Page 67 of Silent Bones
Callie muttered, “Tell me this is a setup.”
Noah didn’t answer. Whatever it was, animal, human, or prank, it had struck a nerve. The kind of sound that cut through noise and left silence in its wake.
Ed cleared his throat and raised his megaphone again, clearly trying to reclaim the stage. “Well now, looks like we’ve got some competition out there!” he called. “Maybe the big guy wants to win!”
The crowd laughed again, a little too loud this time.
But the tension didn’t fully break.
Back at the truck,dusk had fully settled in. The sun was gone, the clouds were low, and the light had taken on that gray-blue tint that made the pines look deeper than they really were.
McKenzie stuffed his cookie wrapper in his pocket and leaned against the side panel. “That’s the weirdest festival I’ve ever been to. And I once worked security at a Renaissance Faire during Mead Night.”
Noah didn’t respond. He stood there for another moment, arms tight, thoughts spiraling through everything they’d just seen and heard.
The fur.
The marks.
The mimicry.
The masks.
He turned toward the passenger side to open the door, and something caught his eye. A loose festival poster had torn free from a kiosk near the entrance. It fluttered in the breeze, half-stuck to the side of the trash bin, the corner flapping against the metal.
He walked over, peeled it off, and read the tagline in faded block letters: “YOU SEE WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE.”
16
It was typical. The case had stalled. Days had turned into a week before they got their next lead.
The radio crackled to life as the sun dipped behind the ridge.
"Station, this is Field Two. Hawkins here with another violation. This time it’s an unlawful snare targeting deer. Subject was also carrying an unregistered rifle. Citation issued and logged."
McKenzie straightened in his chair, pulling the pen from between his teeth. He drew the radio closer. "Copy, Field Two. What's your location?"
"Same area as before, off Coreys Road near the runoff creek past the cut trail. Subject cooperated, signed the citation and headed west."
Noah looked up from the open case file spread across the table. “He’s back at it?”
McKenzie nodded, sliding the call log over so Noah could see the coordinates.
“What did he say?” Noah asked Field Two.
“Didn’t say anything. Took the citation like he was picking up groceries. Just muttered something about varmints getting bold again.”
Callie turned from the whiteboard, arms crossed. “The Airstream came back clean. Forensics said it was scrubbed. No blood and no other trace evidence. If he was moving drugs, he is careful.”
“Or he had help,” McKenzie added.
Noah stepped to the board and traced a finger along the arc between Middle Saranac Lake and Coreys Road. “That’s the third snare citation in a week. All close to the old fire road. I wonder if he wants us to notice.”
“Why?” Callie asked.
“Because the more times we catch him doing something technically illegal, the more normal his movements become. Pattern builds comfort. Comfort builds blind spots.”
McKenzie leaned back in his chair, exhaling. “So you think he wants us distracted with animal snares while something bigger plays out behind the scenes?”
