Beck looks like Paisley in the right light.
Does this woman remember Paisley, then? What did Paisley Horne do for this woman to recognize a version of her face eight months later?
But as I’m about to ask, her gaze burns into me. “Youlook familiar.”
My veins freeze over.
It was so dark that night. All I saw was a woman and her dark hair.
Just because the person wasn’t in uniform doesn’t mean she didn’t have one.
Because I haven’t been on TV. I hadn’t been anywhere near here prior to the night Paisley, Harlow, and Opal died.
Natalie finally slides the parking pass our way. “Site two is ready for y’all. My number’s on the back. Really, don’t be strangers. I’m here to help.”
So she must recognize me from that night.
“Thanks,” Beck says before grabbing the logs and walking toward the exit.
The question is: What would it take for her to tell someone?
“I wouldn’t fixate on those girls too much,” Natalie calls out as we go. “People around here hate outsiders who ask questions.”
Thirteen
The moment Beck and I exit the visitors’ center and head to the parking lot, the sun is blazing and ready to punish everyone who came unprepared. I put on sunscreen, but I can still feel the beams cook my skin. Sweat beads along my hairline and under my arms, but it’s not just from the weather. I try to keep stride with Beck, but my legs shake under me.
“That was weird, right?” I say as Beck unlocks her trunk.
“She knows we knew Pais, Harlow, and Opal,” Beck replies. “Think it’s a problem yet?”
She lugs out the tent bag, the heaviest thing in our stuff. I sling it over my shoulder. “No, it was—”That she recognized me from what I did that night.I swallow that thought with a dry throat. When Beck places my backpack on the ground, I gulp down water from my reusable. “She seemed to know something.”
“Ahh.”
But Beck doesn’t elaborate. She just pulls out the cooler and other supply bag and shoulders more than she needs to. I grab one of the smaller bags from her and we start our walk. Clearly, we’re bothone-trip-inside-with-groceries-type people. It might be cute if I were discovering it in any other context.
“What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t want to burst your bubble.”
The tent bag slams against my right hip with each step, but I savor the pain for the distraction that it is. “I think I’ll survive.”
“Why would the texter say they couldn’t come see us if they were literally a couple hundred yards away?” She adjusts one of the bags and squints against the sun. “I think we can keep her on the suspect list, but there are a lot more people to talk to.”
I sigh; that’s an entirely fair observation, especially given I couldn’t even say what really made me suspect Natalie. A prickle of warmth hits me. I’m so glad Beck’s here. It gives me hope that we’ll actually get somewhere mixing our two very different brains together.
I chuckle. “So we’re not following Ranger Natalie’s advice?”
“Yeah, no, we’re gonna have to disappoint Ranger Natalie big time.”
My chuckle rises into a full-on laugh, the digging pain in my shoulders and the gnawing anxiety in my stomach briefly forgotten.
Memories flood back to me as Beck and I set up camp. My dad adored camping, used to say it was his favorite way to center himself. He’d bring his notebook out with him, but Owen and I would demand every second of his time. Hikes to the highest vistas, dips in creeks, birdwatching. Owen trying to play an oversized guitar around a campfire, Dad being forced to attempt whatever internet-famous campfire recipes I would find prior to the trip. Making Dad tell us the scariest ghost stories and hold us until we fell asleep because we were terrified despite insisting we wouldn’t be. Maybe he got to write, but it must’ve been in the latest hours of the night. But once Liam came around, and he vehemently hated the outdoors, Dad started taking my brothersand me on other weekend trips when Mom needed a few days of no stimulation after a hard series of shifts.
As I set up with Beck, those memories are a woolen coat to me through the storm of this situation. This place isn’t inherently evil; whatever evil got to Paisley and the gang won’t hit Beck and me. Lightning doesn’t strike twice.
“Damn, you put that up so fast,” Beck comments as I secure the last anchor for our two-person tent that looks a lot smaller than I remember.
