“Well, mine should have enough power soon to show the email,” he said, turning his attention to Alan and not his way-too-intense-for-different-reasons parents. “Lucy sent us the same one for Six Melchers Way.”

“Six?” Mr. Morgan asked.

Shelby nodded. “Yeah.”

“Our family cabin is number nine,” Mrs. Morgan said before taking a sip of her coffee.

“No, I definitely saw the sign at the end of the drive even in the snow.” It had been dark and the wind had picked up, but there had been no missing the weathered sign with the big wooden number hanging from it. “It said six.”

“Albert,” Mrs. Morgan said, her lips flattening into a tight line. “You didn’t really fix it, did you? I have asked and asked and you told me you’d taken care of it.”

A teenage girl in a Buffly Sheriff’s Office volunteer shirt came in then, delivering a plate of doughnuts. Ian snagged one with sprinkles while Shelby got the double chocolate. None of the Morgans took one. They were all too caught up in what sounded like an argument that had been raging for years.

“I hooked it up to the old nail. Bree was with me when I did it,” the older man said, nodding at the volunteer. “Sure, it was wobbly, but it worked.”

“Yeah, right up until a storm started to blow in,” Shelby said, earning a thank-you-very-much nod of agreement from Mrs. Morgan. “So if you’re number nine, then where is number six?”

“That was the old Wilkes place,” Alan said, finally reaching for a doughnut. “I think their kids did put it on the the rental listings. They don’t have a sign, though, and if you came through when it was snowing, their drive is easy to miss. Even locals miss it sometimes.”

Ian glanced over at Shelby, expecting to see her at least shaking her head in amazement at everything that had happened to get them both at the same cabin before the storm. But instead of relaxed and amused, she was drawn up tight, her fingers doing that nervous drumming thing on her thigh as she chewed her bottom lip. He reached for her hand again, like he had in the truck, but this time she slipped free of his grasp.

He was trying to process the change when Mr. Morgan tapped the table in front of Ian.

“That cleared that up,” the older man said. “But if you two weren’t crashing our cabin during the weekends, then who was?”

“Someone was at your place, Gramps?” The girl in the volunteer shirt nearly stuffed a whole doughnut in her mouth but kept talking around it. “That’s just wild. What makes you think someone was there? I mean, it’s not like you two go up in the winter.”

All the Morgans sitting at the table turned and put the teen in their view.

“Bree,” Alan said. “What do you know?”