Page 158 of It Happened on the Lake

He eyed the cottage as they reached it. “You probably want to save it,” he said, “since it’s where you grew up.”

“For the most part.” She and Evan spent most of their time at the lake, at the big house on the island with Gram. Rarely were they at the penthouse in Portland with Dad and his new bride, Marcia, whom he’d married less than a year after Mom died.

“A lot of the time, I lived with my grandparents.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Craig grinned again, and this time there was an edge to it—or was that her overactive imagination?

“But you’re right, I’d like to save the gatehouse if it can be salvaged. And won’t cost me an arm and a leg.”

He laughed. “The way I hear it, you have lots of body parts to spare.”

He was talking about her inheritance and thought he was being funny or clever. Forcing a smile, she bit her tongue. Though she really wanted to argue, she let it slide. She didn’t want to do battle with him, needed him to believe that she trusted him completely so that maybe he would open up to her.

And tell you that he had one of Gramps’s pistols and snuck it over to Cynthia Hunt’s house after she set herself on fire in the middle of the lake? Get real, Harper. He’s not that stupid.

Or is he?

“So everything is insured, right? I would think your homeowners would cover some of the damage. But man, who the hell was in charge?”

“Attorneys handled it,” she told him, remembering the slick attorney she’d met on her last trip to Oregon. “A Portland law firm Gram used.”

“Let the insurance company and the law firm battle it out. Someone’s responsible.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the exterior of the cottage. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

She walked him through the cottage, and flashlight in hand, he poked around, looking into cabinets, testing the electrical panel, trying to turn on the water, checking the furnace, and eyeing the rooms. He even checked the attic, using an old chair he dragged from the kitchen up the stairs to hoist himself up.

“Lots of water damage,” he said, hauling the chair down the uneven steps again.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He scratched the beard stubble on his cheek as he took one final look around. “It’s a big job. I’ll run the numbers, get together some estimates from the subs. So don’t panic if you see a plumbing or roofing or electrician’s truck parked out front.” He paused for a second. “Listen, I’m not going to bullshit you, Harper. This will take a lot,” he said, replacing the chair in the kitchen and eyeing the wood-soaked paneling. “You know, I remember being here. With your brother.” Lifting his cap and running his hands through his hair, he shook his head. “Man, that was a long time ago.”

He seemed caught up in a memory, so she said, “You were friends with Evan?”

“Well, yeah. Kinda. You remember. Right? We hung out as kids when Dad and me lived over your garage. Evan and me, we got along but we weren’t real buds, if that’s what you mean. Not like he was with Chase and Rand.”

“So, do you still have a key for the attic?”

“What?”

“Since you lived here.”

“Nah.” He shook his head and stared at her. “Maybe my old man still does, but I doubt it. It’s been years.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just trying to round up any that Gram may have left.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask Dad.”

She wanted to ask more questions, a lot more, but she didn’t know exactly how to dig further without coming right out and asking about the gun. And the way he cocked his head, as if sizing her up, gave her pause. She either had to be up front and tell him what she saw or keep quiet and wait, rather than tip him off that she’d been aware of his late-night venture into the Hunt house.

For now, she held her tongue as they toured the main house together and he did the same kind of inspection he’d done at the cottage—taking stock, making notes on his clipboard, asking questions about the house and grounds.

Outside at the tram, he wondered aloud if she wanted it repaired and thought maybe the same mechanic who worked on elevators might be able to fix it. He thought all of the kitchen and laundry appliances should be replaced, and she might want the broken dumbwaiter converted to closet space on all the floors it serviced, which included the basement and up to the tower room.

“I mean, would you ever use it?” he asked, studying the service panel on the first floor.

“Yes.” It would have come in handy when she moved her equipment to the tower room, and she explained as much.

“So you’re really gonna live here? Beth says you were thinking of selling.”