“No no,” Sarah said quickly. “Kids are fine, far as I know.”

I let out a breath.

“So anyway,” Sarah said, “there’s this stringer I use sometimes, Tracy McAvoy? Up in the Fifty Lakes District? She does the odd feature, breaking news when it happens up there and we can’t get a staffer there fast enough. Remember she did the piece about that seaplane crash, the hunters that died, last year?”

I didn’t, but I said, “Sure.” However, I could recall seeing the byline, occasionally, in the paper. Fifty Lakes is about a ninety-minute drive north of the city, lots of lakes (well, about fifty) and hills, cabins and boating and fishing, that kind of thing. A lot of city people had cottages up there. My father, for one.

“I just got off the phone with her,” Sarah said. “She’s got this story about a possible bear attack. Pretty vicious.”

I could guess where this was going. Tracy was an okay reporter, she could file a basic story, but the city desk was wanting something more, some color, maybe a piece for the weekend paper. The sort of thing I was born to do. “Sarah, just get to it.”

“Would you shut up and listen? It was in Braynor, well, in the woods outside Braynor.”

“Yeah, okay. Braynor’s where my dad’s camp is.”

“I know. Well, here’s the thing. They found this body, this man, and I guess there wasn’t a whole lot of him left to identify, and they found him right by Crystal Lake.”

That was the lake where Dad ran his fishing camp. A handful of cabins, rental boats. I mentioned that to Sarah.

“I know, Zack. That’s where they found the body. In the woods by your father’s place.”

“Jesus,” I said. “I guess I should give him a call.” I paused. “I can’t even remember the last time I talked to him. It’s been a while.”