Page 45 of Silent Bones
“Place is…charming,” McKenzie muttered as they parked.
They stepped out and walked up the path toward the main lodge. A woman in flannel and hiking shorts exited the front door, clipboard in hand. She had a square jaw, toned arms, and the kind of presence that made McKenzie hesitate.
He grinned. “Excuse me. Are you Theresa?”
The woman stopped cold, her brows knitting. “No. I work for her. And for the record, I’m not trans, I’m just six feet tall and played rugby.”
Noah resisted the urge to bury his face in his hand.
McKenzie held up both hands. “Right. Sorry. Just, uh, asking.”
She gave them both a long look, then turned on her heel and disappeared inside.
“Great start,” Noah muttered.
“What can I say, she was masculine looking. I could have sworn I was looking at my uncle Joey.”
They followed in silence through the lodge. The air smelled like cedar and lemon cleaner. A few guests milled about, checking in at the front desk or browsing the map-lined walls. A younger woman gestured them toward a hallway.
“This way. She’s expecting you.”
As they walked, Noah glanced at the framed articles and photos lining the wood-paneled walls. One showed Theresa Voss shaking hands with a local congresswoman. Another featured her in a glossy spread fromEntrepreneur Monthly, a success story of transformation, business savvy, and resilience. Oneheadline fromTranscendence Quarterlyread: “She Built It. They Came.”
A photo from theAdirondack Daily Newsshowed her in a canoe, smiling with a troop of young campers behind her.
“She’s quite the looker,” McKenzie murmured, pointing at the image. “Not what I pictured.”
“What’d you picture?”
“I dunno. Mustache. Flannel shirt. A hat that says ‘Don’t Tread on Me.’ I have to say, I’d probably flirt with her at a bar if I didn’t know any better.”
“That’s… progress?”
The door at the end of the hall opened.
A tall, striking woman stepped in with a radiant smile, her shoulder-length dark hair tucked behind one ear. She wore crisp jeans, a white blouse, and hiking boots. Her voice was confident.
“Gentlemen,” she said, stepping forward. “Sorry to keep you, I had a few fires to put out, not literally this time. Life here is always a little chaotic when the season wraps. I’m Theresa Voss. What can I do for you?”
She extended her hand.
Noah shook it first. “Detective Noah Sutherland, BCI. This is Detective Angus McKenzie.”
McKenzie nodded, offered his hand. “Thanks for taking the time.”
“Of course,” she said, ushering them inside. “I assume this is about what happened near Middle Saranac?”
“Yes. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Noah said, stepping in.
She smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Let’s talk.”
Theresa Voss gestured for them to sit at a round pine table near a wall of windowed cabinets filled with local maps, pamphlets, and survival guides. The scent of lemon balm driftedfrom a ceramic diffuser on the counter. She remained standing at first, confident, collected, arms loosely folded.
“As I mentioned earlier,” Noah began, taking out a notepad, “I’m Investigator Noah Sutherland with State Police. This is Detective McKenzie from Adirondack County Sheriff’s Office. We’re following up on a case where your name came up.”
She tilted her head. “In the Saranac Slayings.”
“That what they’re calling it now?” McKenzie asked. “Didn’t know it had a brand.”
