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As Oil Can had promised, the road out to the Community had been plowed. However, no one had bothered to shovel the old boardwalk that led from the road to the actual train station. The snow had been packed down by foot traffic, so people had been coming and going. Or maybe just going—Bear saw no vehicles on the parking pad other than an old junker with missing tires.

Was everyone gone for the day? The Community was big on group activities, like smoking a bowl and then hiking up a ridge to watch the sunset. Not all of their trips involved drugs, of course. Sometimes they all went blueberry picking or morel hunting. At this time of year, they could be grouse hunting. Or just vibing with the new snow.

Bear approached cautiously. He had a cover story all ready—he was worried about Grant because he hadn’t shown up for work, and wanted to make sure he hadn’t come down with the strange virus that had recently appeared in town.

“Hello?” he called after knocking on the door and getting no answer. “Bear Davis here. I’m looking for Grant Cruz.”

No one answered, but he did hear a sound from inside. Did the Community keep any pets?

He knocked one more time, deciding that his next move would be to go inside and look around. After all, Oil Can had at one point asked him to investigate the syrup episode. That could be considered an open invitation.

Speaking of which…he remembered the photos Nick Perini had left with him, and pulled them up on his phone. One shot showed a very clear footprint in the mud next to the boardwalk, with a speck of red dye to suggest it was related to the vandalism. Now that he was here on the boardwalk, Bear could see the print was on the small side. Maybe Grant had small feet?

The door swung open and there was Grant. He was the kind of youngish guy that you might forget you saw, the kind witnesses could never describe. “White man with brown hair, average height, average weight, maybe in his thirties, not sure I could identify him in a lineup.” He wore jeans and a flannel shirt open over a t-shirt from a summer music festival. A quick glance told Bear that his feet weren’t particularly small.

“Hey Bear. I’m sorry I missed my shift, man. I’m sick and I didn’t want to spread it around. Didn’t Oil Can tell you?”

“No, he didn’t mention it.”

“Oh. Well, he must have forgot.” He gave a nervous laugh, then transformed it into a cough. A real cough? Bear couldn’t tell. “No phone service. Sorry. You should go, I wouldn’t want you to catch this.”

He coughed again. Bear waited, silent. As a cop, his best weapon had been his patient silence. Suspects, like everyone else, got uncomfortable around silence and tended to say too much.

“I think it’s that virus,” he went on, his words tumbling over each other. “The one I kept hearing about.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Been coughing like crazy all morning.” He coughed again to demonstrate.

“That virus doesn’t cause coughing.” Bear took advantage of the moment to step inside. “And that’s not a real cough.”

Grant stepped back nervously. “You shouldn’t be here, man. Oil Can doesn’t like strangers coming in here.”

“Not a stranger. Oil Can hired me to investigate.”

As Bear stalked toward him, Grant backed away across the floor, which was still stained by the residue of the red syrup.

“Who are you, Grant? You’re not in Firelight Ridge by random chance, are you?”

“What? What are you talking about?” As he backed up, he nearly stumbled over a ball of yarn trailing from someone’s tote bag.

Bear kept going until Grant took refuge behind an ancient armchair with the stuffing coming out of it. Bear didn’t like it because he couldn’t see what Grant was doing with his hands. But what could he do from there, throw cotton fluff at him? “How did you know Rita Casey?”

“I didn’t…I mean, I barely knew her.”

Bingo. Grant was connected to Rita. “You hung out with her at the Wagon Wheel, didn’t you? Then you came with her to Snow River. Were you with her when she was killed?”

“No! We…we got separated. I couldn’t find her. These woods are confusing if you don’t know them. I looked for her but ended up hiking my way out.”

Bear studied the guy, who seemed, to his cop’s eye, to be telling the truth. “Why’d you come out here, the two of you?”

“She wanted to do some watercolors.”

And…there he went with the lies.

“Bullshit. Why did you rig up that dress at The Fang?”

