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

T he interior of McKenzie’s cruiser ticked faintly as it cooled, the engine shut off at the curb. Neither man moved to open the doors.

Across the street, the Strudwell house sat behind a manicured lawn, the porch strung with last season’s white lights that hadn’t yet been taken down. The trees overhead whispered in the breeze, casting dappled shadows over the driveway.

“Place like this is meant to be safe,” McKenzie murmured, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You raise your kids right, put them in good schools, feed them quinoa and kale, make ’em wear helmets. You think that’ll keep the wolves away.”

Noah didn’t respond. He was staring at the neighborhood.

“I’m just saying,” McKenzie added, quieter now, “this kind of thing… it’s not supposed to reach a house like that.”

Noah opened the door. “Tell that to the wolves.”

They walked up the front path together, shoes crunching softly on the gravel border that lined the flowerbeds. The door opened before they even knocked.

Mrs. Strudwell stood there in a pale blue sweater, her hands clenched on either side of the doorframe as if she were holding the house up by force of will. Her hair was pulled back too tightly. Eyes red, hollowed. She didn’t say a word, just stepped back and opened the door wider.

Inside, the house smelled of lemon polish and brewed coffee. A muted television flickered in the corner of the living room. On-screen, a local anchor stood in a boat, a yellow perimeter of tape flapping behind her.

Mr. Strudwell sat on the edge of a leather ottoman, elbows on knees, face clenched as if bracing for impact. His tie hung crooked, half-undone. A watch gleamed on his wrist, the kind of thing people usually remove before collapsing under bad news. He hadn’t taken it off.

“Mr. and Mrs. Strudwell,” Noah began, voice measured. “I’m Detective Noah Sutherland with BCI, and this is Detective Angus McKenzie.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked quickly, too quickly.

Noah hesitated. “We’re still conducting an active search. But… four members of the group have been confirmed deceased.”

The words hit like buckshot.

Mrs. Strudwell didn’t fall, but her knees gave just enough that she caught herself on the edge of a side table. McKenzie moved reflexively to steady her, but she waved him off. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper ripped raw. “Four?”

Noah kept his tone even. “Stephen is still unaccounted for. His name was on the permit roster. His phone was found near the scene. But we haven’t confirmed?—”

She cut him off, voice tight. “If he’s not confirmed, then he’s not dead. That means something.”

“It does,” Noah said gently. “We’re treating him as a missing person. That’s our focus.”

Mr. Strudwell came into view and let out a slow, sharp breath. His fingers interlaced tightly in front of him. “How did the others die?” he asked. “Is it true, was it an animal?”

Noah exchanged a glance with McKenzie. “We’re not ruling anything out. But we’re investigating it as a suspicious death.”

He let that hang. The term homicide hadn’t been used yet.

“Suspicious?” Mr. Strudwell repeated, narrowing his eyes. “You think they were murdered?”

“We’re looking at all possibilities.”

Mrs. Strudwell’s voice cracked. “But they were just kids.”

McKenzie spoke gently. “We know. That’s why we’re doing everything we can.”

Noah stepped forward. “Did Stephen say anything before the trip? Anything unusual? Anyone he wasn’t comfortable with in the group?”

Mrs. Strudwell shook her head too quickly. “He was excited. Nervous, maybe, but that’s just Stephen. He was always a little... anxious.”

Mr. Strudwell added to that. “There was a falling out last month. With Jesse.”

Mrs. Strudwell turned toward him, sharply. “That wasn’t a falling out. That was teenage drama.”

“Still,” Noah said. “It helps to understand the dynamic.”

He pulled out a small notepad and glanced over his notes. “There were four others on the trip besides Stephen. Brandon Kent, Rachel Ames, Jesse Linwood, Harper Lane. I was wondering if…”

Mrs. Strudwell looked up. “Four? What about Avery? Avery Calder.”

Noah raised his brow. “Hold on. Was Avery meant to be on the trip?”

“Stephen said she was supposed to be,” Mr. Strudwell answered. “But maybe she backed out at the last minute. Probably because of her dad. He’s with DEC.”

McKenzie made a note in his phone.

“That is odd, she would’ve been with them,” Mrs. Strudwell whispered. “She wouldn’t have missed it. She and Stephen were close.”

“Childhood friends,” Mr. Strudwell added. “We have pictures. From when they were all younger. They were a tight-knit group even back then.”

“Could we see one?” Noah asked.

Mrs. Strudwell rose numbly and crossed to a credenza near the television. She returned with a framed group photo, six teens, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, standing on a lakeside dock. Sunlight, smiles, the kind of moment you frame because you never imagine it could curdle into a tragedy.

Noah studied the faces. Brandon and Rachel. Harper, eyes squinted against the sun. Jesse had his arms folded like he hated posing. Stephen was at the rear, near the center, looking half unsure, half hopeful.

And standing at the edge of the frame, mostly out of focus, was an older man. Beard, long sleeves, a weathered hat casting shadow over his eyes.

“Who’s that?” Noah asked, tapping the corner of the photo.

Mrs. Strudwell squinted. “That… oh. He was just some park ranger who helped them get the fire going, as the wood was damp. This was taken last year, I think. Or maybe the one before.”

“Do you remember his name?”

She shook her head. “No.”

