The front of the cabin was on stilts, overlooking the lake. The porch light for the side entrance was on. Harper had the code for the key safe, but there was no need for it. The door was unlocked.
They waved goodbye to Jet.
He tooted in response before doing a U-turn. Yellow headlights strobed between the trees as the truck swept up the hill and out of sight.
There were no other houses. No near neighbors.
The girls picked up their bags and let themselves in.
NIGHTINGALE LODGE
Kat had a picture in her head of a dream wilderness cabin, and Nightingale Lodge ticked every box. The animal art alone made it perfection. Even the doormat made them laugh: DOGS WELCOME (PEOPLE TOLERATED).
Above the stone fireplace was an oil painting of wolf pups playing in the snow. Every lamp on every table was a bear sculpture. Bathed in a soft glow, bears guzzled trout, climbed trees, or nuzzled their cubs.
For obvious reasons, Annette Brody hadn’t left a roaring furnace unattended, but the wood and tinder were well prepared. One match and the fire crackled into life, turning the cold living room into a fragrant, cozy home in minutes.
The furniture was rustic but comfortable. There were two squashy sofas, a rocking chair, and an armchair large enough to sleep in. There was also a spotless, well-stocked kitchen, a breakfast bar, and a dining table.
The top floor of the A-frame log cabin consisted of a shower, a landing crammed with books, and a twin bedroom, where the girls dumped their bags. Like the larger bedroom on the lower ground floor, it faced the dark hill behind. Kat pushed up the blind but could see nothing but moving shadows.
Back in the living room, Kat and Harper stood side by side staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window. The racing clouds cleared at intervals and a bright moon strobed through. On a sunny day, the view would have been spectacular. Still, something inside Kat thrilled at the sight of Mirror Lake whipped by the wind into a turbulent silver sea. The jagged silhouettes of violently swaying trees obscured its outer edges.
There were no stars and only a few pinpricks of light on the far side of the lake, on the lower slopes of a black mountain. As the girls looked out, icy pellets began to pelt the glass. Purple clouds blacked out the view.
“It’s as if aliens have abducted everyone and we’re the only people left in the world,” said Kat, only half joking.
“Luckily, we have a whole army of bear sculptures and a life-sized toy raccoon to keep us company,” said Harper. “Books too! And a refrigerator packed with food!”
Kat grinned. “It’s kind of fun being on our own in the wilderness. If my mum wasn’t arriving shortly, we could have played music at full blast, stayed up till two A.M. reading, or had a midnight feast.”
“Not sure if I could have waited for any midnight feast,” said Harper with a laugh. “I’m starving. How about we investigate what Mrs. Brody’s left us for dinner?”
Annette Brody hadn’t written them a note, presumably because she’d flown out of the cabin in a hurry. It wasn’t a problem. There was a tub of three-bean chili in the fridge, along with—amazingly—some vegan sour cream.
Soon they were sitting cross-legged on a rug in front of the fire, enjoying the chili out of crispy taco bowls created by Harper.
Kat decided that the taco bowls were the best cooking invention ever. Yummy and they saved on the washing up. “Where did you learn to make these?”
“It’s a Cuban recipe. I think my mom taught my dad and he taught me. Sometimes I wish she’d been around longer to teach me things herself, instead of being stolen by a stupid fever in a Costa Rican jungle, but then I remember how lucky I am to have the best father ever. A forgetful father, but no one’s perfect.”
Kat rarely gave her own absent dad a thought and sometimes felt guilty about it. Before she was even born, he’d made the fateful decision to surf a twenty-meter wave in Portugal. He’d never returned to shore. There was a photo of him on the mantelpiece in Bluebell Bay. On the rare occasions he did cross Kat’s mind, that was how she pictured him: carefree and careless as he rode a breaker into the sunset.
Kat shut him out of her head. “I feel the same way about my mum. She’s the best mother on earth, and I get her all to myself … except for a few thousand patients. And she gets me all to herself—except for you and Tiny, of course.”
“Your mom’s awesome,” agreed Harper. “And any time you need a dad for anything, you’re welcome to share mine.”
