Sergeant Cook rubbed his bald head and stretched his neck. He bent over his desk and continued writing the most recent report. He could hear officer Gershom talking to someone who had come into the station. A minute later Gershom knocked on his open door and Cook looked up. A woman, arms wrapped around herself as if afraid to touch anything, stood a few feet behind the officer.
"Sarge, missing persons report from the lake," Gershom said. "Mrs. Holiday's brothers went out in the boat night before and weren't seen again. The boat crashed, but there was no evidence of the brothers."
Cook flipped his hat on. "Yesterday?" He stood up from his desk and went around it, toward the door. Gershom made way for him, but the woman retreated as if afraid. Thinks her brothers are dead, Cook thought. Of course she's skittish. "Mrs. Holiday, I'm Sergeant Cook." He held his hand for her, and after a moment she peeled hers away from across her body. He shook it, feeling no energy or desire to touch from her. She had the look of a city girl. "Let me guess," Cook said. "You thought you had to wait a day before reporting them missing."
The woman frowned. "Of course. Not to mention they're a couple of fools. We thought they had gone camping or something."
"I see. Well, God forbid you need this information again, but there's no need to wait to report someone missing. The sooner authorities know, the better. Can you tell me anything else?"
"Well, for one thing, the storm last night cut out our phones," the woman said, shaking hers in her hand. "Or we would have called." She looked around with obvious distaste. "It also broke our television."
Gershom and Cook glanced at each other. "Ma'am, there was no storm last night. In fact, we're in a bad dry spell."
"Then why don't our phones work?" the woman asked, as if Cook was to blame.
"Afraid I don't know, ma'am." Cook sighed. I was going to be a long day. "Gershom-"
"Already on it, sarge," Gershom said, picking up his radio.
Cook turned back to the woman. "Ma'am-"
"Call me Celina."
"Celina. You're staying in a cabin?"
"Of course."
"Why don't you lead me there, then. Officer Gershom and a few others will be along after us." He looked at the desk assistant, Pam. "Pam?"
"I'll get it started, sarge."
"Bless you," Cook said. Celina stiffened as if she had been shocked. She still had her arms wrapped around her body, and Cook noticed she didn't even touch the door handles, choosing to push it open with her body as she left.
"She looked uncomfortable," Pam said. "Good luck with that one, sarge."
"Thank you kindly," Cook said, before heading to his cruiser.
He followed Celina Holiday up the highway until she turned onto a gravel path, leading to not a cabin, at least not as Cook would call it. It was closer to a mansion than any cabin in the area, three stories and enough space for ten people and a hot tub besides. Looking around, Cook saw a boat house, a dock, a guest house which looked more like a cabin he used to, and a manicured lawn. If this was roughing it, whoever owned this place would faint dead-away if you put a hunting rifle in their hands.
To his great surprise, when he turned onto the gravel drive, he saw a pile of suitcases right next to the intersection. Celina drove past them without slowing down, so he followed her and exited his cruiser, breathing in the sweet lake air. The early-morning sun was light, and the clouds to the east might even signal the end of the dry spell.
Celina Holiday entered the house with Cook on her heels. "Mom!" Celina shouted. "I got the police!"
"What do you want, a reward?" Cook heard from the kitchen. An elderly woman wearing a bathrobe and carrying two empty wine bottles pushed through the door leading to the kitchen, saw Cook standing with his hands on his belt, glanced at the wine bottles, put them on the floor, and arranged herself.
"Morning, ma'am, I'm Sergeant Cook."
"A pleasure to meet you, sergeant," the woman said. "I'm Miss Pane. You've already met my daughter. Abby is...ABBY!" the woman hollered behind her.
"What?!"
"The police are here!"
Another woman appeared, near enough the same age as Celina, holding her phone like it was going to sting her. "Well, why do I need to talk to them? Haven't I dealt with enough?"
"We'll need to talk to everyone, ma'am," Cook said.
"You?" Celina said to Abby. "I still haven't found my clothes!" She pulled at her blouse. "Yours don't fit!"
"I'm sorry, excuse me," Cook said, reminding himself not to yell. "Has there been a theft?"
The women all went quiet, looking at him from the corners of his eyes. What was he to them? Some hick cop, that's how it appeared. He supposed he was. He scratched his cheek and wished he'd been able to have a little more coffee. "Celina, Are you missing suitcases?"
"Yes." Celina crossed her arms. "They disappeared during the night."
"I noticed an amount of luggage by the turn-off when we came in. You drove right past them. They aren't yours?"
"What?" Celina said. "No, I didn't notice them, I was driving!" She rushed out the door before Cook could stop her, heading for the end of the gravel drive.
"It's been a difficult morning, sergeant," Miss Pane said. "None of us are thinking very clearly after the difficulty two days ago."
"Excuse me, ma'am, but your daughter said her brothers disappeared yesterday."
Miss Pane went a touch pale. "She must have just been confused. My sons disappeared two days ago, during the evening."
"I understand," Cook said. He didn't--not really--but it wasn't important. "Traumatic events take their toll. May I assume all the other details are correct? Your sons took the boat out, it crashed, they disappeared, and you didn't report it because you thought they were playing hooky in the woods?"
Miss Pane curled her wrinkled lip and hesitated. "Yes, that's right. They tend to go off and do their own thing, just like their father...rest his soul. It isn't the first time they've disappeared." She crossed her arms over her bath robe. "We couldn't contact them or you..." the woman halted. "We couldn't use our phones yesterday."
"Your daughter mentioned something about a storm, but we've had no other complaints," Cook said. He heard the sound of a police cruiser pulling up. "Are your phones working now?"
Miss Pane opened her mouth to talk, and then looked at her remaining daughter. Abby was still holding her phone with wide fingers. "Does your phone work?" Cook asked.
Abby opened her mouth but, like her mother, said nothing. She clamped her teeth together and glanced at her phone's screen. "Sort of," she said finally. "I've been...getting messages...but..."
Cook waited. If she was going to talk, she would talk. "Look," she said, showing him the phone's screen. It had four unopened messages, two from an Oliver Pane, and two from a Stephen Pane, all fewer than six hours old.
"We miss you," the first one from Oliver said. Then: "It's lonely here without you." The next, from Stephen, read: "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
The last one, also from Stephen, said: "It's so wet down here."
"Jesus," Cook whispered. "But it wasn't working yesterday?"
"No," Abby said. "Neither were mom's or Celina's." The other daughter banged the door open and pulled two suitcases in, sweating. Officer Gershom trailed her, carrying two more.
"I need to change," Celina said to the room, then went upstairs.
"I should get dressed as well," Miss Pane said. "If you'll excuse me, officers. There's coffee in the kitchen."
Abby snatched her phone back from Cook's hand. "We couldn't get or send anything yesterday, and then this morning after Celina left I started getting these. There are some other things, too."
"Like?" Cook asked. He was getting a feeling in his stomach, one he didn't like.
"Like Celina's bags ending up out on the street!"
