Chapter Three
I meet up with Dalton and fill him in as we walk back to Haven’s Rock.
We are going back, and we are aware of the risk of leading them there.
But I’d stuck around long enough to see Gretchen and Blake move on, and Dalton and I walked the first twenty minutes in silence so we could listen for the sound of anyone following us.
We hear nothing. Storm hears nothing. We’re good. For now.
We can’t lurk with a teething baby—Rory was sleeping, but now she’s grumbling, ready to break into screams. Afternoon is passing into evening, and we can no longer expect sunshine until midnight. We need to get back and tell the others what we found.
Once we near town, we divert into the forest, taking a longer route on rough paths, just in case we’ve left too much of a trail.
Haven’s Rock is bustling. Shifts are ending. People are heading to their quarters or out for dinner, and—to add confusion to the mix—the Roc doesn’t seem open yet. With no prospects for a post-work cocktail hour, people mill about like automatons with their path blocked.
“What’s up?” I say to one of the residents.
“Roc’s closed.”
“She can see that,” a voice says. “She means why is it closed.”
I turn as a tall woman with raked-back curls and dark brown skin walks up behind Dalton.
“Stealing your baby, Eric,” she says. “Auntie Yolanda has missed her Rory time today. That was one hell of a hike you guys took.”
“What’s going on at the Roc?” I say. “Is Isabel okay?”
Isabel runs the Roc, as she did in Rockton. While she has help as our population grows, she’s still not comfortable enough with her new staff to leave them in charge. Or maybe “comfort” isn’t the right word, implying she doesn’t trust them. Isabel just likes to be in control.
“Iz is fine,” Yolanda says. “There’s a sign on the door saying the Roc opens at seven today.
You know what it’s like. Everyone’s so accustomed to our perfect clockwork of a town that they short-circuit when a gear breaks.
I think it’s a water issue. Kendra’s on patrol, so they’re waiting for her to get back and fix it. ”
I glance at Dalton, who only shakes his head. There is no water issue. Yolanda is saying that because people have shifted our way, trying to eavesdrop.
“Make way,” Yolanda says as she heads for the Roc. “Teething baby coming through. She needs her whiskey gum rub.”
“Uh, that’s not actually done anymore,” a nearby woman ventures.
“No, but it’s a fine excuse to get me into the bar early.”
The woman steps back, eyeing Yolanda uncertainly, as if her good mood is as suspicious as our hiking couple’s story.
Yolanda’s construction company built Haven’s Rock, and then she decided to take a break from entrepreneurship to help us because that’s the kind of woman she is, endlessly sweet and kind, like her grandmother, émilie.
Yeah, no one who spends five minutes with Yolanda mistakes her for sweet or kind.
She’s here because she’s fiercely loyal to émilie.
Initially she suspected we were conning an elderly billionaire.
She knows better now—in the sense that she knows we’re just a bunch of bleeding-heart idealists who are liable to all die of misplaced altruism if she leaves.
As for the good mood …
“How was your day shadowing Will?” I ask.
“I survived. Had to keep kicking his ass to get him moving. You know what he’s like. Heads out to do a task and stops to talk to five people on the way.”
More like five people stop him to talk, and our deputy, Will Anders, shoulders the weight of being the sociable third of our law-enforcement trio. Everyone likes Anders. Including someone who is in a remarkably chipper mood after spending the day with him.
Yolanda shoves open the Roc front door like she’s about to start a brawl.
“We’re closed,” someone snaps, and a woman appears from the dim interior.
She’s in her late forties, wearing a tailored blouse, hiking boots, and jeans that perfectly hug her curves.
“Ah, the calvary has arrived. There’s a toll for you, though, Ms. Yolanda.
” Isabel scoops Rory from Yolanda’s arms. “There. Paid in full.”
“Hey, that was mine.”
“Actually mine,” I say. “And if you fight over my child, I am taking her back.”
Someone emerges from the shadows and takes Rory. “Problem solved. She’s with her favorite uncle.”