Kat had a sudden recollection of her own spontaneous offer of friendship to a near stranger in the forest. A curious, wistful expression had flashed across Riley’s face. I wish…, she’d begun. The wind had blown away that wish. Now Kat would always wonder what she’d meant to say.
“My mum already thinks of you as her second daughter,” she told Harper. “I guess that sort of makes us family.”
“Not sort of,” her best friend said firmly. “We are family.”
Harper’s phone cheeped. “Message from Dad. He’s flying to New York tomorrow and should be with us by lunchtime on Tuesday. I can’t wait till we’re all together again.”
“Neither can I,” said Kat, worrying anew about her mum left alone at the wind-battered gas station.
While Harper hunted for dessert, Kat added another log to the fire. She was about to toss in some scraps of newspaper when a sidebar story leaped out at her: WISH LIST GANG PRIME SUSPECTS IN THEFT OF $50M DIAMOND NECKLACE.
The article was dated September 28, only a couple of weeks earlier. Kat read it aloud to Harper.
“The starry opening of the Royal Manhattan Hotel’s east wing ended in high drama last night when a $50 million diamond necklace belonging to Cynthia Hollinghurst, heiress to the Hollinghurst fortune, was snatched in the crowded ballroom.
“The New York Police Department refused to confirm reports that clues found at the scene point to the notorious Wish List gang. The thieves are prime suspects in at least eight other high-profile heists ranging from Florida to Vermont. At each, they’ve left a wish list of multimillion-dollar goodies. Rare art, guitars, and a Ming vase have all fallen prey to their cunning.
“The diamond necklace was stolen at around 11:00 P.M. at the arctic-themed event. As waiters served smoking trays of ice cream made with liquid nitrogen to celebrities, politicians, and artists, there was a scream. Ms. Hollinghurst’s precious gems were gone.
“A male suspect is helping police with their inquiries.
“Even before the theft, the event had been a PR disaster for the Royal Manhattan. It began with four climate-change activists being evicted after taking a blowtorch to a polar bear ice sculpture.
“Next, the advertised lobster canapés had to be substituted with pizza after a rogue kitchen hand and unidentified accomplice ‘liberated’ the lobsters from a tank.
“But the Royal Manhattan’s woes were nothing compared to those of Force 10 Security, whose elite guards were responsible for the safekeeping of Ms. Hollinghurst’s necklace.
“Asked how the diamond necklace came to be snatched from under the noses of five guards in a packed room, Force 10 CEO Tony Marmosett claimed that at the time, the men were being Good Samaritans.
“‘I’m sorry about the diamonds—you have no idea how sorry. But how can I punish my guards for battling a blaze at a shop across the street till firefighters came on the scene? They rescued a military veteran suffering from smoke inhalation after his wheelchair got lodged in a steel grid. Frankly, I’m proud of them.’
“Clancy Hollinghurst, Cynthia’s father, is offering a $1 million reward for the recovery of the necklace. He refused to comment on rumors that he’s suing the hotel and Force 10 Security for untold millions.”
Harper handed Kat a bowl of canned peaches and coconut ice cream. “What I want to know is how a ninety-one-year-old came to be hanging out with celebrities and politicians at a glitzy hotel event. Did nobody at Shady Oaks notice that Gerry Meeks was missing or raise the alarm? Don’t those places have
a duty of care to frail and muddled seniors?”
Kat savored a peach before replying. “I’d like to know why there are only nine items on the wish list.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s an odd number. When the gang was dreaming up Ming vases or whatever to steal, you’d think they’d have come up with a round number: ten items, or twenty. Why nine?”
“Maybe they were planning a tenth heist, but before it could happen, Gerry Meeks was arrested.”
“Not according to Brenda from the Sleepy-Time Inn. She told us that the wish list only ever had nine items on it.”
Harper’s phone rang. “Your mum,” she mouthed at Kat, who put it on speaker. The connection was crackly and kept breaking up. The rain and wind roared in the background.
“Darling girl, sorry it’s taken me forever to call … bit of a disaster … special part needed for the car … Only available in Lake Placid … Driving conditions hazardous, especially in the dark. Have been advised to spend the night in a hotel there…”
“Spend the night?” Kat couldn’t believe it. Their vacation seemed cursed. “What time do you think you’ll be able to get here tomorrow?”