“Dress? What are you talking about?” Grant shoved his shock of brown hair out of his face. Bear almost believed him. Almost.

“Why’d you miss work today?” he demanded, taking another step toward him. The intimidation seemed to be working. “It’s pretty clear you aren’t sick. What are you planning?” He spotted a backpack leaning against the wall. It was stuffed full of high-tech snow gear. “Going for a hike instead of doing your job?”

“I am doing my job,” Grant hissed. “Here’s my notice. I quit. I was only there for information anyway.”

Ah ha. “So the truth comes out. You’re a fraud.” Bear crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s say I believe you. What sort of information are you looking for? Here I am. Ask me anything.”

“You don’t know anything important. I figured that out pretty quick.”

Bear ignored the insult. “What were you hoping I knew?”

More confident now, Grant barked out a laugh. “I can’t believe you were ever a cop. You haven’t gotten anywhere in this case, have you? Fucking pathetic.”

Interesting that he knew Bear had been an officer. It wasn’t hard to find that information, but to even bother, he must have made an effort. Why had he done that? “It depends on what case you’re talking about. Rita Casey’s murder isn’t my case. Nancy Butcher, that’s another matter.”

Grant’s expression slipped for just a moment. Bear pounced.

“Was she your mother? Is that why you came back here?”

“What the fuck are you…this is a waste of time.” With a sudden movement, Grant whipped a shotgun from behind the armchair and aimed it at Bear.

Bear could tell that it wasn’t Grant’s weapon, and that he wasn’t entirely sure how to use it. He needed to take charge of the situation before Grant did something really stupid. He calmly held up his hands.

“Hey now. No need to go overboard here. Put the gun down before you make a mess of this. Plenty of people know I’m here, and that I came to see you.”

Grant waved the rifle at him. “So let’s not be here. Go on. Out the door.”

Bear backed toward the door. He’d learned something important already. Grant was right in the middle of this, whatever his specific role. That was enough for now.

“Is Nancy Butcher your mother?” he asked as he felt for the front step behind him. Grant was pulling his coat on, grabbing a wool hat with ear flaps off a pegboard. “If she is, I just want you to know I get it. I had a fucked-up childhood. You want to understand, you want to make it right. You want answers.”

“Just shut up. Turn around.”

Instead of obeying, Bear backed down the steps. If a bullet came for him, he wanted to see it.

Would Grant shoot him? Lila didn’t believe Grant was a killer, and neither did he. But people could do unpredictable things when pushed. His heart pounded as he stepped backwards down the snow-packed path. Grant was watching his every step. Brandishing a weapon he didn’t know how to use.

“Does your truck have a trailer hitch?” Grant asked.

Where was this going? “Of course. How do you think I pulled my truck out of the woods after you made Lila crash it?” Stab in the dark, but why not?

“What? Jesus, why would I do that? You think you know shit, but you don’t. Just keep walking.”

Bear considered calling his bluff. The guy probably wouldn’t actually shoot him. Then again, how could he really know that? He didn’t know what was motivating Grant to do any of this.

He could surprise him, pretend to slip in the snow and use the opportunity to wrestle the gun away. It might work. He was a lot bigger and stronger and probably faster than Grant. On the other hand, maybe he’d learn something if he just went along with this. “Are we going somewhere? Why do you need a trailer hitch?”

“Because the snowmobile’s on a trailer. Over there. No, to your right.”

Bear quickly looked to his right, because his first instinct—to look to his left— had given him a glimpse of something that turned his blood to ice. A truck was parked on the side of the road, butted up against a snow bank. He recognized it as Sam’s pickup truck. It seemed to be empty. Was Sam somewhere around here?

Or Molly?

That possibility made him even more worried. What would Molly be doing out here? As far as he knew, neither Sam nor Molly had anything to do with the Community.

Lila.

She was here. He knew it. Maybe some of her intuition had rubbed off on him. Or maybe he had cop instincts of his own. But he was absolutely sure she was nearby.

