“The doors aren’t supposed to stay open like that,” Tean whispered.
Jem watched the darkened hallway at the back of the chalet.When Tean touched his arm, though, he glanced over.Tean pointed to something on the front door—barely visible along the edge where the strike plate would be.
Tape.
“What in the fuck-a-dilly do we have here?”Jem muttered as he took a closer look.He gave the door a tug, and it opened easily again.Wind snapped at them, and snow fluttered in, but he only needed a moment to see where the tape ran neatly across the latch.Normally, the door would lock when you shut it.Now, it wouldn’t.
“Maybe they lost their key,” Tean whispered.
Sure, Jem almost said.But they hadn’t.And Tean knew it too, or he wouldn’t have been whispering.
All Jem did, though, was nod.
Tean swallowed.He was breathing faster—those high, thin breaths through his nose.But when he saw Jem watching him, he gave a sharp nod in answer.
Jem examined the room again, more closely this time.The sofa had been moved recently; impressions in the rug showed where it used to be.Decorative books on a shelf had been stacked at random instead of arranged by size and color, the way Jem had seen them in other hotel rooms.A painting on the wall was crooked.He whispered, “Someone’s been in here.”
Tean nodded more slowly this time.
“Stay here,” Jem told him.When Tean started to open his mouth, Jem added, “Watch the door.”
Tean didn’t argue, so Jem took his silence for a yes.He padded down the hallway that led toward the back of the chalet.A door stood open on his right, and beyond it was the bathroom.Nothing out of the ordinary: toothbrushes, razors, a pump bottle of whatever that stuff was called that was supposed to help you regrow your hair—the label was tiny, and the word was long, but it started with an M, and they always had it at Costco.He continued to the door at the end of the hall.It stood open too, and through the doorway, Jem could see a large bed, another fireplace, and a seating cluster like the one in Brigitte’s room.
“Jem,” Tean whisper-called from the main area.
Jem made his way back.
Tean was standing next to the sofa.He’d pulled out the cushion, and he was pointing to something.Then Jem saw it: a length of polished black wood.
Gerald’s cane.
“Shit,” Jem said.“Did you touch it?”
Tean shook his head.
“God.Okay, leave it there for now.”
“Why would someone hide it here?”Tean said.
Wrapped up in that question were others.Why hide it at all?Why not throw it out onto one of the slopes?Why not break it into smaller pieces?Hell, why not burn it?Or the underlying question, the one Jem thought Tean was asking: did someone put this here to frame Tafton?
“I’ll be right back,” Jem whispered.
He made his way to the bedroom again, and this time, he stepped through the doorway.He flipped a switch near the door, and several lamps flicked on.A set of Mormon scriptures on one nightstand.On the other, a travel case for pills.A mirror on one wall.The closet door.Roller bags—
But why would the roller bags be out in the bedroom?Why wouldn’t they be in the closet?
The same reason everything else was messed up; that was the obvious answer.Someone had come through here, either searching for something or looking for a good spot to plant evidence or both.But the longer Jem stared at those roller bags—and at the closet door beyond them—the more it made him itch.
He’d learned a long time ago to trust his instincts.
And his instincts told him someone was still here.
He reached into the pocket of his coat.The telescoping antenna?The barrette?He shifted his weight.Surprise whoever was hiding in the closet?Or say something, try to get them to come out?
Jem took a step sideways, lining himself up with the closet door.
He was so focused on it that it took him a moment to register, in his peripheral vision, the reflection in the mirror.