It’s Anders. Big and brawny, with close-cropped curls and skin a shade darker than Yolanda’s. He recently turned forty and has the kind of good looks that’ll still turn heads at twice that age. Anders chucks Rory under the chin and, on cue, the baby smiles her biggest smile.
“Even babies fall for you,” Yolanda mutters. “Unbelievable.”
“They have excellent taste.” Anders waves to us. “Come on in. Sit down. Have a drink. Well, you and I can have a drink, Eric. Casey’s still on mocktails.”
“I might actually pump and dump tonight,” I say.
His brows shoot up. “Rough hike?”
“Mmm, weird and potentially concerning hike. But I’m guessing by the way Yolanda was talking about a water issue that something else has happened.”
I look around and spot Phil behind the counter. Phil is Isabel’s boyfriend and, unofficially, the town mayor, and the order in which I place those two roles says a lot about Haven’s Rock. Or a lot about Isabel.
Phil is my age, white, handsome in a fussy, corporate way—even today, he’s wearing a button-down shirt and the glasses that I won twenty bucks on when I bet Dalton they weren’t prescription.
“Will, Isabel, and Phil all in one place,” I murmur.
“Not a town meeting if the Roc is closed. Not even a town emergency. Could be that something happened while the coffee bar was open here this afternoon, but then Brian or Devon would be here. So something happened in the interim. Or something was discovered…” I rock back on my heels. “Shit. Did we have another break-in?”
Anders claps me on the back with his free hand while he bounces Rory. “Took you a while, Detective. Still blaming baby brain?”
I shake my head. The last break-in at the Roc was five months ago and nothing was taken.
My theory was that Carson snuck in looking for a stray beer, but wasn’t about to actually break into the stockroom to steal one.
We announced the so-called break-in, and no one tried again.
So I wasn’t exactly expecting a repeat months later.
“This time it wasn’t the kid,” Yolanda says. “I put a four-pack in their clubhouse. Only one was drank.”
I wince. “You gave beer to a fourteen-year-old?”
“The light stuff. And I just dropped it off. Carson drank one but left the rest. A second one was opened, but then the cap was put back on—badly—after a few sips. I figure that was Max.”
“The eleven-year-old. Great. Just great.”
Yolanda chucks Rory under the chin. “See, this is why I will be your favorite auntie.”
“This was an actual break-in.” Phil walks over from behind the bar. “The last time was when the back door was left unlocked awaiting a supply run.”
“And the stockroom? I presume that was their goal. Did they get in?”
“No, and I’m not sure it was their goal.” Phil motions me to the bar. When I walk over, he points at the door leading into the stock and brewing room. “No sign of a forced entry attempt.”
I examine the knob and lock, and then the door. “And the point of entry into the building itself?”
“The back door, which was forced open. Brian and Devon were gone, and Isabel and I hadn’t arrived yet.”
Anders calls over, “Back door’s easy to break into.”
“By design,” Yolanda shoots back. “I was told that the main doors didn’t require heavy security. What counted was the stockroom.”
“Hey, I wasn’t blaming you. I was pointing out that it’s easy enough to get in the back. My guess is that they came in that way and then saw how hard it would be to get into the stockroom and left. They only had an hour max before Iz came to open up.”
“But wouldn’t they know that the stockroom is heavily secured?” Yolanda says as I walk to the back door. “Anyone can come into the Roc during business hours—even the kids. The stockroom is right there. They’d know they’d never break in with less than an hour, midday.”
“That presumes someone thought this through,” Anders says. “We have a few new residents. One could have an unreported alcohol dependency.”
I examine the back door. “Someone desperate enough could have realized the Roc was temporarily empty and broken in with a crowbar, which we stock in the toolshed.”
Anders nods. “They come to Haven’s Rock, figuring they can hide their addiction, only to discover how tightly we regulate the alcohol.”
I rise. “See, this is the kind of crime I like. No dead body. Not even missing booze. A mental puzzle with no real consequences.” I look at Dalton. “Hey, boss, mind if I investigate this one? You can handle the hikers, right?”