"Did that happen when she was gone, too?"
Abby stood with her mouth open for a second, staring at her pedicured toes. "Maybe. We were all kind of freaked out by the text messages. I don't think anybody noticed."
"Anything else?"
"Uh, well..." Abby looked toward the kitchen door. "All of my mom's wine bottles are empty."
Cook didn't know what he was supposed to say.
"She drinks a lot, but a lot of them were still full when we went to bed. But we got up this morning and found them all empty."
Cook glanced at Gershom, who had a twisted, perplexed expression on his face. "All of them?"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Abby said. She pushed through the swinging kitchen door, and the officers followed. There was half a pot of coffee in the maker, and nearly half a dozen empty wine bottles next to it.
"Sarge," Gershom said as they entered. "The others are taking a look around the place. The boat is at the dock, and-"
"What?!" Abby said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "Uh, we, Celina and I went out yesterday and brought it back."
"...It shows evidence of a collision," Gershom said. Abby shut her mouth, and just then her mother, dressed in slacks and a ruffled blouse, flowed through the door.
"It looks like Abby has pointed out my drunkenness," Miss Pane said. "Losing my husband, and now my two boys. It drives a poor woman to drink, officers. I hope you'll forgive me."
"You drank all that?" Cook asked, pointing at the bottles. He recalled she had also been carrying a few when he had entered.
"Yes. I was so frightened. Our phones weren't working, the television wasn't working, the boat-"
"The television wasn't working, either?" Cook asked. "Is it now?"
"We haven't checked since waking up."
"I see." Cook flipped open his notepad, and wrote Mother or Abby lying about wine bottles. Information about the boat scared Abby. Phones weren't working but now ONE is. Creepy text messages. They talked about a storm but there was none. Clothes out on highway. Mother or Celina lying about timing of Stephen and Oliver going missing. "If you don't mind, I could use a cup of coffee."
"Yes, yes, certainly. Abby, go check the television," Miss Pane said. "I'll see what's keeping Celina." The two women exited the room, and Cook watched the door swinging back and forth before Gershom spoke up.
"Sarge, if I didn't know better, I'd say these three are crazy."
"Or something," Cook said. He went to the coffee maker and poured lukewarm coffee into a nearby mug. "Maybe it's just stress. But that phone thing..."
"Are the brothers playing a trick?" Gershom asked. He got his own coffee. "From what I know, that's what it looks like. Come in here during the night, mess with the girl's phone, dump out mom's wine, take those suitcases out to the highway."
"Miss Pane mentioned they were troublemakers," Cook said. He sipped and smacked his lips. "Seems pretty mean-spirited to do something like this to your family." He sighed and put the mug down. "You go look outside with the others, see if there's any obvious answer to this."
"What are the odds the brothers are laughing to themselves right now, from their bedrooms?"
"Huh." Cook shook his head. "Wouldn't that be a blessing."
He pushed through the swinging kitchen door, went down the hallway, and found all three women standing around the flat-screen television, mashing on the remote. Gershom exited the house as Cook went up to them. The screen was a blank blue picture.
"See?" Abby said. "It doesn't work! A tower must have gone down!"
A cursory check told Cook it was a satellite television, and the satellite box had a loose cord. Cook shoved it in, and the picture cleared immediately, turning to a morning talk show.
"Much better," Miss Pane said. She glared at Celina. "Why didn't you check that yourself?"
"I don't know about this stuff!" the daughter said.
Abby slapped the remote on the coffee table. "I'm starving!" Without another word she stomped past Cook, into the kitchen.
"Eating at a time like this," Miss Pane said, rolling her eyes. "I swear, officer, sometimes that girl has her mind on the silliest things."
"Stress can make you think a little differently than normal," Cook said. "Miss Pane, is there anything else you can tell me about the accident?"
"With the boat?" Miss Pane tapped a tooth with a fingernail. "Yes, of course. Olly and Stephen had gone out to fish in the boat. Silly habit, I think, but their father liked it. The three of us were inside, watching something on TV, and we heard this incredible noise, like...it reminded me of a piece of metal tearing in half. We all run out to the deck, Celina has the binoculars, and we see the boat lying, turned upside-down. Things from inside the boat were all over the water, and we didn't see either of the boys."
They nearly saw it happen, and still didn't report it? "And when did your daughters bring the boat back to the dock?"
"When...never! It's still out there, upside-down!" Miss Pane said, flinging an arm toward the lake. From the windows in the living room, they could see just a sliver of water.
And there's another lie, Cook thought. "It's back at the dock. Your daughter tells me she and her sister brought it back."
"What? Oh...that must have been what they were doing-"
"Miss Pane, I understand this has been a difficult time, but I don't appreciate being lied to. Both you and your daughter have indicated you expected the boat to still be in the middle of the lake. Why is that?"
Cook expected her to weep or bray, but she just crossed her arms. "We don't understand it, officer. The day it happened, Abby and Celina used the canoe to see if their brothers were still there. They weren't, but they towed the motorboat back with them. You should have listened to them complain. The next day we get up, and the boat is back in the middle of the lake, upside-down, like they never touched it. Our phones suddenly aren't working, and neither is the TV. The boys did most of the cooking, so we have to scrounge for meals. We all have particular tastes and are on diets, so it takes a long time to make the food we want.
"Then, this morning, Abby is getting those frightening messages, my wine is all missing, Celina's bags are out by the highway. It's been long enough, so Celina goes to talk to you. Now you tell me the boat is back at the dock." She put her hands on her hips. "Perhaps you can forgive a woman for thinking things have been a bit strange!"
"Of course ma'am," Cook said. "I apologize. Getting the truth is important, and there was quite a bit of disinformation going around." He tucked his notepad away. "There's something I'd like to investigate, if you don't mind. Where is the room or rooms your sons were staying in?"
"Right this way," Miss Pane said. She took him to two closed doors on the main level. "We haven't gone in since the accident." She made a show of taking a deep breath, and opened the first one, stepping inside. "I don't know what you expect to find, but-" She stopped dead, and Cook ran into her back. She was stiff and frozen.
Cook looked past her. He saw a few items on the single bed: A buckled life jacket was in the center, a pair of swim trunks were near the end, and a pair of sunglasses, deployed to fit around someone's head, rested on the pillow. Two grimy sandals were on the floor next to the foot of the bed.
Miss Pane ran from the room, screeching for her daughters. Cook was left looking at the collection of clothes. There were a few suitcases and a backpack in the middle of the floor, zipped up. He couldn't see any other personal effects. His stomach rolled, and he felt a bit weightless. He almost tried not to breathe.
Pane and her daughters appeared just outside the door to the bedroom. One of them--Cook had forgotten which--put her hand over her mouth, and the other one backed away, releasing a string of high-pitched words. Pane turned to the second daughter and spoke to her in a low voice, and Cook wished he could have heard it.
