Nick had heard someone was in the market to buy the land and turn it into a resort. They would level the old cabins and add in luxury bungalows. A gleaming restaurant and bar would replace the mess hall, and fresh, rejuvenated versions of the activities would take the place of the aging fields for those who wanted to recapture their youth. Mr. McKinley should let that happen. He’d hung onto the camp for so long, taking over for his father and his father before him. There was no one else in the McKinley line to pass it to now. The camp had been his devotion. He’d had no children. It was time to move on.

  But the hope of never having to see this place again shriveled that morning when he got a call from The Boss saying he needed to see him. The office was closed. They didn’t have any hours scheduled or project meetings until January. The writing team had already finished the script rewrite and sent it to him for approval. There was no reason he should need to see him. But Boss insisted. Nick agreed before he knew where he was meeting him. Hope of eventually making something of himself and finding the success he had been pursuing for years to prove himself to Liza got him in the car and on the road.

  Not going would be giving up on her. He would never do that.

  The big powder blue car was already in the parking lot when Nick wound his way up the narrow, twisting pathway to the aging gravel parking area at the front of the camp. It looked even eerier now that it was totally empty. Somehow it was starker than it had been even before they started filming, and he visited with the rest of the crew. The camp looked tired, beaten down by everything that had happened to it.

  The Boss was grinning when he climbed out of the car and walked toward Nick. Nick noticed an envelope gripped in his hand and wondered what this was all about. Was it possible this was what he had been waiting for? He was finally going to get the promotion and raise Nick had been angling after, and Boss had decided to make it a spectacle by bringing him out here to give him his contract?

  “Good to be back, isn’t it?”

  Nick tensed at the words even though he didn’t mean to.

  “Not particularly,” he answered.

  There was no reason for him to lie about it. No one else on the crew except for a few of the stragglers at the bottom of the food chain, who fed off Boss’s crazy, actually enjoyed being here. For them, it was some sort of artistic spiritual experience. For the rest of them, it was creepy as hell and the fodder for at least three grown men sleeping with nightlights.

  A big, self-satisfied grin told Nick his sentiments weren’t taken seriously.

  “Oh, come on,” Boss said. “You just don’t remember how amazing it was. You’re thinking about all that police unpleasantness.”

  “Several people going missing or dying seems like more than just unpleasantness,” Nick muttered to himself.

  “Let’s take a quick walk.”

  “I really need to be getting home.”

  I really need to be searching for my wife.

  “Just a quick one. There’s something I want to show you I think you will be very interested in seeing.”

  The spark of anticipation returned, and Nick fell into step as they headed onto the walkway that led deeper into the camp. He felt a chill surround him that had nothing to do with the bitter December temperature. More of it came up off the water, and he felt his steps slow as Boss turned toward the lake, but he pushed on. They walked out onto the dock, and Nick had to grab hold of the support to hold himself steady. He never wanted to see this lake again. Not after that horrible morning and the corpse that rode in with the water.

  “What are we doing here?” Nick asked.

  He’d been focused on the wooden slats at his feet, but now he looked up at the end of the dock and the man looking out over the water. An image flashed in front of his eyes of the same man sitting on a folding chair in that same spot, looking at sunlight on the water and waiting for a woman to climb into the canoe bobbing at the end of the dock.

  “I told you, there’s something very exciting I want to show you. Come out here and look at the lake.”

  Nick released the wooden beam and took the few strides down the dock. The image came again. Grinning as he showed a picture of Liza in her Halloween costume to one of the other crew members. Flipping it to the next picture, one of her smiling at him from across the table at breakfast on her last birthday. Placing the phone into the curious hand reaching around the chair toward him.

  “What are we looking at?” he asked through the twisting feeling forming low in his stomach.

  “My lake.”

  The same grey eyes that winked at Nick now had stared at his phone then. Six months ago, as they sat on this dock and waited for Lisanne Banes to shoot her scene rowing across the lake in the canoe. They stared at Liza like they’d never seen her, like she was suddenly something new to him.

  “What?”

  It was a contract in the folder, but not for Nick. Not for the promotion onto the main team he’d been waiting for and grinding himself into the ground to earn for years. It was to purchase the camp.

  “It’s mine. I bought Camp Pine Trails.”

  “You bought it?” Nick asked incredulously. “I thought someone had been putting in interest about it because they were going to turn it into a resort.”

  Another wink and Nick’s fist ached to wipe the grin off his face.

  “All mine. It will need some work, of course. But it will live on forever. A legend.”

  Nick looked down at the contract in his hands, at the signature looped dramatically on the line above Mr. McKinley’s name. Disgust writhed through him. No longer The Boss. No longer a joke.

  Charles Alexander Whitman.

  Alex.

  The man obsessed with Nick’s wife.

  Alex/Charles

  The look on Nick’s face had been strange when Alex showed him the freshly signed contract. Alex had expected him to be surprised but in a good way. Not stone-eyed and shocked.

