Chapter 6
Once Mara and Sabrina are safely inside Trader Joe's, I pocket my phone and head in the opposite direction.
Most of the town's population lives up in the mountains, but there's a small shopping center and a gas station at the base for travelers passing through.
Housing down here is scarce—just a few homes and even fewer apartment complexes.
I imagine most people commute to nearby cities or work from home.
Who would want to brave these roads every day once the snow hits?
At least the other three seasons make up for it.
The hiking trails are supposed to be incredible, and the views from the top?
Breathtaking, or so I've heard. Not that we'll see much of anything today.
With snow clouds rolling in, visibility is already slipping under a quarter mile.
The peaks are probably swallowed whole by now.
But right now, I have one goal: the police station.
It wasn't on Mara's carefully plotted itinerary, but I have a feeling it should've been. I'm not sure why she left it off.
When I step through the automatic doors, a blast of warm air hits me—a welcome relief from the cold. Behind the front desk, a man in a short-sleeved police uniform smiles like there's sunshine outside instead of a blizzard.
"Hi, what can I do for you?"
A mini Christmas tree twinkles on the counter beside him, its lights flashing between white and rainbow, while NSYNC's "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays" blares a little too loudly for a place as grim as a police station.
"Good morning," I practically shout over the music. "I was wondering if I could pick up some files I requested a few weeks ago? We never heard back."
"Sure thing. Records department is down the hall, third door on the left."
He hands me a clipboard to sign in. I write down Mara's name, surprised by how easy it is to get in when she made it sound nearly impossible to reach anyone.
I'm halfway down the hall when the door I'm heading toward bursts open before I can even knock.
An elderly man shuffles out—a terrifying figure clutching a folder like it holds the launch codes for the U.S.
military. His gray hair hangs long and greasy, and the glare he shoots me makes every instinct scream to back away slowly.
He reeks of something sour and old, and I fight the urge to pinch my nose shut.
He shoulders past me without a word, slips out a back door, and vanishes before I can even think to alert someone.
Should I have stopped him?
I do a three-sixty turn but see no signs of surveillance cameras.
Wow. Small towns really are too trusting.
Before the events that happened at the cabin, this town barely had a crime rate—just a few winter skiing accidents, the kind you'd expect in any snowy mountain village. Sure, some cars slid off the mountain and crashed in the rocks below, but that happens everywhere, right?
Another figure appears, this one clean-shaven, looking a little startled himself.
"Oh, hi," he says, wiping damp hands on his pants. "Sorry about that. I was in the restroom. I'm the records clerk. Were you waiting long?"
"Not at all. Just a few minutes."
I pull out my phone and see Mara's message light up the screen.
Before answering, I turn back to the man, whose laminated name tag reads Robert.
"I know we didn't hear back, but I was really hoping you could share some information about Romee Anderson's case. My name is—"
"Mara Calloway?" Robert interrupts brightly. "You requested these by email, remember? If I'd known you were coming to pick up a second copy, I would've had them ready. I'm so sorry. It'll take at least a day..."
I force a smile, even as confusion churns in my gut.
Mara told me they never responded to her inquiry. She made it sound like they blew her off. Yet here is Robert, acting like everything went through exactly as it should have.
If Mara already got the files, why didn't she share them with me? What is she keeping from me?
I plaster on my best dumb smile.
"Oh my gosh, that's right. Sorry, it totally slipped my mind. I'm Mara," I say, extending a hand.
Robert shakes it quickly, looking almost regretful, like he's dropped the ball on something.
"You look different than I expected," he adds.
My stomach flips. Shit. Has he seen her headshot at the bottom of her email signature?
Before I can spiral, Robert asks, "Did you get the documents I emailed?"
"Oh, yes!" I say brightly. "Sorry again for the confusion."
Trying to shift the conversation, I add, "Do you get a lot of questions about what happened that night?"
The case is closed and has been for months now. The frenzy surrounding it has finally faded, leaving behind a quiet town where everyone involved has found their own form of closure.
"Most of the inquiries were from media outlets," Robert says, "But it's died down since the investigation concluded. Everything's accessible online these days. I hope you didn't have trouble accessing the encrypted files."
I watch him for a moment, trying to gauge if he has anything else to add.
"No issues. No. But, umm, is Jessica here?" I ask, almost on a whim. "The dispatcher who took the emergency calls that night?"
It's a last-ditch effort to get someone with firsthand knowledge.
Jessica's a Frosthaven Falls local—she might have insight no one else does.
Sure, she dodged all our interview requests when the story exploded nearly a year ago, but maybe, face-to-face, she wouldn't ghost me.
Robert glances around, like he's making sure we're still alone, before shaking his head.
"She took a leave of absence after the case wrapped up." His voice drops like he's sharing some hot gossip. "People kept hounding her for details. Even after she was cleared, it didn't stop. It got pretty bad."
I nod, feeling a flicker of sympathy. Still, there's something about the way he says it that makes me wonder if that's the whole story.
"Well, thanks again, and sorry for the confusion," I say, backing away. "Have a great day."
"You too, Mara!" he calls after me.
For a second, I almost correct him—It's Phoebe—but I catch myself just in time. I give a quick wave instead and head back the way I came.
I meet the girls at the car, everything already loaded in the trunk. It's only once I'm buckled safely inside that I realize: I never told Robert about the guy carrying the file.