Chapter 13
When I reach the check-in desk, I see Chet watching A Christmas Story on his laptop.
"Not a finger!" I mock, imitating the dad from the film, trusting his wife not to touch the leg lamp in that iconic scene. "What a classic."
"I watch it at least five times a season," Chet confirms with a grin.
"Only five? It's a priority to watch once a week once Halloween is over."
"I refuse to watch A Christmas Story Christmas. Was totally unnecessary."
"Totally," I pause, awkward silence creeping in while he undoubtedly wonders why I'm here.
"Is your room okay?" Chet asks.
"Oh, yes. I mean, it's a little small, but we aren't staying long. We'll be leaving Christmas morning."
"Where are you traveling from?"
"Los Angeles."
"Haha, are you famous?"
I can't exactly say yes or no, though I do get recognized occasionally at Erewhon, and I do have about seven hundred thousand followers, most of them haters waiting to see me fail.
"Not exactly. But I did have a question for you."
"Shoot." Chet slams his laptop shut, giving me his full attention.
"While we were researching Frosthaven Falls and all it has to offer, a couple of articles came up."
"Which ones?"
"I'm pretty sure you know."
If he's playing dumb, he's doing a bad job. And if he doesn't want to talk about it, he should just say so.
"About what happened a year ago," I confirm.
Chet exhales sharply. "We don't like to bring that up. The locals, the ones whose families built this town over generations, won't talk about it. It's an embarrassment. We were a prosperous, beautiful place. Now our reputation is tainted."
"And you had no idea? About any of it?"
"If I had, I would have told the police. Just like when they interviewed me."
My heart twitches like I've just found a clue. Chet was interviewed?
"Was everybody questioned, or just you?" I confirm.
I've put him on the spot, and I can tell he doesn't like it one bit.
"I wasn't 'questioned'. The police spoke to everyone of interest, innocent or not. My parents may own The Whispering Pines Motel, but I'm here every day and night, running it. If you're here to stir things up or try to connect innocent people to that horrific night, you're wasting your time."
His tone is neutral, not at all threatening, but his words sound rehearsed.
"Okay, I'm sorry," I say. "It's just not every day a story like that makes national news. Even the cars driving off cliffs—"
"Those were accidents. Bad snowstorm accidents."
"Ehh, some of them weren't," I disagree.
Chet leans forward. "Look, I guarantee you've witnessed your fair share of crime in L.A. Shoplifting, muggings, carjackings. But this is a small town. I know everyone here. Trust me, everyone involved that night got what they deserved."
"If you know everyone, then why are you being so vague about the creep who sexually harassed us—in Frosthaven Falls, no less, not L.A.?"
"Sexually harassed? What are you even talking about?" Chet folds his arms across his chest, the universal sign of defensiveness.
"Whatever, but if I see that freak snooping around this lodge, it won't be good for any of you." I don't mean to slam the door, but I do as I step back outside.
What the hell is Chet hiding? I know in small towns the community looks out for each other. The locals are the backbone, which is obvious since Chet's been running his family's business.
I turn a corner and find a bench to sit on, mesmerized by the beautiful way the sun refracts off the snow. I pull out my phone, snap a few photos, and post one to social media. Then, I take a ten-minute breather, breathing in and out in slow, focused cycles.
My phone buzzes, and Aiden's name flashes on the screen. Well, not really. It's saved as "Andrew," just in case Phoebe ever sees it.
"Oh, fuck," I shout. "Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" I kick my feet in the snow, the crunch oddly satisfying. I type a reply.
But he doesn't reply. I wait for the bubbles to appear, for him to say something, to take it back or change his mind. Instead, I get a notification in our group chat.
"Leave while you still can? This has to be Chet." I'm holding the paper in our room, the three of us reunited, but more on edge than ever.
"Why do you think it's him?" Mara asks.
"I just came from talking to him and he got a little hostile," I exaggerate. "He wasn't scary or anything, but he got really defensive, and I could tell he was lying about something."
"This whole town seems to be hiding something, given how they won't give up anything," Phoebe agrees.
"You didn't see anyone?" I press.
"No, but I didn't answer the door right away. I thought it was that weirdo."
"His name's Albert," Mara interrupts. "I overheard two women gossiping at the store, talking about a man who sounds a lot like him. They said he should be put out of his misery."
"I'll do it," I joke.
Mara rolls her eyes at me, unamused. "Maybe we should leave."
"Mara, what? No way! You're not serious, are you?" I shriek.
"We barely even made it here in one piece. I'm just getting a bad feeling. And now the note? Do we need a bigger sign to leave? This is freaking me out."
"How about this," Phoebe suggests. "Let's stay the night. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. We can check out the cabin later in the morning—if there's nothing useful, we'll just head home after."
Mara looks hopeful, her eyes pleading like she can't stand being here another minute. But there's no way I'm leaving without snapping a selfie as proof of my existence there.
"Fine," I concede. "But the cabin's a priority. My idea is as good as dead if we leave before visiting."