Snow came tumbling out of the darkness to strike the windowpane. Peter crossed to the middle of the room and imagined himself in Cooper’s place that night. He looked back at the bedroom door. While he was in the front room with his dad preparing for everyone’s arrival, Rider was already in here busying himself with the task at hand, so that in the event of his own death, his knowledge and his secrets wouldn’t die with him.

Peter tossed the quilted blanket aside and stripped the bed. There was nothing under the sheets. He flipped the mattress, heaving it over on to its belly before it buckled back on top of him. But there was nothing on the underside either. He scrambled under the bed, reaching up to finger each of the wooden slats in turn in case something had been placed there. Again, nothing. His attention turned to the painting on the far wall. He unhooked it. He turned it over. He pulled the sticking paper away to remove the backing board and turned the canvas over in his hand. But there was nothing. Nothing but the rug and the curtains and the rocking chair in the corner of the room beside the wooden drawers Peter had already tipped out. And as he fell back against the bed, the door opened.

“Anythin’?” said the sheriff leaning into the frame all a huff.

“Nothing.”

“And you’ve checked underneath the drawers?”

“I’ve checked them all.”

The sheriff swiped his hand down the length of his moustache and nodded like that was a job well done but frustrating all the same. “Teddy’s got plenty of jars and whatnot left to rummage through in the kitchen, but it’s pretty damned near raided in here.”

“Why don’t we take a break and look again?”

The sheriff nodded. But it was clear he was in no mood for waiting. “You said everything except the tree houses were here from the beginning, right, son?”

“Yes.”

“The watchtower, too?”

“Yes,” said Peter. “I think so.”

The sheriff nodded again. “Both of you keep looking. I won’t be long.”

Peter went to tell the sheriff how you had to pull the bottom step down on to the ice to make your way up the tower. But his advice went unnoticed. The sheriff swiped his trapper hat up off the dining table and in a flurry of snow, the front door slammed behind him.

Peter wandered over to the front window, looking down through the pines to the lake below, and a few minutes later the sheriff appeared, small, like a fleck out on the ice.

Something made of glass smashed, followed by Teddy’s voice calling back from the kitchen reassuring everyone that nothing was broken. The sound of bits of glass being furiously swept away was replaced by cussing and Peter smiled to himself.