“We had to get the helicopter up in the air to try and track the body. That current pulls fast and hard into the middle of the lake. We got up just in time to see someone was out there, but they sank before we could throw down a line. We might never be able to recover the body unless it washes up on shore.”
Mallory’s stomach flipped at the idea of a body floating in the water behind her house. Her eyes were drawn to the window above the sink, where, beyond the glass, the wind had coaxed curls on the surface of the water. A band of clouds had begun to form on the horizon, edging its way closer in a line of gray and black. In the silence, the sergeant stood up and walked over to the counter that divided the kitchen and dining room. He leaned over to peer through the pass-through into the empty room.
“Is your furniture arriving later?” he asked.
Mallory was too unsettled to soften her response. “No.”
The sergeant narrowed his eyes.
Mallory felt wrong-footed and tried to explain. “I didn’t want to bring it with me. My furniture reminded me of . . . where my husband died.”
The words came out before she had a chance to catch them, and she prepared herself for the familiar recoil that came when she spoke of her husband without using euphemisms. But instead of the fearful contempt that usually showed up, the sergeant’s expression changed into an expression close to compassion.
“I see.”
He held her eyes for a moment, then looked away. Mallory sensed he understood that her decision had been rooted in more than the complexities of shipping furniture. Graham’s death had forced her to learn that grief wasn’t only an emotional state. True sorrow carried a person to a remote place. Grief was the process of finding a way back. Only those who had experienced it seemed to understand. The sergeant seemed to be one of them. She wondered who he had lost.
“At least you have two chairs now,” he said, gesturing to the metal folding chair she was sitting on with a hint of a smile.
“Were these left over from the last owner?” she said. “That was kind of them.”
His friendly expression faded.
“No. Betty put them in here; she has to bring something into houses that are on the market for a while so she can dust the high corners. This place has been empty for a long time—close to ten years now. The previous owners wouldn’t have left anything behind.”
His expression darkened further, and she didn’t dare ask why no one had lived here for so long. He changed the subject.
“Did you stop in on Carlotta on your way in? It’s good to know your neighbors when you live alone. You never know when you might need some help.”
Mallory rubbed her arms as a slight chill passed over her. She hadn’t thought to introduce herself. Already, it seemed she had misunderstood the rules of a small town.
“Carlotta?”
“Carlotta Gray. Your nearest neighbor,” he said. “You would have passed her house coming in.”
“The librarian,” Mallory said, pleased to remember a snippet of Betty’s descriptions.
“Yes, that’s her.” He looked around the room. “It’s nice to see someone living here again.”
“It’s good to be here,” she said.
The sergeant drew in a quick breath, then brushed lint off his thighs.
“Listen, I’ll be in touch if there’s anything else I need. You’re not planning on taking a swim today, are you?”
“No.”
“Good. Like I said, this lake is unpredictable at this time of year. It’s best to be as cautious as you can. This isn’t the first time I have had to look into a death like this.”
“Other drownings?”
The sergeant cleared his throat. For the first time in their conversation, he appeared less than self-assured.
“Yes. There have been other deaths.”
How many dead bodies lay on the lake floor? she wondered. This time she didn’t turn toward the lake, though she still sensed it kicking up behind her. She imagined the increasing force of the water beating against the shore like a drum.
“The lake sounds dangerous.”
“All lakes are dangerous, ma’am. If anyone says anything else, take it with a grain of salt.”
“What do you mean?”
The sergeant looked like he regretted mentioning anything at all. “It’s all foolishness, but I suppose you’re bound to hear it sooner or later. Logan Carruthers has been banging on about it enough. There’s talk of a monster in the lake.”
Mallory tried to figure out how to respond to the sergeant’s words. The offhand reference to someone she had never met was confusing but nowhere near as jarring as the idea of a creature living in the water outside her home.
“A monster? Like in Loch Ness?”
She thought she heard the sergeant breathe out a curse word that was barely audible as he exhaled.
“Something like that. Some business owners use the legend to drum up business, especially around this time of year.”
“Is fall particularly dangerous?”
“Some people will tell you that the deaths aren’t a coincidence. October is the month the valley was flooded back in 1974, and the deaths have always occurred in October.”
A twinge of apprehension struck, as if the lake might swell suddenly and engulf her. She reminded herself she was exhausted from two long days of travel and the long months of grieving and nursing that had come before. The sergeant couldn’t be suggesting anything supernatural.
“Do you believe there’s a monster here?”
The side of the sergeant’s mouth twitched again, but, this time, Mallory was nearly certain it was a hidden smile.
“Lakes like this one are powerful. It’s important to respect the forces around us. You strike me as a woman who understands that. Be careful on that beach back there, and I’ll keep you posted if anything else comes up that you need to know about.”
Mallory was strangely flattered. She thanked the sergeant as he left to go back to his patrol car, only realizing when she heard his car door slam that she had forgotten to ask his name again. She closed the door but stepped away before she could follow through on her urge to slide the dead bolt into place. Though her earlier enthusiasm for eschewing locks had lessened, and McNamara didn’t feel quite as safe now as it had before, she wanted to trust in the town and the security she hoped it contained. She had spent too much of her life being scared.
She walked to the window that faced the lake. The fifty-foot stretch of sand along the lapping water seemed more ominous after the sergeant’s visit. Mallory shivered and wished she had thought to pack a kettle. A cup of tea would settle her nerves and give her the energy she needed to unpack. She looked at her watch and realized the Main Street store would likely still be open. She took one more quick look at the lake before walking back toward the front door. It seemed like the right time to properly introduce herself to McNamara. Maybe getting to know the people here would help her feel less alone.
CHAPTER THREE
As she swung open the plate-glass door of Kylie’s Korner Store, Mallory was engulfed in a fog of patchouli. On a shelf above her head to the left, a circle of embers glowed on a cone of incense. Behind it, a large statue of Buddha sat, incongruously adorned in a mesh-backed baseball hat with the words “Cash, Bass, or Ass: All Payments Accepted.” Roughly a dozen identical snow globes were placed around the odd altar. Each of them contained a swimming creature that looked like a cross between a sea serpent and a slug. Its body was positioned in three ripples coming in and out of the painted base like a ribbon candy made of mud. Its color was wholly unappealing—the brownish gray of every paint in the box mixed together. The cartoonish depiction of the monster of Loss Lake mollified Mallory’s earlier fears.