Something's wrong. You check your watch again. It's 7:32 a.m. You're standing at the trailhead behind Cabin #4. Mist rises from the lake as the sun warms the still frigid water. A long, mournful call echoes from across the lake--a loon--and you shiver.

Loretta's never late. In fact, she insists that if you're on time, you're late, and if you're early, you're on time. You check your watch again. 7:33.

You walk around to the front of Cabin #4 with an uneasy feeling rolling in the pit of your stomach. The windows reflect the soft morning light like blank, unseeing eyes. Maybe Loretta simply forgot, you reason. Adults are always forgetting things. Your own parents can't remember where their keys are half the time.

But Loretta never forgets.

You step onto the tiny deck and approach the front door. Should you knock? You hesitate for a moment then raise your hand and give the screen door a few quick raps. It shuts with a thump; it must have been open just a bit. You listen intently but hear nothing, other than the wind in the trees.

You open the screen door and try the cabin door. It's unlocked. That's not unusual; only the city people lock their cabin doors up here. You ease the door open and poke your head inside. The cabin is thick with shadows.

"Loretta?"

No answer.

You slip inside and call Loretta's name again. It's so still and quiet that you hear the clock above the sink ticking.

The murphy bed is pulled down, and the blankets are rumpled. A quick look in the tiny bathroom confirms it. Loretta's not here. Puzzled, you flip on the lights. Did Loretta get the time confused and go on the hike alone? She's done it before: The one and only time you were late for a hike, she'd left without you, pinning a note to a tree at the trailhead that read, "You're late." Since then, you've always been at least a few minutes early, and it's not like Loretta to mess up the time. You'll have to check the trailhead again. Maybe there's a note that you didn't see.

Still uneasy, you turn back toward the door. Something under the table in the kitchen area catches your eye. You stoop down and pick it up.

It's a rag soaked with blood.

You drop it and fumble your way outside. A few gulps of cool morning air clear your head. As you hurry off the deck and around the side of Cabin #4, there's a flash of light up the hill to your left. You spy a man on the deck of Cabin #2, looking at you through binoculars.

A picture of the card on Cabin #2's kitchen table flits through your mind. "Welcome Edward and Betty Archer!" Why is Edward spying on you? Or was he hoping to see Loretta? You shake your head. You can't think about that right now; you have a decision to make. Should you tell your parents about Loretta's disappearance and the blood-soaked rag? If she's hurt, it's essential to move quickly. Yet your parents are likely to call the police--and create quite a commotion. Is it wise to sound an alarm if Loretta might simply be out hiking? Maybe there's a note back by the trailhead. Tell your parents or look for a note? What will you choose to do?

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Excerpted from The Empty Cabin: A Choose Your Path Mystery by Deb Mercier
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