  He should have expected it. Of all the people on the team who had been involved in the Bethany Project, Nick had been the most enthusiastic. He had eagerly worked with the actors and even built up a rapport with Lisanne Banes, Bethany’s best friend. Possibly too much of a rapport for a married man and a married woman. The corners of Alex’s mouth turned down at the thought, but he pushed it away. Nick was just envious. He wouldn’t admit it, but he admired the camp as much as Alex did and would have longed to have something like it for himself.

  After all, he was going through an incredibly difficult time. His wife had walked out of their home and their marriage, and Christmas was only a few days away. He could commiserate with him. It wasn’t the same with Mary. She was still there. He could still hug her and hold her and tell her stories about their life so she would internalize them and make them her own. But he did know what it was to lose a wife. It could be a challenging adjustment, no matter what the circumstances.

  Nick would come around. He’d come to understand that marriages don’t work out sometimes, and it’s usually for the best for both the husband and the wife to just let go and move on. There are others on the horizon, and life can continue. He’ll eventually see that Alex owning the camp will be a good thing for everyone. Soon the film would be in production again, and the new script would make a masterpiece. The camp would be flocked with people wanting to see and experience it, and anyone attached to it would reap benefits.

  That’s why Alex wanted to share it with Nick first. The man could use a boost after the year he’d had and the rough few weeks ahead. He needed something to look forward to and a bit of hope to carry him through.

  But it was the look on his face that stopped Alex. Nick had been cold, his expression unreadable as he stared Alex down, then grumbled he had somewhere he needed to be and left. Alex was still sitting in his car in the gravel parking area of the camp. He’d been working on finding his own spot like Mr. McKinley had. He didn’t want to just take over that spot as his own. That was for the owner of that era of the Camp Pine Trails. Alex needed a place of his own for this new era.

  His favorite Christmas song came on the radio when he cranked the ignition, and he paused. Not wanting to miss any of it in the crunching of the gravel under the car tires, he sat back and let the music fall over him. After a few seconds, he reached into the passenger seat and picked up his briefcase. Popping it open, he took out another folder and slipped the papers into his hand. His eyes rolled over the words typed neatly onto the page.

  “Patient, Mary Whitman,” he murmured. “Date, Monday, December 19, 1955…”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mary

  I wait for Charles just inside the door. I haven’t been greeting him this way when he gets home in the last few days, and I can tell he misses it. The dull thud of the first door closing confirms he’s home. My palms sweat. Footsteps come toward the second door. My heart pounds in my chest, and my breath feels labored, but I force it to slow. I hear the key in the locks, disengaging them.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  As the door glides open, I lift my arms. He comes into the house, and I step forward, closing the space between us, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “Hello, Dear. Welcome home.”

  Charles doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around my waist and accept the embrace. It’s what he’s been waiting for since I woke up. Probably long before then.

  “Hello, Darling,” he smiles. “You seem to be feeling much better.”

  “Yes,” I say with a nod, interweaving my fingers in front of me and swaying just enough back and forth to make the thick petticoats and crinoline under my skirt swish. “Supper will be ready in just a few minutes. I wanted to make something extra special for you tonight. Why don’t you go wait in the living room, and I will make you a drink?”

  He shrugs out of his coat, and I take it along with his hat to hang on the coatrack.

  “That sounds wonderful. I’ll just bring my briefcase to my study first.”

  He leans in for a kiss, and I tip my face up toward him. The sound of his voice is like bourbon. The touch of his lips is like the aftermath. My smile is rehearsed, but it’s enough to fool him. He walks down the hall to the locked door of his study humming a Christmas song. He doesn’t realize it’s one he shouldn’t know, one that wouldn’t play on the antique radio in the living room for another three years.

  He’s slipping.

  The key to the study emerges from its cozy spot in his inside pocket, and he makes quick work of releasing the lock and returning the key to its place. I go to the living room and have his drink ready for him when he comes in, dropping into his chair with a heavy sigh.

  “Did Santa Claus keep you very busy this afternoon?” I ask playfully.

  He chuckles through his first sip. The olive bobs around at the bottom of the glass. It doesn’t want to get near his mouth, either.

  “No. His tasks for me were very quick. What took the most time was going out to that new property I purchased.”

  “Is there something wrong with it?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing wrong. Don’t you worry your little head. I just wanted to share the good news with an employee.”

  “Speaking of your employees, there’s something I’d like to do for them.”

  Charles looks surprised, his eyebrows rising in a questioning expression.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, it is nearly Christmas, and so many of them weren’t able to attend our party. I want them to know how much we appreciate them and that they are valued, particularly at this special season.”

  His eyes soften, and he nods.

  “You are absolutely right. You see, that’s why I need you, my darling wife. I think so much about business and working I forget to see the value of all the people who help me. This is the perfect time of year to make sure they know they are remembered. What did you have in mind?”

  I perch on the arm of his chair and absently run my fingers through his hair.