“Depends when the mechanic can fit the part … Will keep you posted … Frustrating but nothing I can do … Kat, would you put Annette Brody on the line? I want to make sure she’s able to take care of you both until…”
The line went dead. Kat tried calling back, but the signal was too feeble.
“Look on the bright side,” said Harper. “If our parents had a clue that we were on our own in a remote cabin with a nor’easter raging, they’d be freaking out.”
“Hmm. Good point.”
To discourage her mum from ringing back, Kat wrote a carefully worded text.
No probs, Mum. We’re warm & safe. Mrs. Brody made a delish 3-bean chili for our dinner & Harper conjured up ace taco bowls to go with it. Wish you’d been here. Have a nice night in Lake Placid. Be placid and DON’T WORRY!!! We’re having a brilliant time xxx
The reply came in seconds.
Wonderful! Pass on my thanks to Mrs. Brody. Glad you’re having fun. See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams. Love Mum xxx P.S. Tina says Tiny is missing you and sends lots of purrs and cuddles x
“Well, you got your wish,” said Harper when Kat put down the phone. “We’re alone in the wilderness. Now what?”
Harper’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “Pity we don’t have any mysteries to investigate. It’s about time our Wolfe and Lamb detective agency had a new case to solve.”
Kat picked up the crumpled story on the stolen diamond necklace. “Maybe we do.”
MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Kat sat up in bed, adrenaline pumping. “What was that?”
“Not again,” groaned Harper. “Kat, this is an old log cabin. Loose tiles are going to bang, floorboards will creak even when no one’s walking on them, and the wind’s going to keep whining like an unhappy ghost. Put some earplugs in and close your eyes.”
“It wasn’t the wind,” Kat said stubbornly. “It was a living creature, howling in the forest. Possibly more than one. The howls were different.”
“I’ll be the one howling if I don’t get some sleep,” complained Harper. She put a pillow over her head.
Moments later, a bone-chilling keening penetrated the memory foam. She flung aside the pillow. “What was that?”
“Told you so,” said Kat, who hadn’t moved. “There’s something out there.”
“Nobody told us there’d be wolves,” said Harper in alarm.
Kat lifted the blinds and stared hard into the darkness, but the night held tight to its secrets. “What’s weird is that the survival book I bought claimed there hadn’t been a wolf pack in the Adirondacks since the 1890s. And no lone wolves have been seen in over a decade.”
Yet she was as certain as Harper that they hadn’t imagined the eerie sound. What was it? A bear in a snare? A loon in peril? Feral dogs out hunting?
The girls strained their ears. Whatever it was had gone quiet.
Kat’s eyelids drooped and she burrowed beneath her moose-patterned duvet. “Wish there were wolves in the Adirondacks. I love them so much. They sing, you know, like we do, for the pure joy of it.”
“Sing? Wolves?”
“They croon to their loved ones. It’s a bonding ritual called social gluing. People see wolves as vicious killers, but they’re the opposite. Their families are their whole world. They’re so affectionate and protective of one another.”
She murmured drowsily, “Per’aps there are wolves in our forest. They’ve sensed that there’s a new Wolfe in the town and they’re singing to welcome me…”
On that cheerful note, she fell asleep.
Harper smiled and lay down but found it impossible to drift off. The threat of wolves brought home the reality of lonely cabins in the wilderness. Every screech, thud, or rustle set her nerves jangling. She shot up in bed. “What was that?”
Kat didn’t stir.
“Kat, something smashed in the kitchen. What if it’s a burglar breaking in? Oh, please wake up. I’m worried.”
But jet lag had caught up with Kat. She was unconscious.
Harper did her best to stay calm and rational. Before turning in, she and Kat had made certain that every door and window was secured. Even if they’d missed one, the fury of the gale would surely have been enough to put off any intruder without a hankering to be crushed by a falling tree or trampled by a frightened wild animal.
The noise came again—a distinct clinking.
Harper swung out of bed. She’d have to investigate. Alone.
