all moved up to the front.
The store isn’t closing—it just isn’t fully stocked yet. In Rockton, even necessities had to be purchased. Ruined a shirt working in the kitchens? Lost weight and need smaller jeans? You bought them with the credits you earned at your job. In Haven’s Rock, your income is only needed for “extras.” Kind of like going to summer camp and bringing tuck money.
Meals, clothing, and all necessities are included in your stay. Work isn’t about survival; it’s about supporting your community. You get paid, but your credits go toward luxury items. Your daily coffee is free. Your evening beer is not. Paper and pens are free. Fancy writing journals are not. Standard-issue black wool scarves are free. Pastel or plaid ones are not. You decide which items add joy to your stay, and that’s where you spend your money. Not on essentials.
While you’re entitled to that black wool scarf, we don’t have a stack of them for residents to grab a new one every time they misplace theirs. If they do lose one, they need to requisition a replacement, and Phil will be examining those requisition lists to be sure this isn’t the third scarf you’ve lost this winter. Yep, we want to be generous, but there is a budget.
While the general store fills requisitions, those items are kept in storage. The shop only displays the luxuries, which don’t take up a lot of space. We might never need the full building, small though it is. For now, the empty space hosts private gatherings, for those who want to play a game of poker or hold a book-club meeting.
When I walk in, Lynn is on her stool with her inventory book. I grab a chocolate bar as I walk past.
“Add it to your tab?” Lynn says with a smile.
I don’t have a tab. Staff are allowed to take what they want. Lynn makes the same joke every time I walk in, but I know it’s just social anxiety and an eagerness to be friendly. We had a minor clash during Max’s kidnapping—with a bit of casual racism tossed in—and she’s been desperately walking it back ever since.
“Nah,” I say. “Put it on Eric’s.”
Her smile broadens. I’m playing along, as I always do, naming a different staff member each time.
“What’s our poor sheriff done now?” she says.
“The usual. Late-pregnancy hovering.”
“That’s very sweet.” She quickly adds, “Annoying I’m sure, but still sweet.”
There’s a wistfulness in her voice that makes me regret my grumble. I’ve seen Grant hover over her, and it’s a very different vibe.
She sets down her pen. “I figured you’d get to me this morning. I heard about Kendra. I popped by the clinic, but April ran me off.” She quickly adds, “As she should. Kendra doesn’t need a steady stream of visitors interrupting her rest. April did tell me Kendra was fine.”
“She is, all things considered.”
“I, uh, I know this is your investigation—obviously—but…” Lynn fingers the inventory book. “Are we allowed to tell what we did down south if it could be relevant?”
“You’re always allowed to share that,” I say gently. “We suggest that people don’t give away too much for their own safety, but it’s a personal choice. If you’re offering to tell me something pertinent, it will be confidential. Within the police force, that is. I do share anything relevant with Eric and Will.”
“Of course. And this isn’t top-secret or anything. Although…” She chews her lip. “It’s related to why Grant and I are here, but indirectly.”
“I don’t need to know any of that.”
She nods. “Thank you. What I wanted to say was that I worked for a law firm specializing in civil litigation with sexual harassment and assault. I wasn’t a lawyer myself. Just support staff. But I took a lot of training in working with survivors, and that was my specialty. So if you need any help…”
“That didn’t happen with Kendra.”
“Good. I hoped not, but since that was probably the intent…” She shrugs, looking sheepish. “I don’t know what I’m offering.” She taps the inventory book and then looks up. “Oh, but I do know a lot about dosing. The drugs commonly used, methods commonly used, and so on.”
“That could be helpful. Would you be able to assist Nicole in writing up safety guidelines for residents?”
She perks up, face lighting. “Gladly.”
“I might also consult with you. I know some of the drugs used, and we’ll need to match them up with the tox-screen results and the drugs available in town.”
“Anything you need, just ask. Until then…” Lynn rummages through a drawer. “Because Kendra seems to have been dosed, you’ll want to know who was in the bar. I made a list.”
She pulls out a sheet of paper. It’s more than Isabel’s simple list of names. It’s in sections and color-coded. With notes.
“The sections are time based,” she says. “I arrived just before eleven, so the first section is for those I saw when I first arrived. After that, it’s divided into quarter hours. Now, the times aren’t exact—I wasn’t watching the clock. But I was paying attention to who was there.”
She nibbles her lower lip again. “Grant was playing poker, and I didn’t want to interrupt his game to tell him I was going to the Roc.”
This might seem like a non sequitur. It isn’t. She means she noticed who was in the bar because she was watching for Grant.
“The colors indicate how close people came to our table. Green for those who never got near us. Red for people who stopped by. Yellow means I noticed them walk past. Then I added notes for anything that seemed significant.”
“That’s very…” I’m about to say “thorough” when I realize that could sound as if she’d gone overboard. “Appreciated. It’s very appreciated. Thank you.” I take the page and carefully fold it. “You were also the last person to be with Kendra. How was she acting?”
