“Off,” Freya shouts.
I emerge from the trees. Freya stands on the banks of the brook, the rifle pointed at someone sprawled in the water wearing a pair of black capri pants. As I approach, Reid rolls onto his back, his hands raised, his thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose.
“Get your dog away from me,” he shouts.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Between Freya’s rifle and Ginger’s teeth, I don’t dare move or ask Reid what he’s doing here, sprawled in the brook by the trailhead, or if he had anything to do with the message smeared on Freya’s truck. I certainly don’t ask if that message is somehow connected to the photos of Freya he had taped on his bedroom walls as a teenager. Instead, I focus on sounds: water flowing over rocks and birds chirping in the trees. It could almost be peaceful here.
Except then Reid shifts, and Ginger lunges, and Freya shouts, “Heel,” and the dog backs off, her body quivering, every part of her ready to attack.
“If he bites me,” Reid says, “I’ll have him put down.”
“Ifshebites you,” Freya says, “you’ll have earned it.”
I manage to find my voice. “This is Reid, my brother.”
Reid probably wants to lay into me about the podcast, like Seton. That could be why he came to the trailhead in the first place.
“Reid and I have met plenty of times,” Freya says. “Paul used to bring him to the set when he was at NYU, and he’s been trying to talk me into buying the house at Burkehaven for months. What the hell are you doing here?”
For a moment, Reid seems as though he might not answer, but he relents. “I came looking for Charlie. Paul told me you were up at the summit, but the two of you were having a moment, and I didn’twant to interrupt whatever was about to happen. ThenTeethhere came charging.”
“Put the gun down,” I say to Freya. “What will he do, anyway? He’s wearing capri pants.”
Freya lowers the barrel and hands me the rifle.
“I thought I lost my gun privileges,” I say.
“You got a reprieve.”
“This water is freezing,” Reid says.
“Release,” Freya says.
Ginger relaxes. I pull a treat from my pocket, and the dog comes to me. Reid has the good sense to stand slowly. His sodden clothing clings to his body, outlining the wallet and phone beneath the fabric, but no bottle of nail polish, which Freya seems to realize, too, as she says, “The police will need to set up a perimeter and find out what he did with it.”
“With what?” Reid asks.
Freya catches my eye and barely shakes her head.
“Someone used blue nail polish to write on Freya’s windshield,” I say. “She has a stalker, and now he’s in New Hampshire.”
“Thanks for the discretion,” Freya says.
Reid steps out of the river, the soles of his espadrilles slipping on the slick stone. My brother came dressed for a garden party, not to terrorize.
“Walk in front where I can see you,” Freya says. “And Charlie, tell Seton what’s happening.”
It’s only then I hear Seton’s voice shouting from the other end of the call I never disconnected.
“What the hell is going on there?” she says. “I’m two minutes out.”
“How much did you hear?” I ask.
“Enough to call for backup. Maggie’s on her way, too.”
“Meet by the trailhead,” I say.