He exited the bedroom. "Your other son?" Pane pointed at the next room. Her finger was shaking. Cook opened the door to find much the same thing, with a slight difference. Along with the life jacket and swim trunks, there was a small hair tie resting on the pillow instead of sunglasses. "Ma'am, I need you to take a look at this," he said, and Miss Pane entered the bedroom after a few seconds. "Can you tell me what this is?" He pointed at the hair tie.
"Stephen was proud of his long hair," she said, standing rigid in the center of the room. "I couldn't stand it. Made him look like a punk. He used a hair tie like that one to put it in a bun sometimes. It's just like Olly's bed, everything he was wearing when he went out on the boat."
"Everything?" Cook asked, scribbling details in his notepad. "Neither of them were married?"
"Married? Well...yes, actually. Olly was."
Cook went around Miss Pane and re-entered the first bedroom, investigating the bed cover. "He wore a ring?" he asked the three women, huddled in the hallway. They nodded. Cook hummed to himself. He wrote in his notepad. Time to get outside.
The fresh air was a blessing. Cook walked across the lawn to Gershom. "Anything?"
"Not much sarge," Gershom said. "We investigated the boat. There's a big dent in the bow of the hull."
"What could the boat have hit?"
"There's a sand bar not far out from the dock. Easy to avoid if you see the buoys, but if the boys weren't paying attention for some reason they could have run into it. Did you find anything inside?"
Cook explained. Gershom's face changed to confusion. "Nothing from surrounding properties, I expect?"
"No, nothing. A few people on the lake remembered hearing a loud noise two evenings ago, but nobody saw anything, and nobody reported seeing even one man," Gershom said. "I hate to say it, sarge, but we're going to have to start trolling the lake."
Cook mulled over a few details. "Lots of lying going on inside that house," he said. "I can understand some of it. There was an accident, their family members are missing...but they practically saw the boat crash and didn't do anything about it until almost two days later. They were stumbling over themselves to try and get the right lie out."
"Plus the phone," Gershom said. "And Celina's bags out by the highway."
"And the mother's wine going missing...which I guess probably has a pretty simple explanation." Cook smacked his lips. "Alright, let's see if we can find anything in the lake. Call it in."
"Sure sarge," Gershom said, picking up his radio. Cook wandered around to the back of the house.
Such a big place, he thought. There was a finished basement, a large patio ringing the main level with a hot tub, and enough creature comforts to satisfy even the hardest city mouse. Why come all the way out here and build such a crazy place? Why not just stay home? He remembered the way the mom and daughters acted. They probably hate leaving the city.
Cook looked around. There was a boat house by the dock. Up the hill and closer to the house was a guest house. He was looking at it when he realized the windows were open. It wasn't a large building, probably just had a bedroom, a toilet, and a closet. He wandered closer, a prickling sensation in his stomach. It was an important kind of feeling.
The windows were thrown up to let the breeze in. He tried to door and found it unlocked. He knew all three of the women were staying in the main house, so when he pushed inside and saw a few shirts and pants in small piles, his eyebrow went up. There were a few boxes of snack food, and a cooler of water bottles and soda. The clothes were male cut, and the foods looked like the kind of things the three women in the larger house would turn their prim noses up at.
Cook sighed. He used his radio to call Gershom to the guest house.
"Okay, so the boys send the boat out to make it look like they've disappeared, grab their things, and hide in here," Gershom said. "Then what...they start tormenting their family?"
"I wonder where they are now?" Cook asked. "In the house? The basement?"
"We're right here, sergeant,"
Cook and Gershom spun, hands on their service pistols. Two men stood in the entrance of the guest house, hands at the level of their heads to show no violence intended. One of them was dark-haired and taller than the other, who had stringy brown hair dangling past his shoulders. The family resemblance was obvious. The dark-haired one came forward, hand out to shake. "Oliver Pane. This is Stephen. As you can see, neither of us are dead."
"You boys have some explaining to do," Cook said. "To us and to your family."
"We understand," Stephen said, as he shook hands. "It started innocently enough. It was just an accident."
"We were getting ready to go out on the lake and do some fishing," Stephen said. "Our dad turned us on to it before he died, and we make it a point to do it at least once every time we come up here, just for him. We were in the boat. Olly started it, but then I realized we had forgotten the poles and the cooler." He nudged the cooler in the room with his foot. "They were just inside the sliding door in the basement, so Olly cuts the power, we throw our life jackets into the boat, and go to grab it."
Olly, nodding throughout the explanation, jumped in. "We come back outside, and hear the boat roaring. We thought the girls had stolen it." Cook chuckled. "I'm glad you realize how ridiculous that is," Olly said. "A moment later, we see the boat skimming across the lake, empty. We...aren't really sure how it happened, to be honest. Our best guess is the boat didn't shut off properly, our life jackets caught on the throttle just the right way...anyway, the boat hits the sand bar, flips bow over stern, and lands with an almighty smack. Our life jackets, and all the other things we had in the boat are scattered around it."
"Before we have much of a chance to do anything, we hear the sliding door above us open," Stephen said. "Our mom, Abby, and Celina step out. They look at the boat on the lake, and do want to know what they do, officers?" He crossed his arms. "They start celebrating. They actually got glasses of wine, clinked them together, and said something like 'here's to us, smart enough not to get ourselves killed.'"
"They went back inside before we did anything," Olly said. "Stephen wanted to rush up to them and chew them out, but I had the idea of moving into the guest house and, well, messing with them."
"The wine bottles?" Gershom asked. "The phone messages? The suitcases on the highway?"
"Us," Stephen said. "We also kept bringing in and putting out the boat during the night. We unscrewed a few light bulbs, turned off the network on their phones--and then we changed all of Abby's contacts to the two of us and turned hers on, so it looked like anyone trying to contact her was us."
"What you did was dangerous and irresponsible," Cook said. He was going to go on, but stopped. He remembered Celina freaking out about her suitcases lying on the hallway, even though she seemed to have no emotion for her dead or missing brothers. He remembered wondering why the women had seen the boat crash, and had still waited almost two days to report it. He remembered their squabbles, their fights, their words of anger toward each other. He had thought it was just nerves, and stress. No, that's just how they are, he thought. They really didn't care these two young men--their family!--might have died.
Olly was nodding. "We were angry. We've lived our whole lives with them, and they can barely stand us. Our dad worked himself to death giving them everything...including that huge lake house...and they didn't even care when he died, either. I guess we decided we wanted a little bit of payback."
"It's clear they're unpleasant people," Cook said.
"You don't know the half of it, officer," Stephen said. "Spending time with them is like pulling nails. We didn't dump our mother's wine into the lake as a symbolic gesture. She's mostly alcohol."
Could they have really toasted when they saw the boat lying hull-up in the water? It's almost too heartless to imagine. Then he remembered the way Celina had acted in the police station. I had put it to nerves. She'd had her arms wrapped around herself, touching nothing, hesitant to even shake his hand. She'd already known what had happened. Contacting the police was just to make sure no one thought they were responsible. The woman was disgusted by the place. Disgusted by us.
