sixty-three:
saturday, pre-dawn

Stone cold awake. There wasn’t a tired thought in her brain. Her body felt alert, ready.

Colin slept peacefully. It was 3:00 a.m. She didn’t need a clock.

They had agreed to wake at 3:30 a.m., be on horses and on the way a half-hour after that.

What was the point in grabbing a wink now, even if it came?

Allison rested on her back. She replayed the first day at Lumberjack with Sulchuk and Armbruster, tried to slow the scene down step by step in her mind.

Inflections. Gestures. Indications. Anything.

She replayed the scene at Burning Camp.

Inflections. Gestures. Indications. Anything.

Tried to picture what happened before she arrived. Long before. Armbruster seeing the opportunity, planning it out. Had Sulchuk suspected anything when the body had been discovered? Did he sense anything? Wonder?

Allison’s mind ran in disorganized snapshots.

She remembered the delicate, faint tracks she’d found. Had Armbruster wheeled a body over on a sled? He would have had to work all night before the rest of them arrived.

She remembered looking for drag marks—no wonder there were none. Had Armbruster wanted to create some fake drag marks—and ran out of time?

How could he be that certain she’d follow through? The proof was in this moment, wasn’t it? And in every question she’d asked since last Sunday afternoon.

Would Armbruster show at Lumberjack? Had Sulchuk done what she’d hoped—pick up the phone?

The questions came. No answers followed.