A Stranger in Town

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Which he did.”

  “Very successfully, yes. Now here’s where your theory slips, just a little. You believe someone from the Second Settlement broke off and turned the two teas into narcotics, and that was the birth of the hostiles.”

  “I know that the original hostiles did come from the settlement.”

  “True, but your version is a little more … innocent than the truth, I fear.” She sips her coffee and settles in. “Shortly after Henry returned, my husband’s family began joint research with a European firm. They came across my Second Settlement study, and they were fascinated. They saw wider uses for the tea, beneficial uses, and they sent researchers in, posing as Rockton residents. We would have rather sent Hendricks back but…”

  “They wanted their own people.”

  “And they got that, without argument, because Hendricks was conveniently dead.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yes, ah. Had he died after they asked to send in a researcher, we’d have seen a connection. But his accident occurred before they suggested it.”

  “They came prepared.”

  “Evidently, and as you have guessed, this European company plays the black-hat role in my story. Which you will have every reason to doubt. It’s an obvious ploy, isn’t it? Blame some shadowy foreign corporation.”

  “Just tell me the story.”

  She nods. “So they sent two researchers to Rockton. A man and a woman. They arrived acting as if they’d never met, and then they feigned a whirlwind romance and skipped off into the forest together. The Second Settlement fell for their story and welcomed them in. Their purpose, as far as we knew, was to study the long-term effects of the tea, and I was thrilled by that. While I saw nothing in the ingredients that raised concern, there is always the risk of unforeseen side effects. I welcomed their investigations. It eased my conscience.”

  “And then?”

  “And there the story ends. Or so it appeared. The researchers stayed for a year. While they found no evidence of long-term effects, they also didn’t find what they’d hoped for, in terms of the tea having useful applications. Other drugs did the job more efficiently and cheaper. My husband’s family soon parted ways with the European firm.”

  “Okay…”

  “Decades pass, and then along comes Rockton’s first detective, who starts doing what she was hired to do. Detecting.” She smiles at me. “Funny how that works, isn’t it? Hire a detective for a town where she might have a case or two a year, which leaves all this extra time, and she finds new things to investigate. Like the wild people living in the forest. The council always dismissed those reports as obvious exaggeration. Clearly, past sheriffs had encountered the wilderness equivalent of the homeless—people suffering from mental illness or other issues. If they didn’t want help, then the only course of action was to stay out of their way. Suggesting they were living in packs? Ludicrous. Residents had seen a few troubled settlers and blown it out of proportion.”

  “You thought the same?”

  “I did. I’ve been here. I know this wild place preys on the imagination. Every dead tree becomes a bear. Every red-squirrel nest is a wildcat poised overhead. Even the settlers can be both frightening and dangerous.”

  “So what changed your mind?”

  “As soon as you mentioned Maryanne’s experience, I started to dig. At first, my thoughts paralleled yours. A splinter group from the Second Settlement must have altered the recipe. That made it my fault. I failed at proper scientific procedure. I introduced a new drug, and then I walked away, without monitoring it, without taking responsibility.”

  “Then you remembered the European group and decided they were to blame.”

  “That isn’t how my mind works, Casey. I don’t go looking for alternate targets. I accept my mistakes, and I strive to fix them. The same way you would, I think.”

  I say nothing.

  She continues. “My way of fixing it was to support your efforts to resolve the issue. Lobbying for the council to take the problem seriously. Then it seemed as if they were considering a solution. A drastic solution.”

  That has Dalton’s head jerking up.

  “Attrition,” she says.

  I’m still struggling to understand what she means when Dalton says, “They’re shutting us down.”

  “What?” I say. “No. They haven’t given any signs of…” I trail off and Dalton murmurs what Émilie just said. Attrition.

  I continue, “They’ve all but stopped sending us new residents. And they aren’t extending stays past two years. That’s what Jen was talking about. It’s not just her. They aren’t granting any extensions, and we weren’t thinking much of it because everyone who was denied—including Jen—has other reasons for being turned down.”

  Dalton nods. “Our numbers fluctuate all the time. Since I’ve been here, we’ve been as low as one-fifty and as high as two-twenty. Sometimes it’s budget. Other times…” He shrugs. “It’s a natural flow. I wouldn’t have really thought much about it until we dropped low enough to have trouble filling positions.”

  “Wait,” I say. “We have a few clashes with hostiles, and we discover that some of them are former Rockton residents—our residents, kidnapped and brainwashed—and this is the council’s solution? Not how can they rescue our people? Not how can they detox the hostiles and see what they want? But shut down the town?”

  “Relocate, most likely,” she says.

  “It’s an excuse,” Dalton says. “We’ve been inconvenient. Misbehaving. You can sure as hell bet that we aren’t on their hiring list for the new town. None of us will be. This isn’t abandoning the house and moving the people. It’s letting the fire burn it out and starting fresh. They’d tell us Rockton was permanently shutting down, and we’d never know they were starting up elsewhere.”

  I look at Émilie.