He looked up. "Do your sisters and mother enjoy coming out to the lake?"
Olly and Stephen laughed. "You're a smart man, sergeant!" Olly said. "No, dad loved it here, and we love it here, but those three hardly even go outside. That's why we put Celina's clothes out by the highway, because we knew it would bother her to even leave the house."
"I once heard Abby whine about how there isn't a single yoga studio in town," Stephen said. "That was, of course, right after she...insinuated my girlfriend was a loose woman."
"Charming," Gershom said. "Do you boys mind if I talk to the sarge for a minute? Why don't y'all stay in here." To Cook's surprise, Gershom led him by the arm outside the guest house. "Sarge, those boys are guilty of emotional abuse. Sure, the women are unpleasant, but they did nothing illegal. Gaslighting is serious."
"They didn't hurt anybody," Cook said. "No jury in the world would convict them." He looked toward the big house. "On the other hand, our state does have a failure to report law."
"Failure to report crimes, sarge. C'mon now." Gershom nudged his stomach with a knuckle. "You can't really think doing anything like that to those...poor women."
Cook laughed, and the sound surprised him. Poor women. Right. "Yeah, I suppose." He sighed. "Time for a family meeting."
"Glad you can see it my way, sarge," Gershom said. "Although look at it this way: When those two boys walk into the house, those three women are going to turn white as clouds. Ain't nothing about it is our fault."
Cook laughed as they re-entered the guest house.
Miss Pane fainted. Crumpled down, her legs falling to pieces under her. Her head missed colliding with the corner of a chair by a few inches. Abby, who had decided to turn away from the specters who had walked in the building after Cook and Gershom, took the woman's cup of cold coffee and splashed it on her. Celina was staring at her living brothers with her eyes and mouth wide, hands flared open at her sides. She was looking directly between her brothers as the stood side-by-side.
Miss Pane revived quickly, and began screeching at her daughter about her stained clothes. She caught sight of her sons, and her mouth zippered shut.
"Hi mom. How's it going?" Stephen said.
"You..." Miss Pane struggled to stand, using the chair she had almost brained herself on as support. "We thought you had died!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," Olly said.
"The boat!" Abby said. "It...you were..."
"Not in the boat," Stephen said. "Seems like someone forgot to fix the motor's shutoff valve." He leaned forward, arms crossed, at Abby. She went pale. "It went off on its own. We watched it fly into the air and crash from the basement's door."
"And what should happen not a minute later, but you three walking onto the deck right above our heads, declaring us dead, and then toasting your good health."
"And what exactly were we supposed to do?" Miss Pane said. "Weep and cry like some foolish maids? Wouldn't have helped anybody!"
"You put my clothes out by the road," Celina said, finally, pointing at them. Her voice, compared to her mother's, was simple, almost conversational. Her face was still blank, Cook could see, except for her eyebrows, which were sinking down over her eyes. "I can't believe you could do that! Do you know how much those clothes cost?!"
Cook looked at Gershom, who was gaping in wonder. Olly, the closer of the two to Celina, turned his head toward her. It moved so slowly Cook expected to hear it creak. "Quite a lot of money, I guess. Why? Worth more than your two brothers?"
Celina managed to realize her mistake, and lowered her pointing finger. "We have a question for you," Stephen said, and the smile on his face almost made Cook reach for his sidearm. "At what point would you have realized we-" he pointed at himself and Olly "-both of us, are humans? Real, actual, people? Not just worthless remembrances of our dad? Who was, by the way, also a real person, and not just a damned money machine! Sometimes I get down on my knees and thank the good Lord I ended up like dad, and not like any of you. I can't imagine what it would have been like to go through life like you three, using people and then leaving them out by the highway once you were done. What husband are you on, Abby? Three? Four? How much longer is he going to last, do you think? You'll get rid of him once he realizes what a poisonous person you are, and he grows a spine. At least you don't have any kids. You know, I used to tell my friends you have 'resting bitch face.' You know what that is. All three of you have been telling people you have it all your lives. I have some news for you: you don't. Your face hangs down, and you frown, and you sneer just naturally, but you don't have resting bitch face, none of you. No, you're bitches, from your face to your empty heads to your sorry, sour, shriveled hearts. None of you ever had anything close to a job, none of you ever appreciated dad for all the work he did to provide for us. He built us all a home--as well as this place, which you can't stand. Why? Because it's too far from your dyed-blue districts, your media centers, your air-conditioned penthouses. Too far from your farmers markets, and too close to actual farmers. We put your clothes out by the highway because we knew it would terrify you to be anywhere nearer to the town. We were both surprised you actually managed to go into the police station. How did you get the door open? Did you wait until somebody let you in? Couldn't bear to touch that naked metal, I bet. How did the inside of the station smell? Did it smell like grease, or dirt, or maybe coffee? Amazing what real people smell like when you get close enough. Abby, did you know my girlfriend and I are waiting until, hopefully, we get married before having sex? She's a virgin. So am I! You think that's unbelievable, of course, because you're a shallow, short-sighted person who can't imagine the idea of a real relationship, instead of one-night stands you cowed into giving you money while you sell your body to them. And mom. Mother. Miss Dolores Pane. I don't expect you to know what the name Dolores means, but trust me when I say it fits you like a Dalmatian-skin glove. What are you going to do when everyone in your life leaves you? When even your maid can't stand the unwarranted abuse you throw at her. Soon you'll have to get behind the wheel of a car and drive yourself! Like a common person, instead of just telling someone else to do it, just like when we were kids! There won't be anybody to clean up your messes, or fix your mistakes, or chew out when they make the tiniest, most inconsequential error! What a font of misery! What an unending supply of aimless hate! How could a person like you end up with dad? It sends my mind in circles! How could he be so loving, and caring, and unstoppably empathetic to us, while you are so full of neglect, and indifference. What happened when you were a child, Dolores? How could you have ended up like this? Was it your own mother? Does the hateful seed spread through the fairer sex? Is there an unending line of callous women who spat on their children, all the way up to eve? Or was it something else? Was it a science experiment? Down in a secret lab, to make the first human being without a soul? Maybe it was an accident. Maybe before you were normal--capable of love. Did you fall into a chemical? Get caught in a machine? Maybe it did something to twist and mutate you. Drain all your life and replace it with a dark liquid, like cold smoke. What else could flow through your veins? I know you spent all your waking life trying to replace it with wine. Did you toast my father's death? You toasted our deaths. Well guess what? Consider us dead, because we never want to see any of your faces ever again."
After the brothers left, The lake house was quiet. Cook felt like he had lost a layer of skin. Gershom was blinking his eyes, like he was looking into the wind. The three women--Celina with her finger still pointed at the ground, Abby holding an empty coffee cup, and Miss Dolores Pane with the coffee drying on her face and clothes. Cook cleared his throat, and the women looked at him in an identical manner, turning their heads and gazing at him with blank expressions. "Seems we're not needed here anymore," he said. "We'll get out of our hair. You ladies have a nice day."
