The Invited(95)

And I saw your fucked-up nature journal, full of the elusive white doe.

“I’m sure I would have noticed if the gas was on then—I was, like, five feet from the stove.”

“Are you sure?” Nate asked.

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Then what…”

“Someone came into the trailer,” Helen said, the panic returning, replacing the relief. “After we went to sleep—someone came in here, turned on the gas, and closed the windows.”

“But how…who…?” His voice trailed off, then he jumped up. “The cameras would have caught them! We’ll see who it is! Have evidence.”

He went over to his laptop and blinked at it miserably. “The cameras have all been disconnected,” he said. He tapped the keys. “The recordings from tonight are all gone. There’s nothing here. It’s been wiped clean.”

“We need to call the police,” Helen said. She was already dialing 911.



* * *



. . .

    A state trooper pulled into their driveway twenty minutes later. He was an older man in his early sixties, with a ruddy complexion, and introduced himself as Trooper Bouchier. He listened to their story. Helen let Nate do most of the talking, fearing that her voice would tremble. The trooper looked at the front door, the windows, and the gas stove. He watched patiently while Nate showed him his computer with feed from the outdoor cameras.

“See,” Nate said. “All the footage from tonight has been wiped clean.”

Trooper Bouchier nodded. “And why do you have all these cameras, exactly?”

“For wildlife,” Nate said.

“Wildlife?” the trooper echoed.

Nate nodded. “Deer, coyotes, owls. That kind of thing.”

“I see,” Bouchier said in a tone that suggested he didn’t see at all. Then he turned to Helen and asked, “And you’re sure you didn’t use the stove at all before you went to bed?”

“I’m positive. And I’m sure all the windows were open.”

“And what time was this?”

“Late,” Helen said. “Near one.”

The trooper nodded. “And you’d been out with a friend before this?”

“She and her friend Riley had a girls’ night,” Nate explained. He turned to Helen. “Where’d you go, anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Helen said, wondering how much trouble you got in for deliberately lying to the police in a situation like this. “Just out for a bite to eat and drinks.”

“So you’d been drinking?” the trooper asked.

“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, I, uh, had one glass of wine.”

He nodded.

“Any drugs?” he asked. She wondered if her eyes were still red and glossy from the pot.

“No,” she said.

The trooper and Nate were both studying her. Now Nate looked like he was doubting her, too. Like maybe she’d gotten good and wasted with Riley and then…closed all the windows and cranked open all four burners on the stove before passing out?

“So what now?” Helen asked, trying to hide her irritation. “Are you going to dust for fingerprints or something?”

    “No, ma’am,” Trooper Bouchier said with a small smile. “I’ll write up a report.”

“A report?” Helen said. “That’s it?”

“Mrs. Wetherell, Mr. Wetherell—there’s no sign of a break-in, no sign of a crime,” the trooper said.

“Someone did this!” Helen said, losing all hold on her composure. “Someone came in here and turned on the gas and closed the windows! We could have died!”

“Mrs. Wetherell,” the trooper said. “It’s just as likely that it was an accident. Maybe you…bumped against the stove and didn’t even realize it. It’s a very small kitchen you’ve got here. And the windows—well, you wouldn’t be the first person in the world to do something on autopilot late at night and forget about it later, now would you? One night, after a few beers, I ate all the leftover meatloaf—wasn’t I mad the next morning when I went to make myself a sandwich for lunch? Said to my wife, ‘Where on earth did you—’?”

Helen broke in. “Sorry, let me get this straight—you’re not going to do anything because you don’t believe us.”

“Helen—” Nate began.

“What?” she snapped. “That’s what he’s doing. Absolutely nothing.”

“I’ll write up a report,” the trooper repeated, smiling that small, amused smile again. “And of course, if there’s another incident, you be sure to let us know.”

“We appreciate it,” Nate said.

“Great,” Helen muttered. “Very helpful.”





CHAPTER 32



Olive





SEPTEMBER 10, 2015

Olive rolled over on the couch and opened her eyes. She smelled coffee. And pancakes. Her dad never made breakfast. The only one who did was…Mama!

Olive leapt off the couch and ran to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Riley said, smiling at her.