  “I’m not privy to their plans,” she says. “They insist there are no plans. But Eric is, I fear, correct. However, you’re also right, Casey. It’s entirely the wrong reaction. Think of this as a chemical spill.”

  I nod. “They’re trying to close shop and move on without cleaning up.”

  “Correct. I believed there was more to it, so I began to dig, and that’s when…” She trails off. “More on that in a moment. For now, let’s just say I discovered something that drove my mind back to that collaboration with the European firm. I decided to speak to the two researchers they sent. Bribe them, that was my plan. Make them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

  “No, they never returned from the Yukon.”

  “They decided to stay?”

  There’s no incredulity in my voice. People come for work or vacation, and they decide to stay. Not in the wilderness, but in Whitehorse or one of the smaller towns. As someone who’s been seduced by this place myself, I understand their choice.

  It’s Dalton who says, “They didn’t choose to stay, did they? Not really. They became hostiles.”

  “What?” I say.

  No one chooses that life. Well, no, I’m sure a few have, but I cannot imagine scientists coming to work here, seeing wild and savage people in the forest, and saying, “That looks cool.”

  Except there hadn’t been savage people in the forest before they arrived.

  “They started the hostiles,” I murmur. “They were the first.”

  “It was part of the study,” she says. “That’s what I uncovered. The European firm wasn’t looking to create life-enhancing medication. They were making bioweapons for foreign powers. Their interest was in how the tea might subdue protesters and rebels, an exaggerated variation on my own goal. At some point, their interest shifted to the hallucinogenic tea. What if it caused more than euphoria?”

  “Enhancing violence,” I say. “Reducing inhibitions. Like what we see with the hostiles. They tinker with the tea and take a few people into the forest for further experimentation. At some point, it becomes Frankenstein’s monster. Their crea
tion turns on them.”

  “That’s my theory,” Émilie says. “I can’t prove it. I know only that they went into the forest to change the formulation, and they never returned.”

  “So the hostiles are a science experiment?” I say.

  “They were. Past tense. A brief foray into behavioral control that might benefit some of the shadier world powers of the day. The results weren’t what the firm wanted, so they ended the study and recalled their researchers, who ignored their summons.”

  “The firm didn’t send a search party?”

  “They claim they did, but as you know, this is a very big forest.”

  “So the hostiles were a failed experiment, one the council knew nothing about?”

  “I believe the majority of the council knows nothing about it. But someone does. That firm didn’t walk away from Rockton as cleanly as we hoped. They have at least one influential person on the council, someone who has been keeping them abreast of recent developments.”

  I nod. “And that element is exerting pressure on the rest of the council to abandon ship. The European firm wants us out of here so they can…”

  I trail off.

  European firm.

  I remember what Émilie said shortly after she arrived.

  While I’m not fluent in Danish, I did spend a year in Copenhagen.

  “Where exactly is this firm?” I ask.

  Once again, her gaze meets mine. “I think you already know.”

  Denmark.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Émilie has gone back to Petra’s place. At this point I no longer really care whether she flees. I have what I need. Besides, Dalton has made sure her plane isn’t going anywhere. Right now, I just need to think.

  “You can go home to bed if you like,” I say to Dalton.

  His brows shoot up. “You really think I’d sleep after that?”

  “I—”

  “You need time alone before you’re ready to discuss it. I’ll walk Storm home—no reason for her to stay up all night.”

  “Actually, I’m going to go talk to Mathias,” I say. “That’s where I found Émilie earlier—sneaking back from his place.”

  “Ah-ha,” he says, brows wriggling, and I laugh, tension easing from me.

  “Sadly, it’s going to be the less interesting option. He’s working with the council, and she wanted to talk to him. Before she has a chance to speak to him again, I want to see if anything she said contradicts the story she just gave.”

  “You okay with us walking you over?”

  “I am. Thank you.”

  * * *

  I rap on Mathias’s door. Dalton and Storm wait a few feet from the porch. When the door swings open, Mathias fixes me with a glower that makes me rethink going into his place alone. While I’ve never feared him, in that moment, a chill slides over me.

  Still, I wave Dalton off and step inside as Mathias moves back.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep,” I say in French.

  “You disturb nothing. I was not asleep.”

  If he’s not annoyed because I woke him …

  He walks inside, leaving me to follow. I look around and notice another new piece of art, which must have come in the latest shipment. We often need to pick up a package or two for Mathias when we’re in town. Few residents have that privilege. Dalton uses his for books. I use mine for gifts and chocolates. Mathias buys art.

  “How am I to rest,” he says, “when my responsibility lies beyond my reach?”

  I try—and fail—to untangle that. I presume the meaning is lost in translation, an idiomatic use that flies over my head.

  “I don’t under—” I begin in English.

  “No.” Mathias wheels, so close to me that I fight the urge to back up. “I am the one who doesn’t understand. Did you not tell me he was my responsibility?”

  I glance around the room, realizing I haven’t seen Raoul—Mathias’s wolf-dog. Normally, he’d be at the door, dancing and whining when he smelled Storm. My heart skips until I find him on the sofa, his head ducked just enough to tell me he’s in hiding.