Lynn’s cheeks flame. “I… wasn’t paying attention. That’s awful to say, but Grant doesn’t like me staying at the Roc until closing, so I was freaking out a little.” A quick hand flapping. “Not that he’d, you know, do anything. He’s never hit me. I just don’t like fighting with him, and it’s not worth it to stay five minutes longer. But Kendra and I were talking about setting up a hike and I lost track of time. When Isabel called closing, I grabbed my coat, said goodbye, and left.”
Her hands clench on the countertop. “I wasn’t a good friend. I was completely focused on myself. Kendra seemed fine, but I didn’t pay enough attention and I didn’t offer to walk her home. I realized I’d stayed too late, panicked, and took off.”
I tell her that’s understandable. It is. I grew up with parents who set rules and expected me to obey them. I rebelled by doing things like intentionally showing up five minutes past curfew in hopes… Well, as I realize now, I’d done it in hopes of eliciting an emotional reaction, because even a negative response was better than none. But I’d known other girls with overly strict parents who’d have a full-blown panic attack if they were running late.
Lynn would have been focused on avoiding fallout with Grant, and Kendra is as self-sufficient as they come. Haven’s Rock at midnight isn’t the big city at two in the morning. Lynn wouldn’t worry about letting Kendra walk the hundred or so feet on her own, any more than Yolanda considered that when she left early.
I assure Lynn that she didn’t do anything wrong. We’ll all need to start being a little more careful. It’s easy to get complacent, and I’m as guilty of that as anyone.
I thank her for the list. As I’m leaving, I’m mentally preparing to cross-reference it with Isabel’s list, and I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I smack into our newest resident, who jumps back as if I’d caught him breaking in after hours. He flushes, his freckled skin going bright red as he stammers something about needing toothpaste.
Maybe this should trigger alarms. New resident getting flustered at bumping into the town detective… who is actively searching for someone who committed an assault? But with Thierry, I might actually be surprised if he didn’t seem flustered when I literally bumped into him.
Thierry arrived just before Christmas, and he’s still finding his place here. He’s a little older than me, pleasant looking and sweet natured. He’s one of the rare professionals who can continue to practice his trade—an elementary school teacher who has taken over lessons for Max and his brother, Carson. That isn’t a full-time position, but Thierry quite happily supplements it with some of the less attractive jobs, like the endless wood chopping and delivery needed in winter.
While Thierry is always a little awkward and overly quick to apologize, today’s reaction seems like overkill, even for him. I realize why when Lynn hurries from behind the counter and starts listing the types of toothpaste we have in stock.
I glance between Thierry and Lynn, and I can’t miss the looks that suggest something is heating up between them.
I should be happy for Lynn, finding someone open to receiving her signals, especially a guy who seems genuinely nice. But on the selfish side, a jealous Grant is not a problem we need right now.
Which is none of my business until it becomes my business.
Also, it will never be my business. If there’s trouble in the next few months, it will go to Dalton and Anders, who can easily handle it.
I say another goodbye to Lynn and Thierry, but I don’t think either hears it.
Next stop: Gunnar. He’d been on Yolanda’s construction crew as a general laborer, so that’s what he continues to do in Haven’s Rock. He assists Kendra or our carpenter, Kenny, with post-construction projects. Winter means any construction needs to be indoors, and if I’m right, his latest assignment is retrofitting a loft storage area we’ve decided to convert to a “playroom” for the kids. Yes, we haven’t been open even a year and we’re already making changes. No matter how carefully we planned, there is no substitute for living in a space. It’s only after we got here that we started realizing that particular storage building would always have an abundance of space… and our younger residents lack an area where they can play. Granted, being eleven and thirteen, Max and Carson would be insulted by the use of the word “playroom,” but they can make what they want of it.
The loft had actually been Gunnar’s idea. He has his own loft space, which we’d also set aside as storage but haven’t needed. There can be a childlike side to Gunnar, which had struck me as odd until he gave me his backstory, albeit very brief and very reluctantly, offering it only because it pertained to a case. That backstory has nothing to do with why he’s here, but maybe it has everything to do with why he stays here.
As a child, Gunnar saw his father shoot his mother, and he fled before catching the next bullet. His father then turned the gun on himself. That kind of trauma can arrest development in subtle ways, like making a twenty-eight-year-old man seek out a hidey-hole of his own, where he can sit and watch life unfold below him and feel safe.
I’m heading to the playroom construction site when I spot my target outside, talking with Anders and Marlon. Marlon is another recent arrival, having come in early December, and he’s been another excellent addition to our little town. Like Anders, he’s former military, which means he’s also a good hunter, and we can always use more of those. We can also always use additions to our militia.
These days, security in Haven’s Rock is mostly about keeping the outside world outside—watching for anything out there that gets a little too curious about what’s in here. That can be animals or it can be humans, and a resident with military and hunting experience is suited for both. Marlon’s easygoing personality means Anders and Kenny were happy to add him to the militia.
