Margaux’s eyes went wide, her face a ghastly pallor. She clutched the bag tight to her chest. She couldn’t have proclaimed her guilt any louder.
“What did you do?” he whispered, shaking his head.
“It wasn’t me.” Margaux’s voice cracked. “Jennifer grabbed the chocolate. I was lookout, remember?”
“She’s right. Let’s not play the blame game.” Emma crossed their semi-circle and snatched the supply bag, pulling out the offending wrapper. Angling the ripped sheet toward the fire, she read. “Chocolate with almonds?”
The tell-tale gold of the packaging glittered in the firelight.
“I didn’t know! I swear. I didn’t pack it,” Margaux pleaded.
Daniel hated the shiver down his spine. What had Jennifer and Christine called her all those years ago? Maggot? He never liked teasing and especially not name-calling. But sometimes a person’s true colors showed in their behaviors, and they lived up to childhood taunts. Not taking responsibility as an adult was reprehensible in his view, the sort of action better suited to an insect feasting on the dead.
“When we were kids, Christine was the only girl at camp with a nut allergy. Everyone knew. The Thomases used to take such care,” Emma said. “I don’t understand.”
The quiet admonishments were often the sharpest. He felt the sting of the rebuke. But were the Thomases to blame for accidental negligence?
“She’s right,” Christine interrupted. “It was a mistake, not malice. This isn’t anyone’s fault.”
Margaux hunched forward. “I’m sorry it happened at all. I should have paid more attention before I started assembling. It’s so dark out here, and I don’t have my readers.”
Emma sorted through the rest of the plastic food bag, lifting each to the fire for better light. “There are regular chocolate bars here, too,” she announced. “It’s strange that the Thomases would even have the almond bars at all.”
Daniel agreed but kept that to himself. Christine might have been one of the few at the time who suffered from a nut allergy, but in the years since it had become much more common. He really wouldn’t peg the Thomases as having anything on hand that could potentially kill someone. With their business focused on children, they’d know to be extra careful.
Unless… He hated where his mind was heading but had to consider all aspects.
They knew the land better than anyone. They could have set the trap earlier and planted the food. Anyone could have shut the refrigerator door on Emma. They could be watching right now and waiting for the next moment to strike someone down. Was there a clue in the time capsule? They had means and opportunity, bringing everyone back. Why? What was the motivation?
Was it better to get their son out of the way? The one involved with re-opening the case that nearly destroyed them once. They were trapped with a business they could no longer properly manage and their son’s investigation dragging them down.
His train of thought derailed. The real villain would cast doubt and sow suspicion on anyone. The Thomases loved their son and their campers. The two trail accidents were coincidental. Bad timing didn’t indicate a conspiracy.
“What do you want to do?” Daniel asked. “Stay the night out or go back?”
Christine drank the last of her water, plastic crinkling. “I’d better stay until morning. I can’t take a chance in the dark. I know the trails but not that well.”
Daniel nodded and studied the others in the quiet. He’d learned to listen not just to words but to movements and expressions.
Emma sat ramrod straight, unmoving and unblinking. Was she thinking about the trails at night and what happened to her sister? Liz was a confident teen who trusted her ability to navigate to tragic results.
Margaux stared into the flames, her posture poor and her eyes glassy. She twisted her fingers together. After a long day and the heart pounding accidents, anyone would be nervous and anxious.
“Let’s call it a night,” he announced. “I’ll stay with the fire until it’s out. You all get some rest.”
“Thanks…for everything,” Christine said. “Good night.”
Good nights were murmured, and Margaux and Christine retreated to their shared tent. Emma lingered.
For a long moment, he focused his attention on the fire, waiting until he heard the zip of the tent’s door. He was glad to catch her alone, so many questions burning inside of him. But when he turned to her, he forgot every single one.
She looked like a ghost.
“Emma? Talk to me. Do you want to go back? We can all turn around in the morning,” he whispered, hurrying every syllable.
“No, I’m okay. I’m starting to have flashes of that night,” she murmured.
She lifted her face, and his heart ached at the pain etched in the sharp, fine lines around her eyes and mouth. “I don’t want to remember. I pushed everything down. But I came back to force myself to deal with what happened. I’ve been trapped within myself. Unable to move forward because I can’t find peace with what I did.”
