Page 14 of Obscurity (Pros and Cons Mysteries #5)

C hloe Kingston laughed on screen as a crowd behind her partied.

Her blonde hair caught the golden hour light as she gestured enthusiastically toward the camera, her voice carrying over the music.

“Grayfall isn’t just a festival—it’s a transformation.

We’re creating something that’s never been done before, where music and wilderness and human connection become one incredible experience. ”

The camera pulled back to show the scene behind her—dozens of beautiful people dancing and drinking, their high-end festival outfits pristine despite the supposed “wilderness” setting.

But something felt off about their enthusiasm. Their smiles were too bright, their movements too choreographed. They were more like actors who’d been directed to look like they were having the time of their lives.

The video cut to sweeping drone footage of Grayfall that made the abandoned town look mystical rather than decrepit. Strategic camera angles highlighted the dramatic mountain backdrop.

“This is about more than music,” Chloe continued in a voiceover as the footage showed cloud-shrouded mountains. “It’s about disconnecting from the artificial world and reconnecting with something real, something primal . . . something amazing.”

The next sequence showed nighttime footage around a massive bonfire, with silhouettes dancing against the flames. The audio was a mix of acoustic guitar and laughter.

Then Chloe appeared again, this time in daylight. But her demeanor had changed subtly. The brilliant smile was still there, but it looked more forced now, and her eyes held a tension that hadn’t been present in the earlier footage.

“The connection to the land, to the history of this place, to each other—it’s going to be profound.” There was a slight hesitation in her voice, as if she were reading words she no longer entirely believed.

The camera caught a moment when Chloe thought she was off-screen—her bright expression dropping into something more troubled as she glanced toward the mine entrance.

The footage quickly cut away, but not before Olive saw Chloe wrap her arms around herself as if suddenly cold.

The final shot returned to the party atmosphere, with Chloe back in full promotional mode. “Grayfall is going to change everything. This is where transformation happens. This is where you discover who you really are.”

As the video faded to black with the festival logo, Olive couldn’t shake the feeling that Chloe had discovered exactly that—and it had terrified her.

Olive’s stomach clenched at the thought. She prayed the girl was okay. Prayed they’d be able to find her.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this!” squealed a girl at the next table. “The videos look insane. This is going to be the most incredible weekend ever!”

A group near the windows was already comparing the promotional footage to their expectations. “Did you see that main stage setup? This is going to be so much better than Burning Man.”

The infectious excitement was palpable, making it easy to forget that three people had disappeared in these mountains. The promotional video made everything look magical and safe.

Olive wished she felt confident that was true.

Elias appeared at the front of the room, waiting for a lull in the video’s soundtrack before clapping his hands for attention. “Listen up, everyone! I hope you’re as excited as I am. These videos don’t even do justice to what you’re about to experience.”

The room erupted in cheers and applause.

“The first group headed to the music festival leaves in fifteen minutes,” he continued over the noise.

“New groups will leave every hour until three o’clock.

Do a final check of your gear, and remember—stay with the group, follow your guide’s instructions, and respect the wilderness that’s graciously hosting us this weekend. ”

More cheers filled the room, along with the scraping of chairs against hardwood as guests began gathering their belongings with renewed enthusiasm. Someone started chanting “Grayfall! Grayfall!” and others joined in.

A familiar flutter touched Olive’s stomach. It was a combination of anticipation and anxiety that always preceded stepping into the unknown.

Chloe’s life depended on Olive completing this assignment.

Failure wasn’t an option.

But there was still one more thing she needed to do before departing.

She turned to Jason. “I need to run to the restroom. Meet you outside?”

“Sounds good.” He nodded, already moving toward the door with the other festivalgoers.

Olive waited until the dining room was nearly empty.

Then she made her move.

The lodge’s office was located down a short hallway behind the reception desk, its door marked with a discrete brass nameplate reading “E. Mercer—Manager.” Olive had scouted out this area yesterday when she’d headed toward the bathroom.

She tried the handle, surprised—but grateful—to find it unlocked.

The space was larger than she’d expected, with windows overlooking the forest and walls lined with filing cabinets that probably contained decades of guest records, financial documents, and business correspondence.

A computer sat powered down on the desk beside stacks of papers and a coffee mug with the lodge logo.

She moved quickly, scanning the visible documents for anything related to missing hikers or unusual incidents.

Most appeared to be routine business paperwork—vendor invoices, guest registration forms, paystubs.

Then she spotted a manila folder tucked beneath a stack of brochures, partially hidden but not entirely concealed. The tab read “INCIDENT REPORTS—2025.”

Olive’s pulse quickened as she pulled out her phone and began photographing the contents.

Page after page of reports painted a very different picture than the one Elias had presented.

Missing person reports filed with local authorities. Search and rescue operations that had turned up nothing. Insurance claims for “presumed deceased” hikers whose bodies were never recovered.

At the back of the folder, there was a collection of newspaper clippings about the disappearances, some with handwritten notes in the margins: “Too close to Grayfall.” “Hiking alone after dark.” “Ignored safety protocols.”

Her heart pounded harder.

There were more than three people missing. Far more than three. And most were outsiders to the area.

She kept snapping pictures. Her hands shook slightly as she captured page after page of evidence. David Brooks and Clara Holloway were just the most recent. The clippings went back several months—hikers, campers, even a few locals who’d ventured too close to whatever was happening in Grayfall.

But Olive needed more. The photograph on the wall with her father’s face haunted her, and she had to know what connection Northwoods Investment Group had to this place.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, still distant but definitely approaching.

She scanned the filing cabinets, looking for anything labeled with “N” for Northwoods. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she spotted a drawer marked “N–P,” and she carefully pulled it open.

The footsteps were closer now, accompanied by voices—Elias talking to someone about “getting everything in order.”

Her fingers flew through the files: “News Articles,” “Noise Complaints,” “Night Security.”

And there, near the back, a thick folder labeled “Northwoods Investment—Historical.”

Working quickly, she grabbed the folder and flipped it open. The first page was a letterhead from 2003, and she could see her father’s name listed as a “consulting advisor” on some kind of property development project.

The footsteps in the hall moved again, much closer now.

Voices sounded near the door.

“. . . just want to grab those insurance documents before tomorrow,” Elias was saying.

Olive snapped a photo of the first page, but there was so much more—maps, financial records, what looked like geological surveys.

She desperately flipped through the folder, trying to capture as much as possible. But the approaching voices made her hands shake.

The door handle rattled.

She had to get out. Now.

Olive quickly replaced the Northwoods folder, praying she’d put it back in exactly the right spot, and moved toward the window behind the desk. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she heard the key sliding into the lock.

She tugged at the window, but the old sash stuck.

No . . .

Dread filled her as she heard the lock click. She pulled harder at the window, desperation making her reckless with the noise she made.

“You really think the shuttle was sabotaged?” came a voice from the hallway. It wasn’t Elias, but another voice she didn’t recognize.

The window sash gave a soft groan of protest but still wouldn’t budge.

“Yes, I do.” Elias’s voice carried a note of suspicion.

“Are you going to report it?”

“Won’t do much good now.”

Olive put both hands on the window frame and pulled with all her strength, not caring anymore about the sound.

The doorknob started to turn.

She tried again, her heart racing faster.

But the window wouldn’t open.

What was she going to do?