"Sarge, missing persons report from the lake," Gershom said. "Mrs. Holiday's brothers went out in the boat night before and weren't seen again. The boat crashed, but there was no evidence of the brothers."
Cook flipped his hat on. "Yesterday?" He stood up from his desk and went around it, toward the door. Gershom made way for him, but the woman retreated as if afraid. Thinks her brothers are dead, Cook thought. Of course she's skittish. "Mrs. Holiday, I'm Sergeant Cook." He held his hand for her, and after a moment she peeled hers away from across her body. He shook it, feeling no energy or desire to touch from her. She had the look of a city girl. "Let me guess," Cook said. "You thought you had to wait a day before reporting them missing."
The woman frowned. "Of course. Not to mention they're a couple of fools. We thought they had gone camping or something."
"I see. Well, God forbid you need this information again, but there's no need to wait to report someone missing. The sooner authorities know, the better. Can you tell me anything else?"
"Well, for one thing, the storm last night cut out our phones," the woman said, shaking hers in her hand. "Or we would have called." She looked around with obvious distaste. "It also broke our television."
Gershom and Cook glanced at each other. "Ma'am, there was no storm last night. In fact, we're in a bad dry spell."
"Then why don't our phones work?" the woman asked, as if Cook was to blame.
"Afraid I don't know, ma'am." Cook sighed. I was going to be a long day. "Gershom-"
"Already on it, sarge," Gershom said, picking up his radio.
Cook turned back to the woman. "Ma'am-"
"Call me Celina."
"Celina. You're staying in a cabin?"
"Of course."
"Why don't you lead me there, then. Officer Gershom and a few others will be along after us." He looked at the desk assistant, Pam. "Pam?"
"I'll get it started, sarge."
"Bless you," Cook said. Celina stiffened as if she had been shocked. She still had her arms wrapped around her body, and Cook noticed she didn't even touch the door handles, choosing to push it open with her body as she left.
"She looked uncomfortable," Pam said. "Good luck with that one, sarge."
"Thank you kindly," Cook said, before heading to his cruiser.
He followed Celina Holiday up the highway until she turned onto a gravel path, leading to not a cabin, at least not as Cook would call it. It was closer to a mansion than any cabin in the area, three stories and enough space for ten people and a hot tub besides. Looking around, Cook saw a boat house, a dock, a guest house which looked more like a cabin he used to, and a manicured lawn. If this was roughing it, whoever owned this place would faint dead-away if you put a hunting rifle in their hands.
To his great surprise, when he turned onto the gravel drive, he saw a pile of suitcases right next to the intersection. Celina drove past them without slowing down, so he followed her and exited his cruiser, breathing in the sweet lake air. The early-morning sun was light, and the clouds to the east might even signal the end of the dry spell.
Celina Holiday entered the house with Cook on her heels. "Mom!" Celina shouted. "I got the police!"
"What do you want, a reward?" Cook heard from the kitchen. An elderly woman wearing a bathrobe and carrying two empty wine bottles pushed through the door leading to the kitchen, saw Cook standing with his hands on his belt, glanced at the wine bottles, put them on the floor, and arranged herself.
"Morning, ma'am, I'm Sergeant Cook."
"A pleasure to meet you, sergeant," the woman said. "I'm Miss Pane. You've already met my daughter. Abby is...ABBY!" the woman hollered behind her.
"What?!"
"The police are here!"
Another woman appeared, near enough the same age as Celina, holding her phone like it was going to sting her. "Well, why do I need to talk to them? Haven't I dealt with enough?"
"We'll need to talk to everyone, ma'am," Cook said.
"You?" Celina said to Abby. "I still haven't found my clothes!" She pulled at her blouse. "Yours don't fit!"
"I'm sorry, excuse me," Cook said, reminding himself not to yell. "Has there been a theft?"
The women all went quiet, looking at him from the corners of his eyes. What was he to them? Some hick cop, that's how it appeared. He supposed he was. He scratched his cheek and wished he'd been able to have a little more coffee. "Celina, Are you missing suitcases?"
"Yes." Celina crossed her arms. "They disappeared during the night."
"I noticed an amount of luggage by the turn-off when we came in. You drove right past them. They aren't yours?"
"What?" Celina said. "No, I didn't notice them, I was driving!" She rushed out the door before Cook could stop her, heading for the end of the gravel drive.
"It's been a difficult morning, sergeant," Miss Pane said. "None of us are thinking very clearly after the difficulty two days ago."
"Excuse me, ma'am, but your daughter said her brothers disappeared yesterday."
Miss Pane went a touch pale. "She must have just been confused. My sons disappeared two days ago, during the evening."
"I understand," Cook said. He didn't--not really--but it wasn't important. "Traumatic events take their toll. May I assume all the other details are correct? Your sons took the boat out, it crashed, they disappeared, and you didn't report it because you thought they were playing hooky in the woods?"
Miss Pane curled her wrinkled lip and hesitated. "Yes, that's right. They tend to go off and do their own thing, just like their father...rest his soul. It isn't the first time they've disappeared." She crossed her arms over her bath robe. "We couldn't contact them or you..." the woman halted. "We couldn't use our phones yesterday."
"Your daughter mentioned something about a storm, but we've had no other complaints," Cook said. He heard the sound of a police cruiser pulling up. "Are your phones working now?"
Miss Pane opened her mouth to talk, and then looked at her remaining daughter. Abby was still holding her phone with wide fingers. "Does your phone work?" Cook asked.
Abby opened her mouth but, like her mother, said nothing. She clamped her teeth together and glanced at her phone's screen. "Sort of," she said finally. "I've been...getting messages...but..."
Cook waited. If she was going to talk, she would talk. "Look," she said, showing him the phone's screen. It had four unopened messages, two from an Oliver Pane, and two from a Stephen Pane, all fewer than six hours old.
"We miss you," the first one from Oliver said. Then: "It's lonely here without you." The next, from Stephen, read: "I hope you're enjoying yourself."
The last one, also from Stephen, said: "It's so wet down here."
"Jesus," Cook whispered. "But it wasn't working yesterday?"
"No," Abby said. "Neither were mom's or Celina's." The other daughter banged the door open and pulled two suitcases in, sweating. Officer Gershom trailed her, carrying two more.
"I need to change," Celina said to the room, then went upstairs.
"I should get dressed as well," Miss Pane said. "If you'll excuse me, officers. There's coffee in the kitchen."
Abby snatched her phone back from Cook's hand. "We couldn't get or send anything yesterday, and then this morning after Celina left I started getting these. There are some other things, too."
"Like?" Cook asked. He was getting a feeling in his stomach, one he didn't like.
"Like Celina's bags ending up out on the street!"
"Did that happen when she was gone, too?"
Abby stood with her mouth open for a second, staring at her pedicured toes. "Maybe. We were all kind of freaked out by the text messages. I don't think anybody noticed."
