Page 16 of It Happened on the Lake

“Nope. Every time a cat died, she buried it and planted a rose on it. I think you were standing on Long John’s grave. You remember him? Silver tabby with a crooked tail?” And the cat your husband might have used for target practice , she thought, remembering her father’s words.

“Take a look. There should be a little engraved marker by each of the rose bushes. Gram even planned elaborate funerals for each of them.” Harper remembered having attended the “ceremony” for the calico with the striking markings.

Gram had named that gorgeous cat after the screen icon Marilyn Monroe.

“Seriously?” Beth glanced down and saw the small headstone, no bigger than a baseball. “Oh man, that’s sick!” She inched farther away from the garden. “First the gargoyles, now this?”

“She bought special roses, each one symbolic of the cat.”

“I’ve heard enough! You have a strange family, Harper, and no, I didn’t know any of your grandmother’s damned cats.

Just that she had a ton of them. Too many.

It was odd. Way odd. Borderline wacko.” She gave the rose garden another skeptical look.

“You might want to keep that information—about the rose garden—to yourself, especially if you decide to sell.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You know,” Beth said. “Your family is even weirder than I thought.”

Weirder than you’ll ever guess.

“Okay, so let’s get serious. Really, what’re you going to do with this house and the island? I mean, the whole damned island! You own it outright now, right? Creepy kitty cemetery and all.”

“Right.” The terms of her grandmother’s estate were pretty much public knowledge in Almsville, leaked years ago to the newspaper at the time of the scandal surrounding her death.

“And the guesthouse?” Beth asked. “Where you lived—well, most of the time. That’s part of it?”

“The caretaker’s cottage—that’s what Gram called it—but yeah.” Harper was already walking through the huge double doors and into the foyer.

Beth followed after her. “It’s like being in a time capsule and teleported back to the sixties.

” Beth dropped the bag of wet clothes next to the cat carrier near the stairs.

She left her purse on one of the bottom steps.

“I’d forgotten about this staircase, how it runs up each side of the entry to meet on the top floor—so cool. ”

“I guess.”

“For sure!”

Flipping on lights, Harper called for the cat as she headed into the parlor. “Jinx. Kitty? Come on, Jinx.”

“You have a cat?” Beth asked, catching up to her.

“Yeah. Inherited.”

“One that escaped the bone yard?”

“No, not from my grandma, those are long gone. Jinx was—is?—my daughter’s cat, but then she went off to college so, at least for now, he’s mine.”

“Oh. I thought you were always a dog person,” Beth said, running a finger over the edge of the liquor cabinet and eyeing the tall windows with their dusty curtains and the furniture that was decades old.

“All animals, but yes, growing up we had a dog. Bandit,” Harper said, remembering the shaggy brown mutt with long ears and a black mask.

Even now, years later, she felt a little pang in her heart when she thought of him.

“Gone now.” She cleared her throat. “A long time ago.” She turned her attention back to searching for the missing cat.

“I’m afraid Jinx may have gotten out.” She walked to the door off the kitchen and found it ajar, just as she’d left it last night.

“Damn.” Though she and Jinx had never really bonded, she didn’t want to lose him.

“He’s gone?” Beth asked, as she pushed past the swinging doors and into the kitchen with its massive stove and double refrigerators, oversized sink, and marble counters.

Harper shrugged. “Dunno. I hope not.” But what were the chances?

If nothing else, the damned cat was an escape artist. He’d proved that time and time again in the past when she and Dawn had lived in Santa Rosa.

How many times had Joel had to climb into the lemon tree or onto the roof, or go searching through the neighborhood for the damned cat?

Too many to count. Once Jinx had disappeared for three weeks, only to show up, thin and haggard, his collar missing, a new notch in his ear.

And now? In this new place with an enormous house and an entire island?

What were the chances that he would return here?

She didn’t want to think about it. Nor how Dawn would react if the cat didn’t show up again.

Harper checked on the food and water she’d left out earlier.

Untouched.

“Great,” she muttered under her breath.

This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

“So what are your plans?” Beth asked.

“My plans?” She gave off a little huff. “If only I knew.”

“No idea?”

“Well,” she said, shutting the door. “I had thought I might live in the cottage while I fix this place up. I knew it would need work.”