The muted news broadcast flickered in the background: overhead footage of the lake, a chyron scrolling beneath it: Four Dead, One Missing in Adirondack Campground Tragedy.

McKenzie cleared his throat softly, then angled his voice with practiced calm. “We understand this is difficult. But to help us piece together what happened… could you tell us a little about the group dynamic? Were there any tensions lately? Any falling out?”

Mrs. Strudwell stayed quiet, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Mr. Strudwell leaned forward slightly in his chair. “They’d been close since ninth grade. But lately… there were cracks.”

He could almost feel the fractures radiating off the group photo, something strained beneath the surface smiles.

He paused, searching for the right words. “They weren’t as tight as they used to be. Jesse and Stephen had a disagreement maybe a month ago. Some drama over a girl. Avery was always the glue, she tried to keep the peace.”

“Did it work?” Noah asked.

“For a while. I guess. I mean they planned the trip anyway, right? And nobody backed out except Avery.” He frowned.

Noah exchanged a quick glance with McKenzie, then leaned forward. “What can you tell us about the sixth member of the group?”

Mrs. Strudwell looked up at that, eyes tired but focused. “Avery? Avery Calder. Where do I begin? She was especially close with Rachel and Harper. We assumed things were fine.”

“But they weren’t?” McKenzie prompted.

Mr. Strudwell shook his head. “She and Rachel had a falling out a few weeks back. Typical teenage stuff, I guess. Stephen never told us what it was about. Though he said that Rachel and Avery didn’t want to talk about it much.”

Mrs. Strudwell added, “It was strange, though. Avery was usually inseparable from those girls.”

Noah jotted the name into his notebook slowly. Calder. The name was familiar. He didn’t press on it yet, just underlined it once.

“Does she live here in town?” McKenzie asked.

“Her father’s with the DEC. But they keep to themselves,” Mr. Strudwell said. “Good people, just… quiet.”

McKenzie leaned back slightly, letting that sit.

“Did Stephen ever have trouble with any of the others?” Noah asked. “Anything that was bothering him?”

“Not that we know of,” Mr. Strudwell replied. “But I’d be lying if I said we always knew everything. Stephen kept more to himself lately. He was still friendly, still part of the group, but just a little more… distant.”

“Withdrawn?” Noah offered.

The father nodded. “Yeah. Especially after he lost his job at the rec center. That hit him harder than he let on.”

“Was he on meds, angry, did he ever make comments about the group?”

“No. Of course not. What are you suggesting, that he was depressed? That he was responsible for their deaths?”

“No. We’re just covering all bases.”

Mrs. Strudwell stood up slowly, brushing invisible lint from her blouse. “Wait here.”

She left the room and returned a moment later with a photograph. “This photo was taken last fall. A weekend camping trip out at Little Pine Lake.”

She handed it to Noah. Six teens stood clustered around a picnic table, plastic cups in hand, a cooler in the background.

Noah accepted it gently. “Thank you.”

“You can take it if it helps,” she said. “Just… bring it back, please.”

“I will.” His eyes scanned the faces again, cataloguing them with a quiet ache.

They were just kids. He turned to go, then stopped.

Stephen looked more withdrawn than the others, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

A small thing, but in light of everything, it stood out.

He tucked the photo into his folder and nodded to McKenzie. “We’ll be in touch,” he said.

Mr. Strudwell rose from her seat. “If you find Stephen… please just, just let us know first. Before anyone else hears it from the news.”

“Of course,” Noah said.

They stepped into the hallway. Behind them, the TV’s volume rose faintly, another panel of experts debating causes, speculating about animal attacks, hinting at drugs or cults.

But here, in this house, it was just absence. And a lingering question, why wasn’t Avery Calder there?

The front door closed gently behind them with a final click. Noah and McKenzie stepped off the porch and back into the warmth of early afternoon, the driveway shimmering with sun off the pavement.

Neither spoke until they reached the car.

McKenzie broke first. “You think the Calder girl not going means something?”

Noah opened the passenger door but didn’t get in yet. “I think everything means something until it doesn’t.”

They got in. McKenzie turned the engine, and the AC kicked in with a low whine.

Noah loosened his collar slightly, eyes fixed out the window.

He could still see the look on Mrs. Strudwell’s face, the way her hands trembled even as she tried to keep her voice steady.

And Mr. Strudwell, stiff as a statue, like fear had turned his spine to iron.

They weren’t new to sorrow. But this was the kind that hollowed a person out.

The car pulled away from the curb.

Noah sat quiet, the file in his lap, thumb pressed against the corner of the group photo.

That was the story everyone told themselves, just kids, wrong place, wrong time. But that wasn’t it. They were conflicts, fractures. Jesse and Stephen had argued. Avery had pulled out.

They were already splintering before they stepped into those woods.

He hated the thought, but it wormed in anyway, had Stephen snapped? Had he lured them there knowing those tensions would boil over?

He shifted in his seat and exhaled through his nose. “Don’t make assumptions,” he muttered to himself.

McKenzie glanced over. “You say something?”

Noah shook his head. “Nothing.”

The car hit a bend, and he finally opened the file, drawing out the photo again. He studied their faces now, not the kind of surface glance he’d given it in the house, but a slow read of each person.

Even in stillness, there were dynamics. Quiet stories between them.

Normalcy. Youth. A sense that time was endless.