"Anything else?"
"Uh, well..." Abby looked toward the kitchen door. "All of my mom's wine bottles are empty."
Cook didn't know what he was supposed to say.
"She drinks a lot, but a lot of them were still full when we went to bed. But we got up this morning and found them all empty."
Cook glanced at Gershom, who had a twisted, perplexed expression on his face. "All of them?"
"That's what I said, wasn't it?" Abby said. She pushed through the swinging kitchen door, and the officers followed. There was half a pot of coffee in the maker, and nearly half a dozen empty wine bottles next to it.
"Sarge," Gershom said as they entered. "The others are taking a look around the place. The boat is at the dock, and-"
"What?!" Abby said, then slapped a hand over her mouth. "Uh, we, Celina and I went out yesterday and brought it back."
"...It shows evidence of a collision," Gershom said. Abby shut her mouth, and just then her mother, dressed in slacks and a ruffled blouse, flowed through the door.
"It looks like Abby has pointed out my drunkenness," Miss Pane said. "Losing my husband, and now my two boys. It drives a poor woman to drink, officers. I hope you'll forgive me."
"You drank all that?" Cook asked, pointing at the bottles. He recalled she had also been carrying a few when he had entered.
"Yes. I was so frightened. Our phones weren't working, the television wasn't working, the boat-"
"The television wasn't working, either?" Cook asked. "Is it now?"
"We haven't checked since waking up."
"I see." Cook flipped open his notepad, and wrote Mother or Abby lying about wine bottles. Information about the boat scared Abby. Phones weren't working but now ONE is. Creepy text messages. They talked about a storm but there was none. Clothes out on highway. Mother or Celina lying about timing of Stephen and Oliver going missing. "If you don't mind, I could use a cup of coffee."
"Yes, yes, certainly. Abby, go check the television," Miss Pane said. "I'll see what's keeping Celina." The two women exited the room, and Cook watched the door swinging back and forth before Gershom spoke up.
"Sarge, if I didn't know better, I'd say these three are crazy."
"Or something," Cook said. He went to the coffee maker and poured lukewarm coffee into a nearby mug. "Maybe it's just stress. But that phone thing..."
"Are the brothers playing a trick?" Gershom asked. He got his own coffee. "From what I know, that's what it looks like. Come in here during the night, mess with the girl's phone, dump out mom's wine, take those suitcases out to the highway."
"Miss Pane mentioned they were troublemakers," Cook said. He sipped and smacked his lips. "Seems pretty mean-spirited to do something like this to your family." He sighed and put the mug down. "You go look outside with the others, see if there's any obvious answer to this."
"What are the odds the brothers are laughing to themselves right now, from their bedrooms?"
"Huh." Cook shook his head. "Wouldn't that be a blessing."
He pushed through the swinging kitchen door, went down the hallway, and found all three women standing around the flat-screen television, mashing on the remote. Gershom exited the house as Cook went up to them. The screen was a blank blue picture.
"See?" Abby said. "It doesn't work! A tower must have gone down!"
A cursory check told Cook it was a satellite television, and the satellite box had a loose cord. Cook shoved it in, and the picture cleared immediately, turning to a morning talk show.
"Much better," Miss Pane said. She glared at Celina. "Why didn't you check that yourself?"
"I don't know about this stuff!" the daughter said.
Abby slapped the remote on the coffee table. "I'm starving!" Without another word she stomped past Cook, into the kitchen.
"Eating at a time like this," Miss Pane said, rolling her eyes. "I swear, officer, sometimes that girl has her mind on the silliest things."
"Stress can make you think a little differently than normal," Cook said. "Miss Pane, is there anything else you can tell me about the accident?"
"With the boat?" Miss Pane tapped a tooth with a fingernail. "Yes, of course. Olly and Stephen had gone out to fish in the boat. Silly habit, I think, but their father liked it. The three of us were inside, watching something on TV, and we heard this incredible noise, like...it reminded me of a piece of metal tearing in half. We all run out to the deck, Celina has the binoculars, and we see the boat lying, turned upside-down. Things from inside the boat were all over the water, and we didn't see either of the boys."
They nearly saw it happen, and still didn't report it? "And when did your daughters bring the boat back to the dock?"
"When...never! It's still out there, upside-down!" Miss Pane said, flinging an arm toward the lake. From the windows in the living room, they could see just a sliver of water.
And there's another lie, Cook thought. "It's back at the dock. Your daughter tells me she and her sister brought it back."
"What? Oh...that must have been what they were doing-"
"Miss Pane, I understand this has been a difficult time, but I don't appreciate being lied to. Both you and your daughter have indicated you expected the boat to still be in the middle of the lake. Why is that?"
Cook expected her to weep or bray, but she just crossed her arms. "We don't understand it, officer. The day it happened, Abby and Celina used the canoe to see if their brothers were still there. They weren't, but they towed the motorboat back with them. You should have listened to them complain. The next day we get up, and the boat is back in the middle of the lake, upside-down, like they never touched it. Our phones suddenly aren't working, and neither is the TV. The boys did most of the cooking, so we have to scrounge for meals. We all have particular tastes and are on diets, so it takes a long time to make the food we want.
"Then, this morning, Abby is getting those frightening messages, my wine is all missing, Celina's bags are out by the highway. It's been long enough, so Celina goes to talk to you. Now you tell me the boat is back at the dock." She put her hands on her hips. "Perhaps you can forgive a woman for thinking things have been a bit strange!"
"Of course ma'am," Cook said. "I apologize. Getting the truth is important, and there was quite a bit of disinformation going around." He tucked his notepad away. "There's something I'd like to investigate, if you don't mind. Where is the room or rooms your sons were staying in?"
"Right this way," Miss Pane said. She took him to two closed doors on the main level. "We haven't gone in since the accident." She made a show of taking a deep breath, and opened the first one, stepping inside. "I don't know what you expect to find, but-" She stopped dead, and Cook ran into her back. She was stiff and frozen.
Cook looked past her. He saw a few items on the single bed: A buckled life jacket was in the center, a pair of swim trunks were near the end, and a pair of sunglasses, deployed to fit around someone's head, rested on the pillow. Two grimy sandals were on the floor next to the foot of the bed.
Miss Pane ran from the room, screeching for her daughters. Cook was left looking at the collection of clothes. There were a few suitcases and a backpack in the middle of the floor, zipped up. He couldn't see any other personal effects. His stomach rolled, and he felt a bit weightless. He almost tried not to breathe.
Pane and her daughters appeared just outside the door to the bedroom. One of them--Cook had forgotten which--put her hand over her mouth, and the other one backed away, releasing a string of high-pitched words. Pane turned to the second daughter and spoke to her in a low voice, and Cook wished he could have heard it.