That changed things. Whatever happened, he couldn’t let Grant see that truck. He might panic and do something stupid.

Still holding his hands high in the air, he slanted his body away from the road. The way he was positioned, if Grant wanted to keep that shotgun trained on him, there was no way he could see the truck. “Where do you want to take the snowmobile? I’m an excellent driver, I have lots of experience with them. Seven winters out here. You tell me where to go and I’ll take you there.”

“No. It’s too far. We have to drive as far as we can get.”

“Is the road even plowed? Lots of them aren’t yet.”

Grant scowled at him from under his fleece-lined hat. “I know what I’m doing.”

“A lot of people come here thinking they know what they’re doing. Then reality hits. This wilderness can be fatal. It doesn’t care what you want. It doesn’t care about that gun. You can’t shoot a blizzard. And if you fire it off in the wrong place, you can set off an avalanche.”

“I did my research before I came here,” Grant said through clenched teeth.

“Research isn’t the same as experience. You need me. Now come on.” He took a step toward Grant. “Put down the shotgun and let’s get that snowmobile up and running.”

Grant braced his legs apart and raised the shotgun into position. “You’re trying to trick me. You want to arrest me, don’t you? That’s why you came out here. You think I’m a criminal. You think I killed Rita.”

“I don’t.” Bear lifted his hands higher. “I swear I don’t.”

“Then you’re slowing me down. Fuck. Just toss me the keys to your truck. I’ll take it from there.”

Shit. If Grant got to the truck, he’d see Sam’s rig. What then? He couldn’t let that happen. He had to take a chance that Grant wouldn’t actually fire, or that if he did, he’d miss. There were only four yards separating them, and Bear was a large target. But there was always a chance.

He stepped forward. Grant took off the shotgun’s safety. Shit. He at least knew that much about guns. “Come on, now. You say you’re not a criminal. Then don’t act like one. Put the gun down.”

“Stay where you are.”

“I mean you no harm. I can help you. That’s what I’m trying to do. Help you.” Another step forward. Bear had gotten himself out of tense standoffs before, but now sweat dotted his forehead and trickled down his side. Lila, if you’re here, stay out of this.

“Just stop!” Grant rested the butt of the shotgun on his shoulder and prepared to fire. Bear prepared to duck, or sidestep, or drop to the ground, depending on what that gun did.

The last thing he expected was for the shotgun to drop from Grant’s grasp onto the snowy ground, but that’s what it did. Something flew through the air toward him, so fast that Bear almost missed it. Grant cried out and spun away, cradling his arm in agony.

Something was in his arm. A throwing knife .

Bear raced toward the shotgun and snatched it up just as Lila burst from the woods and leaped across the snow toward them. “Are you okay? Is he okay?”

“Hell of a strike.” Crouching next to Grant, he saw that the knife had pierced his upper arm. A shallow flesh wound, most likely, based on the angle of the knife. “We need to get him to a doctor.”

“Yes. Yes.” Lila fluttered next to him, wringing her hands with distress. She wore her snow boots with the buckles, and a pink scarf wrapped around her neck. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but he was aiming that gun at you. I was terrified, I didn’t know what to do. Grant, I’m so sorry, I was actually aiming for the rifle.”

“Just get away from me. Fuck.” Grant craned his neck to look at the knife in his arm. “You knifed me!”

“I’m so so sorry.” Poor Lila looked even more miserable than Grant. “At least I didn’t have a gun. That would have been so much worse.”

Unamused, Grant pulled away from her.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Grant. Buddy. Listen to me. I’m going to help you get up, then we’re going to take you to a doctor.”

“No! No.” Grant clutched at his arm as Bear lifted him off the ground. “You have to get to the cabins up Snow River. That’s where I was going. Now you have to go.”

“What’s at Snow River? Why now?”

“It used to be a trafficking hub, and they’re about to destroy all the evidence.”