Her bedroom was a somewhat different story.
I’d been so jubilant after Welsh was caught, I hadn’t poked around.
But that day, I discovered not only was Bohannan’s bedroom pretty danged rad, his closet was sweet (though, no windows or window seat). His bathroom was a dream.
And the private sitting room off to the side, which had floor to ceiling windows that fully opened to the elements, had a direct view to the lake and a modern Juliet balcony, was pure sanctuary.
This was where we found ourselves after dinner, again not making out, but perfecting the art of cuddling, luxuriating in that with the windows open, the fresh air coming in, blanket tucked around us providing insulation, and body heat doing the rest.
“What’s with the mist?” I asked.
He chuckled. “Took you long enough.”
“Sorry?”
“Usually, if it’s fall and winter, people ask that right off the bat.”
“I had other things on my mind.” I reminded him.
“Hydrothermal springs.”
I took my head off his shoulder to look at his face.
“Seriously?”
A nod.
I stated the obvious. “It’s huge.”
Another nod. “Yup. There’s a band of them along the bottom. All year long, no matter how cold it is outside, there are spots in the lake that feel like summer. Sayin’ that, there are spots where it’s colder. It’s just that, there are enough of the hot ones, it heats the whole lake, so when the outside temperature drops, and the air hits the water, mist forms. It doesn’t go away from October to March, sometimes September, if we get cold early like this year, and April, if we stay cold late. And if it’s very cold, it’s just straight up fog throughout this whole valley.”
“And thus the name, Misted Pines.”
“Yeah, and that’s what the Okanagan called it, translated to English.”
“Okanagan?”
“The Methow and Okanagan tribes lived on this land. Now they live southeast on the Colville Reservation.”
“Right,” I muttered.
“Also, that’s the name of the really big lake, east of here.”
“I’m afraid my Washington state geography isn’t all it should be.”
“We’ll get you there.”
“Mm.”
“The indigenous tribes thought this was a spiritual place. Used it in healing. After it was taken from them, stories turned. Early settlers thought it was haunted. Or cursed. Tales told of people boating into the mist, never returning.”
“I’ll note at this juncture, neither the real estate person nor the FBI shared these stories with me.”
He smiled and cuddled me closer. “Then there’s the story of Cornelius Ruck.”
Of course there was.
“His name was not Cornelius.”
Another smile. “It was. Wealthy fur trader and local big man. Cornelius would meet his mistress at a cabin he built at the side of the lake. He did this until his wife followed him, carrying a pistol. Allegedly.”
“Allegedly?”
“Allegedly. The cabin burned down. Nobody inside. Mrs. Ruck was seen rowing into the mist, where she disappeared. She was not seen rowing out of it. But the day after the fire, she was doing her normal business in town. Folks found it interesting she didn’t report her husband missing until days later.”
“And Cornelius, and his, I’ll note unnamed, mistress?”
Now a grin and he gestured to the windows. “Never seen again, but they’re out there, haunting the lake.”
“Something to know about me.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m not good with ghost stories.”
“Then you picked the wrong town, baby.”
That sounded ominous.
“I don’t want Celeste dating Will,” I blurted.
That had not been the way I’d rehearsed it.
His brows flew up.
“I intended to preface this by saying, you and I are bonding. She and I are bonding. The boys and I are bonding. But I understand my place here. I’m new. We’ve officially kissed once.”
“Officially?”
“All the forehead kisses, etcetera, don’t count.”
His beard twitched.
I pulled a bit away from him (but not too far).
“However, as an authority on this, seeing as I successfully raised two stunning, perfect, wonderful, strong, capable girls, and upon some sleuthing today, which others might erroneously refer to as—” I did air quotation marks, “—stalking, I got a look at Will. And I don’t like him.”
“You got a look at him.”
“Through the window at Aromacobana.”
“You got a look at him through the window of a coffee shop.”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“And you’re raising your banner on this.”
“Yes.”
“Can I ask what has your intuition sparking?”
“I don’t like the look of him.”
“Explain.”
“He’s tall and handsome.”
Bohannan stared at me.
“I know both of those sound good. You just have to trust me.”
“Reading between these lines, you’re telling me this so I’ll tell my daughter she can’t date the guy she’s been crushing on since sixth grade. The guy who finally noticed her and asked her out. The guy whose sister was just murdered, and she has a soft heart, and she would want to be there for him, and now she gets to be there for him. You want me to tell that daughter she can’t date this guy and find some way to do it without laying you out that I’m telling her that because you don’t like the look of him.”
“Obviously, this sounds impossible, so we have to form a plan.”
“Babe, you do know that doing that, no matter how awesome a plan we form, is gonna lay me out with my girl.”
“Okay, how about just say, until you sort out Alice’s killer, she has to stay at home unless she’s at school.”
Another eyebrow raise.
“You think that’ll go over better?”
“Bohannan—”
He turned to me and pulled me into his arms.
“Larue, listen to me, Celeste isn’t my first rodeo. I learned with two boys, who, growing up, and sometimes still, have more testosterone than brains, what a heavy hand in parenting means to a kid. You gotta let them make their own mistakes.”
“Cade, honey, listen to me,” I said softly, lifting my hands to curl them around either side of his neck. “When it comes to dating, the consequences of mistakes a boy could make, and a girl could make, can be two very different, very life-altering things.”
His head ticked.
And his voice was growly when he asked, “You got that vibe off the kid?”
“I do not like stereotyping. I avoid it. It’s not just. It’s not right. But that doesn’t mean some aren’t earned. To mix metaphors, he’s the cock on the walk with a bird on a string. He has the perfect pressure point to push to get what he wants. Maybe I’m wrong and all he wants is a beautiful girl to spend time with and to listen to him after something heinous happened to him and his family. Or he could be a piece of shit in a high school hunk disguise. At the very least, she needs someone to explain the intricacies of consent versus cajoling, and make it very clear only she gets to decide.”