He exited the bedroom. "Your other son?" Pane pointed at the next room. Her finger was shaking. Cook opened the door to find much the same thing, with a slight difference. Along with the life jacket and swim trunks, there was a small hair tie resting on the pillow instead of sunglasses. "Ma'am, I need you to take a look at this," he said, and Miss Pane entered the bedroom after a few seconds. "Can you tell me what this is?" He pointed at the hair tie.
"Stephen was proud of his long hair," she said, standing rigid in the center of the room. "I couldn't stand it. Made him look like a punk. He used a hair tie like that one to put it in a bun sometimes. It's just like Olly's bed, everything he was wearing when he went out on the boat."
"Everything?" Cook asked, scribbling details in his notepad. "Neither of them were married?"
"Married? Well...yes, actually. Olly was."
Cook went around Miss Pane and re-entered the first bedroom, investigating the bed cover. "He wore a ring?" he asked the three women, huddled in the hallway. They nodded. Cook hummed to himself. He wrote in his notepad. Time to get outside.
The fresh air was a blessing. Cook walked across the lawn to Gershom. "Anything?"
"Not much sarge," Gershom said. "We investigated the boat. There's a big dent in the bow of the hull."
"What could the boat have hit?"
"There's a sand bar not far out from the dock. Easy to avoid if you see the buoys, but if the boys weren't paying attention for some reason they could have run into it. Did you find anything inside?"
Cook explained. Gershom's face changed to confusion. "Nothing from surrounding properties, I expect?"
"No, nothing. A few people on the lake remembered hearing a loud noise two evenings ago, but nobody saw anything, and nobody reported seeing even one man," Gershom said. "I hate to say it, sarge, but we're going to have to start trolling the lake."
Cook mulled over a few details. "Lots of lying going on inside that house," he said. "I can understand some of it. There was an accident, their family members are missing...but they practically saw the boat crash and didn't do anything about it until almost two days later. They were stumbling over themselves to try and get the right lie out."
"Plus the phone," Gershom said. "And Celina's bags out by the highway."
"And the mother's wine going missing...which I guess probably has a pretty simple explanation." Cook smacked his lips. "Alright, let's see if we can find anything in the lake. Call it in."
"Sure sarge," Gershom said, picking up his radio. Cook wandered around to the back of the house.
Such a big place, he thought. There was a finished basement, a large patio ringing the main level with a hot tub, and enough creature comforts to satisfy even the hardest city mouse. Why come all the way out here and build such a crazy place? Why not just stay home? He remembered the way the mom and daughters acted. They probably hate leaving the city.
Cook looked around. There was a boat house by the dock. Up the hill and closer to the house was a guest house. He was looking at it when he realized the windows were open. It wasn't a large building, probably just had a bedroom, a toilet, and a closet. He wandered closer, a prickling sensation in his stomach. It was an important kind of feeling.
The windows were thrown up to let the breeze in. He tried to door and found it unlocked. He knew all three of the women were staying in the main house, so when he pushed inside and saw a few shirts and pants in small piles, his eyebrow went up. There were a few boxes of snack food, and a cooler of water bottles and soda. The clothes were male cut, and the foods looked like the kind of things the three women in the larger house would turn their prim noses up at.
Cook sighed. He used his radio to call Gershom to the guest house.
"Okay, so the boys send the boat out to make it look like they've disappeared, grab their things, and hide in here," Gershom said. "Then what...they start tormenting their family?"
"I wonder where they are now?" Cook asked. "In the house? The basement?"
"We're right here, sergeant,"
Cook and Gershom spun, hands on their service pistols. Two men stood in the entrance of the guest house, hands at the level of their heads to show no violence intended. One of them was dark-haired and taller than the other, who had stringy brown hair dangling past his shoulders. The family resemblance was obvious. The dark-haired one came forward, hand out to shake. "Oliver Pane. This is Stephen. As you can see, neither of us are dead."
"You boys have some explaining to do," Cook said. "To us and to your family."
"We understand," Stephen said, as he shook hands. "It started innocently enough. It was just an accident."
"We were getting ready to go out on the lake and do some fishing," Stephen said. "Our dad turned us on to it before he died, and we make it a point to do it at least once every time we come up here, just for him. We were in the boat. Olly started it, but then I realized we had forgotten the poles and the cooler." He nudged the cooler in the room with his foot. "They were just inside the sliding door in the basement, so Olly cuts the power, we throw our life jackets into the boat, and go to grab it."
Olly, nodding throughout the explanation, jumped in. "We come back outside, and hear the boat roaring. We thought the girls had stolen it." Cook chuckled. "I'm glad you realize how ridiculous that is," Olly said. "A moment later, we see the boat skimming across the lake, empty. We...aren't really sure how it happened, to be honest. Our best guess is the boat didn't shut off properly, our life jackets caught on the throttle just the right way...anyway, the boat hits the sand bar, flips bow over stern, and lands with an almighty smack. Our life jackets, and all the other things we had in the boat are scattered around it."
"Before we have much of a chance to do anything, we hear the sliding door above us open," Stephen said. "Our mom, Abby, and Celina step out. They look at the boat on the lake, and do want to know what they do, officers?" He crossed his arms. "They start celebrating. They actually got glasses of wine, clinked them together, and said something like 'here's to us, smart enough not to get ourselves killed.'"
"They went back inside before we did anything," Olly said. "Stephen wanted to rush up to them and chew them out, but I had the idea of moving into the guest house and, well, messing with them."
"The wine bottles?" Gershom asked. "The phone messages? The suitcases on the highway?"
"Us," Stephen said. "We also kept bringing in and putting out the boat during the night. We unscrewed a few light bulbs, turned off the network on their phones--and then we changed all of Abby's contacts to the two of us and turned hers on, so it looked like anyone trying to contact her was us."
"What you did was dangerous and irresponsible," Cook said. He was going to go on, but stopped. He remembered Celina freaking out about her suitcases lying on the hallway, even though she seemed to have no emotion for her dead or missing brothers. He remembered wondering why the women had seen the boat crash, and had still waited almost two days to report it. He remembered their squabbles, their fights, their words of anger toward each other. He had thought it was just nerves, and stress. No, that's just how they are, he thought. They really didn't care these two young men--their family!--might have died.
Olly was nodding. "We were angry. We've lived our whole lives with them, and they can barely stand us. Our dad worked himself to death giving them everything...including that huge lake house...and they didn't even care when he died, either. I guess we decided we wanted a little bit of payback."
"It's clear they're unpleasant people," Cook said.
"You don't know the half of it, officer," Stephen said. "Spending time with them is like pulling nails. We didn't dump our mother's wine into the lake as a symbolic gesture. She's mostly alcohol."
Could they have really toasted when they saw the boat lying hull-up in the water? It's almost too heartless to imagine. Then he remembered the way Celina had acted in the police station. I had put it to nerves. She'd had her arms wrapped around herself, touching nothing, hesitant to even shake his hand. She'd already known what had happened. Contacting the police was just to make sure no one thought they were responsible. The woman was disgusted by the place. Disgusted by us.
He looked up. "Do your sisters and mother enjoy coming out to the lake?"