He only shakes his head. He’s been quiet during all this, as he sits at the bar. Quiet because he doesn’t really give a damn about a theft-free break-in at the Roc. Not when we have …
“Hikers?” Anders says. “You saw someone out there?”
I tell the story. By the time I’m done, Isabel has served drinks to everyone—including me—but only Yolanda and Dalton have touched theirs.
“My money is on a Rockton council spy mission,” Anders says. “They’ve tried restarting Rockton and, from what émilie says, it’s struggling. They’ve already reached out to her.”
Yolanda raises her hands. “They’ve reached out to Gran to see what you guys are all up to. They suspect you’ve started your own version, but they don’t know it’s in the Yukon again.”
“Logically, though, the Yukon is the safe bet,” Phil says as he fingers his beer glass.
At one time, he’d been the council’s liaison with Rockton, working in a cushy office with the very uncushy job of conveying the council’s word from on high, which was usually “Whatever you are doing in that town, stop it.” Then he’d been exiled to Rockton himself, where he’d put in his time, waiting to be brought home.
Phil could have gone home when Rockton closed.
He also could have taken his big “retirement” package and started a new career.
So why is he here? The woman standing beside him.
He’s even stopped insisting he’s only helping until we’re up and running.
That’s another twenty bucks Dalton owes me.
If Isabel isn’t leaving, Phil isn’t leaving, and Isabel is never leaving.
Phil continues, “If I were still working for them, I would have said to start searching right around here. That’s why I argued for settling further afield.
This is where you’re accustomed to being—with the landscape and the climate.
You also have ties in the area. Eric’s brother and his wife.
Sebastian’s girlfriend. Even Jen and Tyrone Cypher.
Ideally, you would want to be within a day or two’s hike from all of that. Which is exactly where you are.”
Yolanda shrugs. “But if the council wanted you back—specifically Eric, I presume—they could just keep hassling my grandmother until she agreed to let you tell them to fuck off yourself. They’re not going to track you down here for that meeting.”
“No,” Anders says. “They’d track us down to sabotage us so Eric has no choice but to join their venture—or let them take over here.”
Yolanda sighs. “You know you’re all a bunch of paranoid freaks, right? I mean, I love you for it, but that’s what you need me for. To tell you that you’re seeing bogeymen in shadows.”
“We probably are,” I say. “But we didn’t come back to discuss the possibility of murdering two potential council spies in their tent. We need to decide how hard we want to lock down.”
“Completely.” To my surprise, that comes not from Anders or Phil, but from Isabel. “A complete lockdown with full patrols until we are certain these alleged hikers are gone. I presume you and Eric will be heading out in the morning to check on them?”
“We will. We’ll take Storm for tracking. Without Rory, she won’t bark. We’ll find their campsite—I suggested a spot—and make sure they stayed there and then moved on in the correct direction.”
I look around at the others. “Anyone think it’s not enough?” I glance at Yolanda. “Notice I don’t ask if anyone thinks it’s too much.”
“I actually don’t,” Yolanda says. “While I’m certain you’re all panicking over two innocent hikers, at worst, we can consider it a lockdown drill.” She points to my beer. “Now drink up.”
“Actually, no.” I push it aside. “Any chance of getting one of your fancy mocktails, Iz? If we’re going to be away from Rory all day tomorrow, I need to pump and not dump.”
Isabel takes my beer and pulls out a glass as Yolanda pats my back. “Sorry, Case. If it’s any consolation, we’re all very happy for your sacrifice. We get a baby, and you get the enforced sobriety, sore boobs, sleepless nights…”
“Oh, just wait until we drop her off at dawn tomorrow. Don’t forget, she’s teething.”
Anders peers at me and then Dalton. “So are there really hikers in the woods? Or are you guys just saying that to get another day off … this time leaving the baby behind?”
“Well, you’re about to find out, since you’ll be joining us tomorrow. Go home and get some sleep. We’ll take the evening shift. It’ll be a very early start. Ideally, we’d like to get there before they break camp—so we can watch them leave.”