Chapter 4: Dark Thread

On Saturday morning the dock behind Gram's cabin had new boards.

I stood on the porch in my socks and a coat and stared at them.

Six planks of pale pine ran out over the water, still fresh enough to smell, with a coffee can of nails sitting at the end.

The third post had been replaced, and the old rotten one was lying on the shore.

There was no note.

I knew whose work it was anyway, because nobody else in the county drove a gray truck and left sawdust.

I did not like how much I liked it.

"Blood is blood," I told the lake, and went to find Dolly.

She had moved into my grandmother's kitchen without discussing it.

She sat at the table with her glasses on her nose, scrolling the Locals chat with one finger.

She read it aloud.

"Eleven new members since last night," she said. "Four left. One woman is still mad about the cod."

"Did you ban her?"

"I'm thinking about it."

I took my coffee to the mailbox, because that was where the signal lived.

The chat had gotten loud while I slept.

【ShayStan_Official: That thread was FAKE. Britta is a liar.】

【Sue: *Britta read it off the thread. Four committee members left the group at 9:14. Fake threads don't make people leave.】

【Pete: Pool is forty to one for the dessert table. Whoever bet on dessert, thank you for your service.】

【Helen: I think we should all be kind. I made a lemon bar.】

【Pete: Helen, that's the third lemon bar this week. Is it a cry for help?】

But nothing from the committee.

Not a single line from Shayla or Brock, which was strange, because Shayla had never gone twelve hours without posting.

I walked back down the drive with my stomach tight.

She had figured out that someone was reading over her shoulder.

And now she was doing her planning somewhere I couldn't see.