Olly and Stephen laughed. "You're a smart man, sergeant!" Olly said. "No, dad loved it here, and we love it here, but those three hardly even go outside. That's why we put Celina's clothes out by the highway, because we knew it would bother her to even leave the house."
"I once heard Abby whine about how there isn't a single yoga studio in town," Stephen said. "That was, of course, right after she...insinuated my girlfriend was a loose woman."
"Charming," Gershom said. "Do you boys mind if I talk to the sarge for a minute? Why don't y'all stay in here." To Cook's surprise, Gershom led him by the arm outside the guest house. "Sarge, those boys are guilty of emotional abuse. Sure, the women are unpleasant, but they did nothing illegal. Gaslighting is serious."
"They didn't hurt anybody," Cook said. "No jury in the world would convict them." He looked toward the big house. "On the other hand, our state does have a failure to report law."
"Failure to report crimes, sarge. C'mon now." Gershom nudged his stomach with a knuckle. "You can't really think doing anything like that to those...poor women."
Cook laughed, and the sound surprised him. Poor women. Right. "Yeah, I suppose." He sighed. "Time for a family meeting."
"Glad you can see it my way, sarge," Gershom said. "Although look at it this way: When those two boys walk into the house, those three women are going to turn white as clouds. Ain't nothing about it is our fault."
Cook laughed as they re-entered the guest house.
Miss Pane fainted. Crumpled down, her legs falling to pieces under her. Her head missed colliding with the corner of a chair by a few inches. Abby, who had decided to turn away from the specters who had walked in the building after Cook and Gershom, took the woman's cup of cold coffee and splashed it on her. Celina was staring at her living brothers with her eyes and mouth wide, hands flared open at her sides. She was looking directly between her brothers as the stood side-by-side.
Miss Pane revived quickly, and began screeching at her daughter about her stained clothes. She caught sight of her sons, and her mouth zippered shut.
"Hi mom. How's it going?" Stephen said.
"You..." Miss Pane struggled to stand, using the chair she had almost brained herself on as support. "We thought you had died!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," Olly said.
"The boat!" Abby said. "It...you were..."
"Not in the boat," Stephen said. "Seems like someone forgot to fix the motor's shutoff valve." He leaned forward, arms crossed, at Abby. She went pale. "It went off on its own. We watched it fly into the air and crash from the basement's door."
"And what should happen not a minute later, but you three walking onto the deck right above our heads, declaring us dead, and then toasting your good health."
"And what exactly were we supposed to do?" Miss Pane said. "Weep and cry like some foolish maids? Wouldn't have helped anybody!"
"You put my clothes out by the road," Celina said, finally, pointing at them. Her voice, compared to her mother's, was simple, almost conversational. Her face was still blank, Cook could see, except for her eyebrows, which were sinking down over her eyes. "I can't believe you could do that! Do you know how much those clothes cost?!"
Cook looked at Gershom, who was gaping in wonder. Olly, the closer of the two to Celina, turned his head toward her. It moved so slowly Cook expected to hear it creak. "Quite a lot of money, I guess. Why? Worth more than your two brothers?"
Celina managed to realize her mistake, and lowered her pointing finger. "We have a question for you," Stephen said, and the smile on his face almost made Cook reach for his sidearm. "At what point would you have realized we-" he pointed at himself and Olly "-both of us, are humans? Real, actual, people? Not just worthless remembrances of our dad? Who was, by the way, also a real person, and not just a damned money machine! Sometimes I get down on my knees and thank the good Lord I ended up like dad, and not like any of you. I can't imagine what it would have been like to go through life like you three, using people and then leaving them out by the highway once you were done. What husband are you on, Abby? Three? Four? How much longer is he going to last, do you think? You'll get rid of him once he realizes what a poisonous person you are, and he grows a spine. At least you don't have any kids. You know, I used to tell my friends you have 'resting bitch face.' You know what that is. All three of you have been telling people you have it all your lives. I have some news for you: you don't. Your face hangs down, and you frown, and you sneer just naturally, but you don't have resting bitch face, none of you. No, you're bitches, from your face to your empty heads to your sorry, sour, shriveled hearts. None of you ever had anything close to a job, none of you ever appreciated dad for all the work he did to provide for us. He built us all a home--as well as this place, which you can't stand. Why? Because it's too far from your dyed-blue districts, your media centers, your air-conditioned penthouses. Too far from your farmers markets, and too close to actual farmers. We put your clothes out by the highway because we knew it would terrify you to be anywhere nearer to the town. We were both surprised you actually managed to go into the police station. How did you get the door open? Did you wait until somebody let you in? Couldn't bear to touch that naked metal, I bet. How did the inside of the station smell? Did it smell like grease, or dirt, or maybe coffee? Amazing what real people smell like when you get close enough. Abby, did you know my girlfriend and I are waiting until, hopefully, we get married before having sex? She's a virgin. So am I! You think that's unbelievable, of course, because you're a shallow, short-sighted person who can't imagine the idea of a real relationship, instead of one-night stands you cowed into giving you money while you sell your body to them. And mom. Mother. Miss Dolores Pane. I don't expect you to know what the name Dolores means, but trust me when I say it fits you like a Dalmatian-skin glove. What are you going to do when everyone in your life leaves you? When even your maid can't stand the unwarranted abuse you throw at her. Soon you'll have to get behind the wheel of a car and drive yourself! Like a common person, instead of just telling someone else to do it, just like when we were kids! There won't be anybody to clean up your messes, or fix your mistakes, or chew out when they make the tiniest, most inconsequential error! What a font of misery! What an unending supply of aimless hate! How could a person like you end up with dad? It sends my mind in circles! How could he be so loving, and caring, and unstoppably empathetic to us, while you are so full of neglect, and indifference. What happened when you were a child, Dolores? How could you have ended up like this? Was it your own mother? Does the hateful seed spread through the fairer sex? Is there an unending line of callous women who spat on their children, all the way up to eve? Or was it something else? Was it a science experiment? Down in a secret lab, to make the first human being without a soul? Maybe it was an accident. Maybe before you were normal--capable of love. Did you fall into a chemical? Get caught in a machine? Maybe it did something to twist and mutate you. Drain all your life and replace it with a dark liquid, like cold smoke. What else could flow through your veins? I know you spent all your waking life trying to replace it with wine. Did you toast my father's death? You toasted our deaths. Well guess what? Consider us dead, because we never want to see any of your faces ever again."
After the brothers left, The lake house was quiet. Cook felt like he had lost a layer of skin. Gershom was blinking his eyes, like he was looking into the wind. The three women--Celina with her finger still pointed at the ground, Abby holding an empty coffee cup, and Miss Dolores Pane with the coffee drying on her face and clothes. Cook cleared his throat, and the women looked at him in an identical manner, turning their heads and gazing at him with blank expressions. "Seems we're not needed here anymore," he said. "We'll get out of our hair. You ladies have a nice day."