Page 28 of Dearly Departed

Something snaps in the trees, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up. Jacob holds my hand a little tighter. He heard it, too. It’s impossible to see what made the noise. The trees around the clearing hide everything.

Hopefully, they hide us, too.

“Let’s see if it’s unlocked,” he suggests.

We’re almost to the cottage—there’s a door not far from the window—when something catches my eye.

“Hang on. Do you see⁠—”

“What?”

I tug Jacob’s hand and bring him with me to where the path opens into the clearing. One of the trees has something on it, like someone stapled a bark-covered poster tube to the trunk. A long poster tube. It’s almost as tall as Jacob, and goes all the way to the ground.

My mind cleared of all thoughts involving insects, I give the tube-shaped thing a poke.

It rustles.

I poke it again, and then, in a stroke of inspiration or maybe just exhaustion, I stick my fingers into the side closest to the trunk and pull.

It unrolls in my hand, and keeps unrolling until I’ve stretched it across the path to a tree on the opposite side.

“There are hooks,” I whisper to Jacob. The opposite end of the bark-poster has holes that slide right over the wooden hooks, which would look like a knob in the bark from a distance.

Jacob blinks at the netting. There must be something holding the sections of bark and leaves and assorted other foliage together.

“This doesn’t seem real.”

“It’s real. I just touched it.”

“Why would someone do this?”

“To hide their private resort, obviously.”

Jacob smiles, but it’s not one of the dazzling, charming grins he gives people at parties. It’s not even the way he smiles at me when we’re at home together. It’s a faraway thing, like he’s seeing the end of the journey, and he’s fine with it being over.

We are not at the end of the journey.

“Okay. Now it’s front-door time.”

I feel better with the camouflage across the path. It must blend in pretty well, otherwise there’d be no point in having it, and I know it’s not strong enough to keep out a man with murderous intentions, but it’s much, much better than nothing.

We go to the door together, and Jacob steps ahead of me. He pulls on the handle first, which does nothing, then gives it a push.

It sticks for a second, then comes free.

“I’m not going first.”

This time, Jacob’s smile is sturdier. “I wouldn’t let you, kitten. I need to make sure there’s nothing untoward in there.”

“God, I hope there’s nothing untoward.”

Jacob steps across the threshold.

I go with him.

I’m not going to let go of his hand while he’s checking out the secret cottage, and I’m not going to stand outside while he does, so the issue of who goes first ends up being moot. Jacob moves inside enough to let the door close behind us.

I take a deep, relieved breath.