32
When Becca leaves, I remain curled up in my bunk, Krystal’s bear in my arms, trying to think of what to do about Lottie. Tell someone else, obviously. But my options are few. Detective Flynn doesn’t trust me. I don’t trust Franny. And even Theo would have a hard time believing my word over the word of the woman who’s been with his family for decades.
I stare out the window, weighing my options while watching the evening sky succumb to thick darkness. The search crew in the helicopter has started using a spotlight, sweeping it across the water. When it rumbles overhead every fifteen minutes or so, the light brightens the trees outside the cabin window.
I’m watching the play of the light in the leaves when there’s another knock on the door. It opens a second later, revealing Mindy bearing a tray from the cafeteria.
“I brought dinner,” she announces.
What sits on the tray definitely isn’t cafeteria food. This is dinner straight from the Lodge. Filet mignon still swirling with steam and roasted potatoes seasoned with rosemary. Their scents fill the cabin, making it smell like Thanksgiving.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, even though under normal circumstances, I’d already be devouring the steak. Especially considering how stress and shitty cafeteria food have conspired to keep me from consuming, well, almost anything since I arrived. But I can’t even look at the food, let alone eat it. Anxiety has knotted my stomach so tight I worry it might never unravel.
“I also brought wine,” Mindy says, holding up a bottle of pinot noir.
“That I’ll take.”
“I get half,” Mindy says. “I’m telling you, it’s been a day. The campers are terrified, and the rest of us are at our wit’s end trying to keep them calm and occupied.”
She sets the tray on the hickory trunk that was once Allison’s and is now Sasha’s. Maybe. Or maybe it doesn’t belong to anyone anymore. It’s like Krystal’s teddy bear—temporarily ownerless.
From the way Mindy simply plucks the cork from the wine, I can tell the bottle had been opened back in the Lodge. Probably to prevent me from having access to a corkscrew. On the tray, I see that the fork and knife are plastic. When Mindy pours the wine, it’s into plastic cups. It brings back memories of the mental hospital, where no sharp objects were allowed.
“Cheers,” Mindy says as she hands me a cup and taps it with her own. “Drink up.”
That I do, draining the entire cup before coming up for air and asking, “Why the special treatment?”
Mindy sits on the edge of Krystal’s bed, facing me. “It was Franny’s idea. She said you deserved something nice, considering all the stress you’ve been under. It’s been a hard day for all of us, but you especially.”
“I’m assuming there’s an ulterior motive.”
“I think she also thought it might be a good idea for us to share this wine and get comfortable with each other, seeing how I’ve been ordered to spend the night here.”
“Why?” I ask.
“To keep an eye on you, I guess.”
There’s no need for her to elaborate. No one trusts me. Not when Sasha, Krystal, and Miranda remain missing. I’m still under suspicion until they’re found. If they’re found. Hence the flimsy knife and plastic cup, into which I pour more wine. Mindy watches as I fill it to the brim.
“The way I see it, we have two choices here,” I say. “We can either ignore each other and sit in silence. Or we could chat.”
“The second one,” Mindy says. “I hate too much quiet.”
It’s exactly the answer I expected. Which is the reason I gave her the choice—to make it feel like it was her idea to gossip.
“How’s the mood in the Lodge?” I ask. “Is everyone handling it well?”
“Of course not. They’re worried sick. Especially Franny.”
“What about Lottie?” I say. “She always struck me as a cool customer. I bet that’s good in a time of crisis.”
“I don’t know. She seems just as worried as the rest of us.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. I imagine she must be pretty devoted to Franny after working for her all these years.”
“You’d think,” Mindy says. “But I also get the sense that Lottie considers it just a job, you know? She gets to Franny’s penthouse in the morning and leaves in the evening like any employee would do. She gets sick days. She has vacation time. I don’t think she’s too happy about having to spend the summer here. Neither am I, but here I am, doing my best to impress Franny.”
“And how’s that working out for you?”
Mindy pours herself some more wine, filling her cup as high as I did. After taking a hearty sip, she says, “You don’t like me very much, do you?”
“You’re keeping me here under house arrest. So that would be a definite no.”
“Even before this. When you first got to camp. It’s okay to admit it.”
I say nothing. Which, in its own way, is an answer.
“I knew it. I could tell,” Mindy says. “I knew girls like you in college. So artsy and open-minded but so quick to judge people like me. Let me guess: you probably took one look at me and thought I was some spoiled sorority girl who screwed her way into the Harris-White family.”
“Aren’t you?”
“A sorority girl? Yes. And proud of it. Just like I’m proud of the fact that I was pretty enough and charming enough to catch the attention of someone like Chet Harris-White.”
“I’ll agree that you’re pretty,” I say, shedding any pretense of civility. Maybe it’s the wine. Or the spirit of Vivian lingering in the cabin, encouraging bitchiness.
“For the record, Chet pursued me. And it took a lot of convincing. I had no interest in dating the spoiled rich kid.”
“But aren’t you spoiled and rich?”
“Far from it,” Mindy says. “I grew up on a farm. Bet you didn’t see that coming.”
I had assumed she was born privileged. The daughter of a Southern attorney, perhaps, or a prominent physician, like Natalie was.
“It was a dairy farm,” she tells me. “In middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania. Every morning from kindergarten to graduation I was up before dawn, feeding and milking the cows. I hated every minute of it. But I knew I was smart, and I knew I was pretty. Two things women need most to get ahead in this world. I studied hard and socialized and tried my best to pretend that my hands didn’t always stink of raw milk and cow manure. And it paid off. Class president. Homecoming queen. Valedictorian. When I got to Yale, the pretending continued, even after I started dating Chet.”