The de Havilland Beaver seemed to tumble out of the sky, skimming down the hills behind the camp and landing on the lake off the north shore. The pontoons of summer had been replaced by skis. Once it had finished landing, it turned and made its way toward the camp. Nate stood on the seat of the Ski-Doo down on the beach, waving at the plane like a survivor at sea on a raft.

The plane was deep-blue and white with gold stripes and the word police in caps along the fuselage. Seeing Nate, the plane angled toward him and approached until it was about as far out as the swim raft usually sat. Then the engines were turned off and the revs slowed down until you could make out the shape of the propeller. Nobody did anything for a minute or so. From the passenger-side door, an Ontario Provincial Police officer stepped out onto the strut and waved at Nate, although his eyes were surveying the yard, the sunporch, the trees, and Nate realized that, to the cops, he could just as easily be a decoy as a kid who was utterly alone. No wonder they’d stopped so far out.

Satisfied, the officer threw a pair of snowshoes down onto the snow, put them on. From the back of the plane, another figure emerged through the passenger-side door. It was Burl.

A second officer stepped out and handed down a rifle to the first. Both of the officers approached Nate with their rifles aimed at the ground but ready for anything.

Nate embraced his father and neither of them said a word. Then he looked at the first officer and said, “The dead guy’s in the shed.”

There was enough room for both Nate and the corpse in the de Havilland. They’d brought along a body bag. Nate craned his neck to look behind him at its flat blackness, imagining himself inside there. It could have gone that way. He had a lot of explaining to do. Meanwhile, the cops had been to visit Cal in the hospital. He had even more explaining to do. And there was a guard at the door to make sure he didn’t get any ideas about leaving.

Nate looked out the window as the plane lifted off, leaving the glittering, snow-covered lake behind. They’d be back again on the weekend, his dad said. Up Saturday, back down Sunday. Astrid would come as well; they’d make an outing of it: spring cleaning.

“You cool with that?” his dad asked.

Nate nodded. There was that old adage about getting back on a horse as soon as possible once you’d been thrown.

“Maybe we should ask Paul to come,” said Burl. Nate paled, but his father only raised his eyebrow a little. Then he narrowed his eyes at Nate, and there was as much fear in his expression as there was reproach. And there was relief in it, too. This could have all gone so terribly wrong.

There was no chance to talk further in the plane because of the engine noise, and Nate was left alone with his thoughts. All too clearly, he could see Dodge manipulating his foolish father. He could see him bullying Trick into submission. Taking over. And what would Nathaniel Crow have done at that moment? He would never know, and it would probably haunt him forever.