Right now, Marlon is deep in conversation with Gunnar, and I’m glad to see that, too. Gunnar is more comfortable around women. That isn’t always obvious, because he has the kind of gregarious personality that masks discomfort. But he does gravitate toward women, and I suspect that’s another lingering effect of his background. Having a father who killed your mother—and tried to kill you—is going to taint your relationships with adult men, even if Gunnar himself might not realize it.
Gunnar really doesn’t care for Dalton, and without going too amateur-shrink, I suspect there’s some unfortunate overlap in personality between Dalton and his father. He likes Anders, though, and now seems comfortable with Marlon, too.
I’m heading their way when I see Grant. It’s only been a few minutes since I left Lynn, but my mind has traveled down these other tracks—Gunnar and then Marlon—and it takes a mo ment to realize why seeing Grant sets me on alert. Right. After talking to Lynn, I’m all the more annoyed with Grant’s behavior toward his wife, especially when it meant Lynn had been too worried about his reaction to walk Kendra home last night.
Then I see where Grant is heading, and I have a whole new reason to be concerned. He’s on course for the general store, walking fast, clearly wanting to speak to Lynn… who is inside flirting with Thierry.
Damn it.
Some residents love the soap-opera drama of life in a very small town, but I am not one of them. Especially when “drama” means “trouble.”
“Yo!” Anders calls. “Case!”
I lift a hand without looking his way, my attention still on Grant.
Should I find an excuse to pop into the general store again? One more question for Lynn?
I shake off the impulse. Lynn and Thierry were barely at the flirting stage. Grant isn’t going to walk in on anything more than shy glances, and if Grant hasn’t realized how hard his wife’s been looking for love, that’s certainly not going to tip him off.
As I head toward the trio of men, I catch at least one passing female resident glancing their way as if she’d like to join that little group. It really is a gathering of Haven’s Rock’s finest straight single guys. Based on appearance alone, Anders and Gunnar are obvious choices; Anders for his head-turning good looks and Gunnar for his strapping Nordic appeal. Marlon is older—in his mid-forties—but if it wasn’t for the gray in his short dark curls, he’d seem no older than Anders, without a wrinkle on his dark skin. He’s not nearly as good-looking, but his average face has an openness and a genuine smile that makes it impossible not to smile back.
“How long have you been on your feet, soldier?” Anders calls to me.
I check my watch. “Twenty-two minutes, sir. I have eight more before I’m under strict orders to sit my ass down.”
“Mmm, if you say twenty-two minutes, it’s actually been thirty-two, meaning you’re overdue.”
Gunnar laces his hands in a makeshift seat, but I only roll my eyes.
“I’m going to steal this one.” I wave at Gunnar. “And yes, we’ll sit.” I turn to Gunnar. “Let’s go to the town hall. I need to talk to you about last night.”
“Café’s closer,” Anders says. “Or the clinic.”
“I can walk the hundred paces to the town hall for privacy.”
“What you need is a palanquin,” Marlon says.
Gunnar screws up his face. “A what?”
“Don’t look at me,” I say. “I’m hearing ‘paladin’ or ‘pangolin.’ I’m not sure I need a guy with a sword, but pangolins are nice. Not really cold-weather animals, though.”
Marlon laughs. “A paladin could carry you on his shoulders. Pangolins are a bit small for transport duty. And I might be saying ‘palanquin’ wrong, too. I mean those litter things that people ride on, carried by others.”
“Ah, yes,” I say. “I know what you mean—I’ve just never heard the word.”
“Which I might very well have wrong. I’ll ask Eric. That man is a walking encyclopedia. But a litter would work. Gunnar and I could whip one up from spare materials, carry you around.”
He pantomimes it, and I roll my eyes again.
“I’m pregnant,” I say. “Not an invalid. And, technically, my doctor—the one who is not my sister—says it’s fine to be on my feet for an hour at a time. It’s my lovely husband who cut that in half. Now—”
“Butler!” a voice bellows from clear across town. “Didn’t I see you leaving the town hall a half hour ago?”
“Speak of the devil,” I say, and I may add a few more choice words that have the men laughing. I turn around and shout back to Dalton. “Gunnar and I are going to the town hall for his interview.”
Dalton—appearing from behind a building down the road—opens his mouth, undoubtedly to say something about how far that is, but I cut him off with, “I could really use a decaf coffee. And cookies. I was going to stop by the café—”
“Got it!” he calls. “Meet you at the town hall.”
“Smooth,” Marlon murmurs.
“Thank you.”
“Sure you don’t want that litter?”
“Yes, and if you mention it to Eric?” I draw a finger across my throat. Then I say to Gunnar, “Ready for that interview?”
“I just need to tell Kenny I’ll be late helping him with the playroom.”
“I’ll tell him,” Marlon says. “I offered to help out anyway.”
“Isn’t it your half day off?” Anders says.
Marlon shrugs. “It’s a playroom for kids. Like volunteering for Habitat for Humanity.”
“Except there’s beer,” Gunnar says.
“Why do you think I offered?”
Gunnar and Marlon high-five. Anders laughs, and I usher Gunnar away for his interview.