“Where?” she asks.

“At the edge of Silver Lake Park.” He hands her a report. The address is only a space—Hidden Drive, Space 17. Hidden Drive, a winding road that leads into acres and acres of forest.

Before Spring Falls, Kateri herself was found on the edge of a park. Covered in blood, throat cut and embedded with glass, unconscious. It was a cop who found her. It was a cop who sent her here. Hamilton County had expected a promotion from within, and instead they were sent an outsider, a woman, from a city. One who’d arrived after a forced leave of absence, and with a mysterious scar.

Kateri looks at the report. “Did they find something?”

Hurt shrugs, then sighs. “People get panicky about a dead smell in the woods,” he says, but adds, “It’s probably nothing. It’s probably a deer.”

She drives out in her own car, a Subaru she bought when she left for the North Country. Winters were already bad in Syracuse. What awaited Kateri up north seemed like a nightmare of snow and ice, stretching from October to May.

Her other car, a small, smart Jetta, was unsalvageable. She was lucky: no one else had been involved. Just Kateri and a brick wall at the edge of Thornden Park, her Jetta crumpled like a wad of paper. She didn’t remember leaving the bar or getting behind the wheel. The whole night, a blackout. She woke up in the hospital with fifty-two stitches under her chin, a broken wrist, and two cracked ribs. They had her on the addiction rehabilitation floor.

She was given a six-month unpaid leave of absence. After her grandmother died, she sold her childhood home, filed the final divorce papers, and moved to Spring Falls with nothing but a small suitcase. Things were falling away from her. She needed a change. She needed a town where no one knew her.

“How will I know where to look?” she asked Hurt before leaving. He gave her a paper map of Silver Lake Park, dotted hiking trails, camping areas, parking lots. He circled a blank spot in the trees— Space 17.

“There’s one residence,” he said.

“Inside the park?”

“On the edge,” Hurt said. “There’s a house. You’ll see it. The Jenkins own half of it.”

“Half of the house?” Kateri asked.

“Half the land,” Hurt corrected. “The park isn’t as big as it looks. A lot of the land is private, and most of that belongs to the Jenkins.”

She imagined a mansion, dilapidated and old, guarding the entrance of the forest.

“I don’t even know if it’s still occupied,” Hurt said before she left. “They’re dirt fucking poor and crazy,” he added.

She was just beginning to glean the importance of some families in Spring Falls. The Nelsons, who owned the credit union. The Parrys, who were on the school board. The Sullivans, who made up two-thirds of the law firm.

“Who are the Jenkins?” Kateri asked.

Hurt looked at the wall behind her, a habit she disliked. “Almost as bad as the Metzgers,” he said. They’d arrested the senior Metzger last week on weapons charges and child endangerment. He was sitting at county, waiting for arraignment.