  “I know you’ve been doing so much and deserve some time to just relax, but to do the plan I have, I’d really need your help.”

  He looks into my eyes, and I lower my eyelashes, touching my bottom lip just slightly with the tip of my tongue. Not enough to be truly suggestive, but enough to give him a hint that keeps his attention locked on me and not my fingertips trailing down along the side of his neck.

  “What do you need?”

  His eyes watch my tongue, and his hand runs up and down his thigh.

  “Will you go to the store for me? There are just a few ingredients I don’t have. I mean,” I look down again, letting my fingers move a little further and making sure I’m aligned just right so he can glance down the neckline of my dress. “I could try to do it myself. Dr. Baker thinks…”

  “No, no. There’s no need for that. You have been making wonderful strides, but there’s no need to push too fast.”

  I meet his eyes.

  “So, you’ll go?”

  “Anything for you, Darling.”

  I smile at him and lean in for a kiss. My body slides off the arm of the chair and into his lap, letting me press my hand to his chest. His eyes drift closed, and his mouth opens. I let his tongue venture between my lips and his hands pull me closer. It makes it easier for my hands to rove over his chest and slide under the sides of his jacket. As his tongue dips into my mouth, my fingers dip into the little pocket and draw out the key. It folds into my palm, and I continue the kiss just long enough to keep his mind fogged.

  “Thank you.” I hop off his lap and turn around quickly, so he won’t notice the key go into the fold of my belt. “I’ll make you a list.”

  I jot down the ingredients I need and hand them to him before excusing myself to the restroom. The key goes under a metal canister of cleanser in the cabinet under the bathroom sink before I come back out. It’s too risky to keep carrying it around.

  “Let me call the order in,” he says. “I’ll have the store get everything ready for us.”

  It’s something he’s done before, and the concept of it fascinates me. I wonder who he’s actually calling when he picks up the kitchen phone and where he actually gets the groceries.

  We sit down at the table for the early supper I’ve prepared. He talks as he eats, but my mind is on nothing but that key and the locked drawer in his study. When he’s finished, Charles sets out to pick up chocolate and peppermint, and I set myself in front of a sealed kitchen window to do the dishes. I count the seconds after he walks out of the house. Him ordering the groceries means I have far less time. I won’t be able to search as much as I wanted to, but it will give me a glimpse.

  The lock releases under the key, and I rush to the desk. A harsh sound from the drawer opening makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I stop, holding my position, waiting for something to happen. It doesn’t, and I reach into the drawer for the first file, opening it on the desk.

  “Mallory Maynard,” I whisper. “Unattached. Very accessible.” I turn the page. “Challenging personality. Uncooperative and combative. Will not listen to reason. Easily embarrassed and unwilling to try to connect. Has never cooked and will not try. Smashed two windows.” I nod. “Good for her.”

  The name sounds so familiar, but I can’t place it. I read it again and again, trying to figure out where I’ve heard it before. I want to keep reading, but I can’t risk taking too much time. Everything needs to be back in place and the dishes done by the time Charles gets home. With any luck, I can jump right in to making the fudge, and he will go to bed before trying to lure me with him.

  I tuck the folder back into the drawer and reluctantly lock it. The key goes back under the metal canister, and I rush back to the kitchen to continue the dishes. He’ll expect the dishes to be done when he gets home. After all, there’s nothing else for me to do but make sure the house stays perfect. I go through them as fast as I can and am placing the last serving dish in the cabinet when Charles walks back into the house.

  “That was fast,” I tell him.

  He has a slightly odd expression in his eyes when he comes into the kitchen. They trace over me and the empty sink, then my hand as I slide it back over my head to smooth my hair.

  “They had everything you need,” he smiles, holding a bag out to me.

  I smile and rise up on the balls of my feet to reward him with a kiss to the cheek before taking the bag. I bring it over to the pink Formica kitchen table and start unloading the ingredients. Some of the labels look odd, companies I’ve never heard of, but I know why. Attention to detail. Custom crafted labels and collectibles to ensure the correct year. The thought makes my skin cold.

  “Thank you. This is perfect.”

  His favorite word. His lullaby.

  “You haven’t told me what you’re making,” he says, stepping up beside me and running his hand down along my back.

  “Peppermint fudge,” I tell him. “Don’t you recognize the ingredients? I make it every Christmas.”

  He looks down at the table and then back at me. A question flickers across his eyes, and he replaces it with a smile.

  “I suppose I’ve never paid attention to the ingredients. I’m just interested in the finished fudge.”

  My giggle is masterful, the effect immediate. All the tension slides out of him.

  “There will be plenty for you.” I let out a soft sigh. “This makes me miss Vivian.”

  “Vivian?” he asks.

  I slide my eyes over to him.

  “My sister. She shared this recipe with me so many years ago. We used to make it together every year before she got married and moved away. Some of my favorite Christmas memories are making up a big batch of this fudge to give to friends and neighbors and sitting at the kitchen table writing cards while we wait for the chocolate to melt.”