“I’m a detective,” Harper told herself. “If I’m to fight international criminals in real life as well as online, I can’t let a petty thief faze me.”
Arming herself with a wooden squirrel carving, she crept down the stairs. The clinking and clanking grew louder. Twice, Harper nearly ran screaming back to Kat. She forced herself on, muttering under her breath, “Detective Lamb, you are fearless, fit, and fifty times cleverer than any burglar. You can do this.”
Halfway down the stairs, she heard slurping. Someone or something was eating in their kitchen. That raised a fresh possibility for which Harper was utterly unprepared. What if she came face-to-face with a bear? Her father had told her a story about a bear breaking into a cabin in Canada, raiding the fridge, and then playing the piano—only not very well.
With no piano or rifle to distract it, this bear might claw her to pieces.
Would a wooden squirrel work as a bear-spray substitute? Harper suspected not. She had visions of flinging the carving behind her as a six-hundred-pound bear pounded after her.
An animated chittering suddenly echoed down the stairwell. Harper stifled a giggle. It was years since she’d heard that chittering, but she’d have recognized it anywhere.
Tiptoeing down the remaining steps, she caught the masked bandit red-pawed.
A raccoon was on the breakfast bar, licking peach nectar out of a can. Its nose and fur were sticky with juice and the remnants of the three-bean chili. Its eyelids fluttered with bliss.
The kitchen was a disaster zone. With no one to supervise, Harper and Kat had gone to bed without clearing up. The raccoon had taken full advantage of their laziness and of their leftovers. The chili pot was upended, dribbling sauce down the side of the stove. Ice-cream footprints traced an erratic journey around the living room. Taco crumbs and rice were strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other. A mug and a plate were in pieces.
The fridge was wide-open. On the tiles below, gnawed veggies swam in a pool of ketchup, maple syrup, and chips of china.
As Harper looked on in fascinated horror, the raccoon took an apple from the fruit bowl and washed it in a glass of water. When it caught sight of her, its expression was priceless. Abandoning the apple, it twisted off the countertop, adding a shattered glass to the ghastly stew on the tiles. It dived behind a cabinet and was gone.
Despite the mess, th
e relief of finding a raccoon in the cabin rather than a knife-wielding burglar left Harper elated. She’d faced her fears and won. She was practically a superhero.
* * *
Cleaning the kitchen took ages. After stoking the fire until it crackled and popped, Harper poured herself a glass of milk and opened a packet of Oreo cookies. Then she stretched out on the sofa with the TV remote.
The shutters were still banging, the wind still whining, and there were still unexplained creaks and groans, but Harper was no longer afraid. Not at all. Isolated cabins in the wilderness agreed with her, she decided. She couldn’t wait for morning when she and Kat could explore the forest.
The news bellowed out at her. The polar vortex hurtling in from the Arctic had turned into a winter storm, now named Storm Mindy, after reaching wind speeds of close to ninety miles per hour on the northeast coast. There was footage of cars and houses buried under snow and a lighthouse beaming through a blizzard.
Harper lowered the volume and hopped up to get more cookies. Returning to the sofa, she was about to switch channels when an image of Gerry Meeks popped up, captioned: VILLAIN OR VICTIM?
A newscaster in an orange tie said, “On Monday, Gerry Thomas Meeks, a retired insurance salesman and the alleged leader of the Wish List gang, was charged with stealing a fifty-million-dollar diamond necklace from heiress Cynthia Hollinghurst.
“The ninety-one-year-old and his unknown accomplices are the prime suspects in nine high-profile heists across the United States. At the scene of each robbery, they left a wish list written with colored Sharpies. The wish list was simple, their alleged crimes not so much.”
A graphic flashed up: Harper took a screengrab on her phone.
IS THIS THE REAL WISH LIST?
1. 1964 Fender Stratocaster Guitar Played by Bob Dylan
2. Green-Enameled Ming “Dragon” Vase
3. 1913 Liberty Head Nickel
4. Lost Eighteenth-Century Masterpiece by Sofia Rossi
5. Autographed First Edition of Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak
Kat Wolfe on Thin Ice Page 4