“To . . . sell?” Beth said, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

“Probably. But I have to scrap that idea because it turns out the cottage is a total wreck. Literally falling apart.”

“It can probably be salvaged.”

“You haven’t seen it.”

“Yet,” Beth said, looking through the window that opened to the front of the house and offered a view of the parking apron and garage. “Insurance might be able to help.”

“Maybe.” If Gram’s incompetent lawyers had kept it up.

Harper went through the butler’s pantry to the living room, caught a glimpse of the decanter of whiskey or whatever it was she’d left on the side table.

A shot of hard liquor would go down smoothly right now , she thought.

It might calm her jangled nerves and take the edge off the pain she felt in her jaw, shoulders, and hip, but she left it be.

It may well be “five o’clock somewhere,” but, she reminded herself, it was barely noon in Almsville, Oregon.

“This view is incredible,” Beth said, catching up with her and peering out the windows.

“Yeah,” Harper agreed, but in her mind’s eye she witnessed Cynthia Hunt’s tortured face, could hear her bone-chilling shrieks.

“I knew it was, but I’d forgotten. As a kid, you know, who cared?

Anyway, if you do decide to put it on the market, talk to me.

” Beth’s gaze swept over the tall windows, the worn carpet, the ancient furniture.

“Of course you’d have to fix it up, but that shouldn’t be a problem, right? You inherited more than the property?”

She was asking about money in the estate. A not-so-small fortune.

Before Harper could reply, Beth added, “Craig could fix this place up. I think I mentioned that he has his own construction company now, and he knows this place like the back of his hand from living here, you remember, when his dad was the groundskeeper?”

All too well. “Yeah.”

Her father had been right about Beth suggesting Harper hire her husband, just as Dad had remembered how Craig was as a teenager.

How many times had she caught him surreptitiously eyeing her as she sunbathed or swam in the lake?

While trimming shrubbery or mending the gutters or painting the trim, Craig had often let his eyes stray to her bikini-clad body.

Not that it had been a crime. Just a little unsettling. And then, after graduation, Beth had married him.

Quietly Beth surveyed the rooms and grounds, biting her lip as she walked to the French doors and stared out at the terrace.

Assessing.

Evaluating.

Calculating.

Despite Harper’s headache, exhaustion, and worry about the damned cat, she knew what Beth was doing.

She felt a jab of disappointment that there was more to Beth’s insistence on driving her home than just Beth’s need to help out and reconnect.

But really, what had she expected? Hadn’t it happened before?

Even when they were “besties” in school, hadn’t Harper known that deep down her friend’s interest in her was all because of Beth’s crush on Evan, Harper’s older brother?

“If you decide to sell . . .” Beth said again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You want to list it.”

“Of course I’d love it! But only if you want to—”

“I’ll think about it.” Harper cut her off, suddenly weary, her headache pounding, her shoulder beginning to ache.

“Do. If you decide, I’ll look around and give you a fair assessment.

The only private island on the lake! And it’s yours!

” she gushed. “Well, until it isn’t. Until you sell it and make an absolute fortune!

” She was beaming. “I’d like to look around, check out the bedrooms and garage and—” She stopped short, must’ve read the censure in Harper’s eyes.

“And you’re tired.” Though Harper hadn’t said a word, Beth held up her hands, palms out, in mock surrender.

“Sorry. I got carried away. I’ve always loved this island, you know.

Envied you for being able to live here. In your own private Eden. ”

How ironic. Harper had always felt isolated on this side of the lake, had wanted to be a part of the crowd on the south shore.

Beth noticed the telescope, bent down, and adjusted the focus. “Oh wow,” she said. “What a view. You can see everything going on in the lake from up here and . . .” Her voice drifted away. “And the houses on Fox Point.” She moved the telescope slowly.

“I know.”

“I guess I never realized how much you all could see from here . . . The point is kind of sheltered, except . . .” She let out a whistle.

“Holy Mother Mary, you can see right into our bedrooms and bathrooms and . . .” She straightened, her eyes troubled.

“I guess we should all pull our shades, or else you could become a Peeping Tom.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Or a Peeping Thomasina!”

“Yeah, right.” Harper tried to sound dismissive, but Beth didn’t know the half of it. How many times had Harper stared through that very telescope hoping for even a quick glimpse of Chase?

How pathetic it seemed now.