CHAPTER ONE

      Saturday, October 6, 2018

      Rhododendron, Oregon

      Nate Bergquist wondered if he’d survive this weekend with his brother.

      They were on their way to the family cabin near Mt. Hood National Forest, about an hour southeast of Portland. It was a tradition, going there for their birthdays. The brothers were born four years and one day apart: October seventh and eighth. They’d missed coming here last year. Nate’s older brother, Gil, had insisted on this trip. He said he didn’t want to see the tradition die. But Nate couldn’t help thinking his brother had another reason for this hasty getaway.

      Gil drove fast—with his window halfway open. The wind tousled his near-shoulder-length, golden blond hair. Not many people at thirty-six could pull off the long-haired preppy look, but Gil made it work for him.

      Riding shotgun, Nate felt his stomach tighten as they took another curve in the highway. He listened to the tires squeal and braced his hand against the dashboard. Route 26 narrowed down to two lanes as it wound through the woods, and at times, it seemed choked with RVs. But that didn’t slow down his brother any. He kept passing the trailers and motor homes, one after another. The needle on the speedometer of Gil’s Audi coupe hovered near eighty.

      “Hey, Steve McQueen, what’s the goddamn hurry?” Nate almost had to shout to be heard over the wind whipping through the car. “The cabin isn’t going anywhere. Would you mind slowing down?”

      Leaning to his left, Nate spied his girlfriend, Rene, in the rearview mirror. She and Gil’s new girlfriend, Cheryl, sat crammed together in the backseat. The wind had done a number on their hair. Rene rolled her eyes and mouthed thank you to him.

      “Pussy,” Gil muttered, shifting gears.

      Nate half turned in the passenger seat to address the women: “Are you sure the wind isn’t too much for you back there?”

      “Right now, it’s the least of my worries,” Rene replied, shouting over the sound of the wind. She was pretty with green eyes, freckles, and long, wavy tawny brown hair. A yoga instructor, she had the taut, trim body that came with the job. She was Nate’s age: thirty-two. She leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, tell me again, there will be alcohol when we reach our destination—if we reach our destination.”

      “Every time he gets behind the wheel, Gil puts pedal to the metal,” Cheryl announced. She smoothed back her blond hair. “I’ve gotten used to it. Actually, he’s a very good driver.”

      “I’m an excellent driver,” Gil said, imitating Dustin Hoffman’s character in Rain Man, a movie the two brothers had seen multiple times while growing up. The two of them often launched into their own language of movie quotes that no one else understood. “Kmart sucks,” Gil grumbled. “We have pepperoni pizza for dinner Monday nights . . .”

      Cheryl laughed. Rene rolled her eyes again.

      “For a thousand dollars, what was Dustin Hoffman’s name in that movie?” Gil said.

      “Raymond Babbitt,” Nate answered without hesitation. He turned forward again and noticed the speedometer had gone down to sixty-five. “And Tom Cruise was Charlie, the much cooler, better-looking younger brother.”

      “That’s only true in the movies, bub,” Gil said.

      Nate was grateful his brother had eased up on the accelerator. For a while, he’d thought Gil might have someone on his tail—not just because of his crazy driving, but also from the way he kept checking his rearview mirror. Gil was a private detective, and weird little episodes of intrigue were a hazard of his profession. If someone was indeed following them, it would be like Gil not to say anything that would worry the women folk.

      Nate checked the side mirror. No one was behind them.

      Now that they weren’t driving so fast, he could actually enjoy the scenery along the way: the familiar creeks and small waterfalls, the evergreens bordering the highway, and all the other trees ablaze with autumn colors.

      Nate knew Gil had slowed down mostly for Rene’s sake. His brother and Rene were like cordial adversaries. They managed to tolerate each other. As Rene put it: “I like Gil, but he’s an asshole a lot of the time. And I don’t like the way he treats you—especially in front of me.”

      She’d made that painfully clear when Nate had introduced her to Gil—over dinner at McMenamins two years ago. After ninety minutes of listening to their brotherly banter, Rene had cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Gil,” she’d said calmly over her crème brûlée. “But I don’t appreciate you calling Nate ‘pussy,’ ‘douchebag,’ ‘doofus,’ or ‘wuss.’ I know you’re trying to be funny, but I don’t find it amusing at all.”

      “Well, okay...” Gil had said, looking stumped. He’d turned to Nate. “So—how about those Trail Blazers, bro?”

      At first, Nate had been embarrassed. He’d wanted his brother to like Rene, and here she was slamming Gil’s standard shtick—and a tradition of verbal abuse that had thrived for at least a quarter of a century. It was really none of her business. Yet, Gil respected her. Nate noticed he tapered off on the name-calling after that—at least, in front of Rene. Gil still liked to goad her on occasion, but never pushed it too far. He was pretty much behaving himself for this trip—so far.

      “What was I talking about before you interrupted and jumped on my