Page 14 of Stranger in the Lake

“What’s wrong?” At first I think Sam’s question is directed at me, until I see the way he’s watching Paul. I can see Sam thinking, processing Paul’s distress, landing on the most obvious reason. “Mr. Keller, do you know this woman? Do you know her name?”

Paul swallows, and then he shakes his head. “No. I just thought...”

“You thought what?”

A gust of sudden wind blows up the hill, whipping Paul’s hair. He looks at me, and his cheeks, already pink from the cold, turn even pinker. We don’t talk about Katherine; that is the unspoken agreement between us, and now here she is, standing between us like a live grenade.

“You thought what?” Sam says again.

I take a step to my left, blocking Paul’s view of the body. “Shut up, Sam. If you’d stop to think for one freaking second, you’d know what he thought. Just let it go, will you...”

The words die in my throat, because it’s then I happen to look down. To get my first good look at the face half-hidden beneath plastic and a weedy fall of wet hair. Milky skin with a smattering of freckles across her nose. Pale lips parted on a silent gasp. Sunken, clouded eyes open in a lifeless stare with pupils the color of a late-summer sky.

It’s the woman from yesterday, the one I found Paul talking to in town. The one who was trying to get her hooks in my Keller.

“Get to town,” Chief Hunt is saying to Sam. “Find out her name, where she was from, anything you can about who she was and what she was doing here, including where she was staying. Start with the hotels, and if they don’t know her, work your way through the rental agencies. Or on second thought, start there, at the agencies. If she came here looking for a quiet getaway, she’ll be in one of the cabins.”

Start with the hotels.The thought slices through my mind, but I somehow force myself not to say it out loud. Whatever that woman came to Lake Crosby looking for, it wasn’t quiet. I think of the way she looked at me yesterday, her strange reaction when I introduced myself as a Keller. A flash of surprise, and her gaze went immediately to Paul. “Keller,” she’d murmured, and something about the way she looked at him put me on edge. She knew the name, knew its significance in this town. I’m certain of it.

I whirl around, and Paul is staring at me silently, urgently, from a few feet away. I meet his gaze, and everything goes still. My entire body changes in that moment of understanding. At his message, sharp and sparkling.

Stop talking.

“Call me as soon as you’ve got an address,” Chief Hunt is saying, “but donotgo inside. Until we know otherwise, we’ll be treating her last known location as a potential crime scene. Now scoot. Micah, I’ll be waiting for your paperwork.” He turns and lumbers back up the hill.

Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe Paul is just embarrassed at his reaction, at this sudden swell of post-traumatic stress he tries so hard to stuff down. Maybe I’m reading more into this.

No. No, that’s not right. Paul looked her straight in the eye, and hetalkedto her. Even if she only asked him for directions or a restaurant recommendation, he would remember. Her face is too pretty not to be noticed, and Paul noticeseverything.

So why did he just lie?

By now Micah is dressed. He clomps down the ramp in his boots, pointing to the techs. “Seal the bag and take her up to Harris Regional. I’ll call the medical examiner, let her know you’re on the way. Don’t forget the tarp. She’s gonna want that, too.”

The creak of the body bag’s zipper is like a knife, cutting through the cold and crawling all over my skin. The tech pulls it snug, then slips a plastic tag through the pull and draws it tight, essentially padlocking the bag until the next person to touch her clips the tag. Chain of custody, Sam told me it’s called, during one of our gas station talks.

“You okay?” Micah’s lips are blue, but his eyes are bright with excitement. He’s itching to strap on an oxygen tank, sink to the bottom of the lake and dredge up whatever the woman dropped. He probably doesn’t even notice the cold.

Paul nods. His expression is parked in Neutral. His face is completely closed off, like those metal shutters people roll down the windows of their summer cabins, familiar but guarded. He glances up the hill at the house. “I’m gonna grab a shower.”

Micah shifts his gaze to mine. “You don’t have to stay down here, either. I’ll call up if I run into any snags. Just keep your cell close. The cops’ll need an official statement at some point, so don’t go anywhere without telling them, got it?”

I nod. Paul grabs my hand and tugs me toward the stairs, but I tug back.

Micah may be back in his clothes, but his hair is still sopping, the ends clumped and turning white with ice. I reach out and squeeze his arm. “I’ll bring down some coffee and whatever else I can scrounge up, okay? I’ll also make sure the basement door is open, in case y’all need a bathroom or you want to warm up in the shower.”

Micah gives me a smile, purple lips against bright white skin. “Thanks, Char. You’re the best.”

Paul looks relieved when I turn for the house, and he leads me up the hill at a pace that sends my heart hurtling. Thanks to his daily trots up and down these hills, this climb is just a quick jaunt for him, barely any effort at all. I’ve already run up these steps once today, and it wiped me out.

“Babe, babe,” I say, pulling on his arm. We’re four steps in and I’m already panting. “Slow down. I can’t—”

“Hey, Charlie,” Sam says, not a question.

Paul and I pause, sharing a fleeting look that dumps me back into my body. I feel Sam’s gaze on me like an army of ants, biting and stinging my skin. He’s coming up the hill behind us, a duffel slung over his shoulder.

“I need an answer from you, too. Do you have an ID on the body?”

Paul squeezes my hand so tight it’s almost painful, and if I had any doubts as to what’s going on here, I don’t anymore. This is where things could get sticky.

---