Page 89 of Coram House

I brace for the long walk back up the hill to my car, but then a glint of metal catches my eye. At the base of the statue a small brass plaque is engraved with three words:The Lake Monster. I have an odd sensation—like vertigo—as if the lines between real and not real, past and present, are blurring together. It’s like being a child and knowing there’s no monster in the closet but believing it anyway. Knowing only that your fear is real.

24

The air smellscold. I never thought of cold having a smell until I came here. I hoist the laundry bag out of my trunk. The laundromat isn’t the most glamorous place to spend the morning, but I’m meeting Stedsan at noon and don’t have a single pair of clean pants left.

Plus, I’m exhausted beyond the help of coffee. My interview with Karen had been more than five hours of tape, which had taken me until three a.m. to transcribe and send to Detective Garcia. I’d also called Karen and left a message explaining the situation and asking her to call the police.

I fill up three different washing machines and then just sit, letting the mechanical hum and the smell of soap lull me into a kind of stupor until it’s time to transfer the clothes to the dryer. The laundromat is empty. I guess other people have somewhere better to be on a Thursday morning.

Outside, a line of children waddles up the sidewalk, each stuffed into a snowsuit and holding on to a long red cord in one mittened hand. A teacher at the front of the line walks backward, murmuring encouragement. They pass in front of the window like a giant centipede.

My phone pings. Lola.

Sooooo? Champagne fountain yay or nay?

Another ping.

Your report is a week late.I start to type and then slide it back into my pocket. Another ping.

I can see you typing.

Ping.

Don’t make me come up there.

I put my phone on silent. I’m lucky to have a friend who cares about me—I know that—but sometimes I just wish she could care about me from a distance. I should never have told her I was going to Xander’s.It was fine, I type.

Fine bad?

No, it was fine. Just some other stuff going on right now.

Immediately, my phone rings.

“What kind of stuff?” Lola asks instead of hello.

I try not to sigh.Oh, just a couple of dead bodies I haven’t told you about.

“I’m at the laundromat, can we—”

“Alex, what’s going on? You never call me, text me, anything. You don’t want me to visit. And when you finally pick up, I get monosyllables like a robot. Just… tell me what’s going on.”

I waver. I’ve drawn a line between what’s happening here and my life out there—what’s left of it. I’m not sure I’m ready to blur it. But I hear the worry in her voice.

“Lola, do you remember that boy I told you about, Tommy?”

“The kid who drowned.”

I sigh and plunge in. I tell her about finding Sister Cecile’s body in the water. About Rooney digging up the bones at the dump. About Bill Campbell bribing people. About going to Rooney’s house to find out what he knew and finding his body instead. When I’m done, Lola is stunned into silence. For maybe the first time in history.

“This could be dangerous, right?” she says, finally. “You should come home. You can stay with us. Or don’t come home, go sit on a beach somewhere. Leave it to the police.”

“I can’t just leave, Lola. I signed a contract—”

“Jesus, Alex. Fuck the contract. People are dying. This is real.”

“Yeah, thanks. I found the bodies. I noticed.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

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