  Mathias follows my gaze. “No, not the damned dog.”

  Mathias rubs Raoul’s ears and murmurs to him, “I am not angry with you. No one has taken you from me without a word of warning. No one has taken you and left me wondering for hours where you’ve gone, until a near stranger casually mentions that you are in the forest, having offered yourself up as hostage.”

  I wince. “Sebastian. I’m sorry, Mathias.”

  “Are you?”

  That tone makes me straighten. “Yes, I am, despite the fact that Sebastian is old enough to make his own choices. He’s only your responsibility insomuch as I’m relying on you to help monitor his mental state and provide the therapy he needs. Also, I’d think you’d be happy to have him gone for a few days. You’re always complaining about him.”

  He glowers at me. “That does not sound like a sincere apology.”

  “It was … until you challenged me on it.”

  He grumbles and sits beside Raoul, who lays his muzzle on Mathias’s leg.

  “I believe, Casey, that to truly understand my current sleepless state, you might consider what you just said. That I am responsible for his mental well-being. Might it not, then, have been prudent to consult me before sending him off on this mission?”

  I settle into the chair across from him, and Raoul zips over to me. “I could point out that, under the very tense circumstances in which this occurred, consulting you was impossible. But after Sebastian agreed, we returned to pick up the dirt bike and we should have spoken to you then.”

  Mathias relaxes a little, marginally mollified.

  “He wanted to do this,” I say, “and they’d never hurt him.”

  “He would not allow them to. He can take care of himself. I simply do not like him being sent into a situation where he may need to do so.”

  “He really wanted to help Felicity.”

  Another grumble, louder now. “That girl. He is developing feelings for her, and I have told him it is unwise. He will not allow me near her for a proper assessment of her suitability.”

  I smile. “My parents used to do that. Tell me they weren’t thrilled about a relationship and then ask to meet the boy. That warned me to keep him far, far away.”

  “It is not the same. I am concerned for her.”

  “That’s half your concern. The other half is for him, whether he’s falling for a girl who won’t fall back. And the other half is worry that they’ll both fall for each other … when he’s not going to be here forever.”

  “You were not good at math, were you, Casey?”

  “You’re a complicated man.”

  He waggles a finger. “Do not flatter me. Next time, I insist on being consulted. I do, however, appreciate that you came by to speak to me about it, despite the lateness of the hour.”

  I pause.

  “That is not why you came, is it?”

  “Sorry,” I say. “If I’d thought of it, I would have, but I came to talk about Émilie.”

  “Émilie?”

  “The woman—”

  “I know who she is. I presume someone saw us speaking and warned you we were having a tête-à-tête?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, I planned to speak to you myself about it tomorrow. When I was no longer annoyed with you.” He settles in. “She came by to discuss Sebastian, or so it seemed at first. She said she’d learned of his condition and feared I hadn’t been warned by the council. I told her that I was forced to make the diagnosis myself, and I was not pleased about that. She apologized, and then asked about new residents who came after Sebastian, whether I had concerns about any of them. Terribly considerate, I thought.”

  “Uh-huh, let me guess. She asked about each individually, not as a group.”

  His eyes widen in mock surprise. “As a matter of fact, she did. How ever did you guess?”

  “Because you planned to talk to m
e about her visit, which you wouldn’t do unless you saw something suspicious in her questions. She starts asking about Sebastian, knowing you’d be upset about being misled there. Then she parlays that apology into dutifully asking after each subsequent new resident, to hide the fact she’s concerned about one person in particular.”

  “Mon Dieu. One would think you were a detective, Casey Butler. How astute of you.”

  “You know what would be a real show of astuteness? If you could hazard a guess on which resident she was interested in.”

  “Sadly, I am not a detective.” He crosses one leg over his knee. “And our Miss Émilie is herself very astute, enough to ask after each new resident with equal concern and listen to my responses with equal interest. I know only that she wanted my assessment of each recent resident, particularly whether I feared that any, like Sebastian, weren’t what they claimed to be.”

  I sputter a laugh. “We’re a town of people who arrive under false pretenses.”

  “So I said, but she was looking for more.”

  “She suspects someone’s backstory is false. Not just their cover story, but the one they gave the council. Huh.” I lean back. “Well, that’s one good thing about the council restricting the inflow so much. There are only a handful of suspects.”

  “And that raises another concern I wished to bring to your attention. My application for an extension has been denied.”

  I straighten. “What?”

  “Yes, I am equally shocked. Requesting my extensions has always been a formality. This week, I was denied.”

  “Shit. Émilie’s right. They really are shutting us down.”

  He blinks in rare surprise. “Shutting down Rockton?”

  “We’ll deal with it. I’m close to solving this mystery, and that should resolve the issue.” I rise. “I’m sorry we didn’t at least tell you about Sebastian going to the First Settlement, but thank you for speaking to me. Émilie denied seeing you tonight, and I knew she had been here. Now I know why.”