Chapter 4

The chain held. I tried the door, the windows. The bathroom window was too small now that my hands were shaking. I needed a tool. I found a pry bar under the sink. I used it on the bathroom window frame, but the wood was frozen. I worked until my fingers bled. Then the frame gave.

I crawled out into the snow. My socks were soaked. I ran to the equipment shed. It was dark, but I knew it by touch. The workbench. The coil of chain. The old bulldozer.

I was looking for something to cut the chain when I saw it. Behind the coil of chain, half-covered by a tarp, was a cracked mirror. Blue paint. Bus number 14. I knew that number. Everyone in Granite Notch knew that number.

I pulled it out. The crack ran through the glass like a lightning bolt. There was blood on the edge. Old blood, brown and dried. I dropped it. Then I saw the clipboard on the workbench. A repair invoice. Brake-line parts. Ordered the day after the crash. Initials B.W. in Boone's handwriting.

I took the invoice. I couldn't carry the mirror. I hid it under the tarp and marked the spot with a red oil can. Then I heard the plow.

Headlights swept the shed wall. Boone was back. He was circling the camp, looking for me. I crouched behind the bulldozer. The engine rumbled past. Then it stopped. A door opened.

"Tessa!" he shouted. "I know you're out here. You'll freeze before you get to the highway."

I didn't answer. I held the invoice against my chest and the hidden handheld against my ear.

"Marnie," I whispered. "You there?"

"I'm here."

"I found the mirror. Bus 14. And an invoice. Brake-line parts. Boone's initials. The day after."

Marnie was quiet. Then: "Where are you?"

"Equipment shed."

"Stay there. He's not going to find you if you stay quiet."

"He's going to find me. He's got the plow."

"Then you need to get to high ground. The gravel pit. You can transfer the recording from there."

"Transfer? I can't transfer anything. You have the logger."

"I can patch it through. But you have to be on high ground. The handheld's range is too short down here."

The plow engine started again. Boone was moving. The headlights swept the shed. I saw the bulldozer key hanging above the visor. I didn't know why I noticed it then. Maybe because I needed something bigger than me.

"Tell me what's on the recording," I said.

"You already heard it."

"I heard one line. I want to hear you say it."

Marnie took a breath. "Boone took the Notch route because I told him to. The weigh station was open. He was overloaded. I told him to go around. He hit the bus. He cut the brake line after. I logged it as mechanical failure. The company paid the family. I kept the recording."

"Why?"

"Because I was scared. Because I had a mortgage. Because I thought it would stay buried."

The plow turned. Its headlights cut across the shed door. I heard Boone's boots on the ice.

"Marnie," I said, "if you don't play that recording, he's going to bury me."

"I know."

"Then play it."

"I can't. Not yet."

The shed door slid open. Boone stood in the opening, backlit by the plow. He had the backup handheld in one hand and a tire iron in the other.

"Found you," he said.