The Vanishing Season by Jodi Lynn Anderson

appeared on the news that night.
    Hairica hadn’t come home the night before. And that morning her car was found empty at the side of Millers Park, her thick, wool hat nearby.
    Light snow fell as Maggie crunched down Main Street that morning. To her surprise, the general store was closed, as was the Coffee Moose, where she usually got her coffee before work because it was better than the stuff Elsa brewed up. Several other sets of windows were dark that hadn’t been the week before.
    She was just approaching the Emporium when she saw a figure emerge, pulling the door shut and turning to lock it.
    “Elsa?”
    Elsa turned, startled, and then looked relieved. “Oh lord, you scared me,” she breathed, holding her hand to her chest.
    “Why are you locking up?” Maggie asked.
    Elsa looked guilty. She wrapped her scarf more firmly around her neck and looked away, then back at Maggie. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I just decided on my way in.”
    “What was a spur-of-the-moment decision?”
    Elsa hesitated. “I’m closing up the shop for the winter.”
    Maggie felt her heart sink.
    “Nobody comes downtown to shop these days; everyone’s scared; no one’s really into strolling down Main Street. Hair . . . sorry, Erica, is gone. It just . . . doesn’t make any sense to stay open.”
    She crouched to hide the key in the spot where she always did, under a rock at the corner of the walkway.
    “But . . . ,” Maggie said dumbly. “I need the job—I’m saving for school. I . . .”
    Elsa looked at her sympathetically and put her hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Maggie, I really am.” She stamped her feet and walked Maggie in the direction of her car. “You’ll be the first person I call once I reopen.”
    Maggie stood there, at a loss for words. “Thanks,” she finally managed to say.
    Elsa unlocked her car, gazed around as if to make sure the coast was clear, and then looked at Maggie and sighed. “This time of year I always feel, if we can just get through the winter, we will be okay.” She patted Maggie again on the shoulder and offered a smile that was meant to be encouraging. “We just have to make it till spring. Anyway, I’m sure I’ll see you around town.”
    Maggie nodded. And then Elsa got in, spun her wheels slightly in the icy lot, and pulled away. Maggie stood in the warmth of the car exhaust and then turned back in the direction she’d come.
    Even in homeschooling, there was Christmas break. Maggie woke every morning to ice crystals encrusted on the corners of her bedroom window and icicles dangling above the side porch. The grass disappeared under snow. Driving around aimlessly, she’d see people pulling Santas and sleighs and wooden nativity scenes onto their lawns. The lights on the trees in front of Gill Creek Public School and the wreaths on the courthouse kept the pulse of the peninsula steady, despite all the chaos. Next door, Mrs. Boden had hired a company to decorate her lawn with twelve glowing reindeer—as white-lit and understated as twelve reindeer could be—stretching out toward the water and turned in the direction of the lake, so passing boats could see them at night.
    Sometimes Maggie thought about hiking back into the woods to check on the progress of the sauna, and instead, not wanting to run into Liam alone, trekked out in the other direction, pulling on her hat and gloves and thick, old Columbia jacket, plus her waterproof boots that were getting too small for her. (She didn’t want to ask for a new pair and see her mom pretend the money didn’t stress her out.)
    Her parents were loathe at first to let her go into the woods alone, but Maggie was climbing the walls, and eventually they’d relented; Water Street was too isolated to be a target anyway. What was a killer going to do, Maggie had argued, drive to an isolated three-house neighborhood and wait for some victim to come trundling along through the woods where hardly anyone ever walked? She trekked