Page 16 of Silent Bones (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #7)

“Stephen’s tox screen will take a few days,” Noah said, breaking the silence. “If he was drugged, we’ll know soon.”

McKenzie grunted. “And the zip ties?”

Noah kept his eyes on the gravel road, the trees flickering past. He never answered.

Callie had split off earlier to deal with the warrant for an Airstream located less than half-a-mile from where Stephen was found. The silver bullet was believed to belong to Mack Hawkins. For now, it sat behind a wall of red tape. Noah didn’t like waiting. Not when bodies were piling up.

McKenzie cleared his throat. “You think Mack’s responsible?”

“I think anyone with a hundred-eighty-grand trailer and no job is worth a closer look.”

“Could be crypto,” McKenzie muttered. “Or he’s got a sugar daddy.”

Noah didn’t respond.

“So, this Voss lady,” McKenzie said after a beat. “You said she used to be a he?”

Noah flicked a glance his way. “Tread lightly.”

“Oh, have a little faith in me, laddie. I’m not completely made of fossil fuel.”

“You’re half diesel and half scotch.”

McKenzie smirked. “You know, back in my day?—”

“Don’t.”

He ignored the warning. “Look, in my day. Men played men’s sports. Women played women’s sports. And now we got guys named Liam winning gold in the hundred-meter breaststroke.”

Noah groaned. “Please don’t say anything like that.”

“I’m just saying if I slip up, it’s not malicious. My wiring’s from a different decade.”

“That’s not comforting.”

McKenzie sipped his coffee, unfazed.

“Look, why did you assign Callie to get the warrant. I told you I wanted her with me on this.”

“I didn’t assign her, Rivera did.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. With your encouragement.”

McKenzie smiled.

The sign for Whispering Pines Campground appeared ahead, hand-carved wood with curling vines around the letters.

They turned off onto a gravel driveway that wound downhill, revealing a sprawling private campground nestled along the edge of a glimmering lake.

The scent of pine resin, firewood, and sunscreen dominated.

Canoes bobbed at the shoreline, and a pair of kids kicked a soccer ball near the communal firepit. Solar lights lined the gravel paths.

Compared to DEC-run camps, this one was boutique. No state logos. No ranger trucks. Just a polished welcome center built from knotty pine logs, with wraparound porches and hanging flower baskets. It looked like the kind of place you booked in a glossy magazine, not a state website.

“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 from Entrepreneur Monthly , a success story of transformation, business savvy, and resilience.

One headline from Transcendence Quarterly read: “She Built It. They Came.”

A photo from the Adirondack Daily News showed 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 drifted from 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.”

Theresa gave a small, sardonic smile.

Noah nodded. “Yes. That’s the case. We’re looking into all potential connections, including your incident with the group last summer.”

“I figured,” she said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from them. “They were banned from my campground, so I guess that makes me suspicious.”

“You understand why it’s relevant,” Noah said.

“Of course. But everything we do here is aboveboard. I run a family place. Quiet. Safe. That group wasn’t either.”

McKenzie leaned forward. “What exactly happened?”

“They were rowdy. Drinking, definitely. But it was more than that, there were hard drugs being used. Molly, weed, possibly something stronger. I gave them a warning. When guests complained—families with young kids—I had no choice. I kicked them out. Stephen included.”

“That was before you sent that video of him and Avery Calder?” Noah asked.

Theresa’s expression didn’t change, but a faint pallor crept across her face. She didn’t answer so he continued. “We were told you had a personal relationship with Stephen,” Noah said. “Is that accurate?”

She exhaled. “We were friends.”

“Friends with benefits?” McKenzie asked casually. “I hear that’s all the rage on that Grindr app.”

Theresa’s eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t use apps.”

“Oh, it’s not a dating app,” McKenzie added. “More of a hookup app for gay men.”

Noah shot him a warning look, then jumped in. “We’re not here to judge anyone’s orientation or identity. But we do have transcripts. Texts. Messages that show a level of intimacy between you and Stephen.”

“He was eighteen,” she said coolly. “An adult.”

“A teen, nonetheless,” McKenzie said. “And you’re what… late forties?”

“I see where this is going.” Her tone sharpened, but her hands stayed folded.

“But you’ll find there’s no misconduct here.

I didn’t do anything that endangered Stephen or myself.

I certainly didn’t coerce him or exploit him.

Yes, he was confused. A lot of young people are. I know, I was one of them once.”

McKenzie raised an eyebrow. “So you’re saying he came to you for… guidance?”

“We met here,” she said, chin lifting. “He had questions. I answered them. He was struggling, ashamed, unsure, terrified his family would find out. We talked. Walked the trails. That’s it.”

Noah scrolled on his phone, then quoted one of the exchanges. “‘Keep this between us. No one would understand. Not even Avery.’ That wasn’t just guidance, Theresa.”

Her jaw tightened. “Stephen didn’t want Avery to know about me because he was afraid of hurting her.”

“Hurting her,” Noah repeated.

“She had feelings for him. He wasn’t sure how he felt, about her, about himself. I was someone who understood. That’s all.”

“So you kept the drug use out of your report to protect him,” Noah said. “That sounds like more than just camp counselor kindness.”

“I didn’t want to tank his future over a stupid mistake,” she said flatly. “He begged me not to tell. Said he’d lose his job and he didn’t want to cause problems for his friends.”

“Did he say where the drugs came from?” Noah asked.

“No. He just said they brought them.”

“Where were you Labor Day weekend?” McKenzie asked.

“Here,” she said immediately. “I live on-site. It’s our busiest weekend of the season.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

“Half my staff. I do hourly rounds, nightly logs, guest interactions, it’s all documented and on surveillance camera.”

Noah nodded. “And just to clarify, you’ve never been to the Middle Saranac Lake campground?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never camped there. And I certainly didn’t kill anyone.”

“What about your last message to Stephen. A video of him and Avery horsing around. It sounded kind of heated.”

“Yes, I sent that. But my anger wasn’t directed to any of them, it was toward him. The group used him. Made fun of him. I wanted him to have some self-respect.”

“So you filmed it?”

“Yes. But that was from last year. A video he shared with me.”

“You kept it?”

“I didn’t remove it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“We will need to see that original message.”