Page 216 of It Happened on the Lake

Chelle eyed the place. “Could use a little TLC,” she observed. “The attic access is on the outside, right?”

“Yeah, the west end. Near the woods.” Conveniently out of sight of the neighbors.

He followed her to the narrow side yard where stairs ran up the exterior. He’d noticed them as a kid when he’d ridden his bike or hiked up the deer trails, but he’d never thought much about the rickety steps.

Until now.

Chelle was already halfway up when Rand spotted the orange Pinto rattling down the street to pull into the driveway. So much for getting something done before they arrived.

Lynette climbed out of the driver’s side door, but Camille, hair no longer in rollers but styled into a helmet, was positioned in the passenger seat and didn’t try to get out of the car. “Mom wouldn’t let me come alone,” Lynette explained as she walked up to Rand, who was standing at the corner of the house. “It’s like she doesn’t trust me. She seems to expect that I would sell the place out from under her.”

“Why don’t you pull up to the end of the street so she can watch what we’re doing?” he suggested.

She eyed the ax and crowbar. “Try not to destroy the door,” she warned. “Mom would have a fit, and I really don’t want to buy a new one.”

“Got it.”

As she went back to the car, he mounted the steps. On the small landing Chelle was already attempting to open the door with the key, which when inserted turned, but the door didn’t budge. She gave it a push with her shoulder, but still it remained. “Damn, they’re right,” she said with a sigh.

“Let’s try this,” he said, setting down the tool box and ax and hefting the crowbar. “Stand back.” She took three steps down as the Pinto cruised to a stop at the end of the street.

Rand used the crowbar, wedging it between the door and frame. He applied all his weight and strength to it. It held for a second, then with a loud creak, the door gave. Nails popped. Bits of the door splintered. “We’re in,” he said. He pushed the door open wider and was hit by a wave of musty-smelling air. Leaving his tools on the small landing, he hunched slightly to get through the door. Inside he hit the switch at the side of the door, and the single dangling bulb flashed and then sizzled, the only illumination coming through a round window cut into the angle of the room.

“Got it,” Chelle said, turning on her flashlight, sweeping its beam over the interior as she followed him inside. “What is this place? A crash pad?” The beam crawled over a mattress on the floor, stuffing blooming from it, a layer of dust and grime everywhere.

“And an observation post. Shine the light over here, under the window.”

She did and exposed a long desk running beneath the grimy window, a telescope positioned near the nearly opaque glass. Two other sets of binoculars were close at hand, along with half-filled ashtrays and a lava lamp, which Rand turned on, a weak light emitting from its conical shape. Cameras and video equipment, circa 1965, microphones and transmitters littered the desk. Night vision goggles and scopes were tucked nearby. A lot of the equipment appeared to be military issue, technology developed during the war.

He remembered.

“It’s a time capsule,” Chelle observed.

She was right.

The lava lamp was heating and oil blobs started to rise and fall within, casting the attic in a weird blue light. Chelle bent over the telescope and peered through the eyepiece. “Weird,” she whispered, adjusting the focus.

“What?”

“This is trained on the house on the island across the lake. Fixed in this position.”

“Really?”

“Like it was left that way.”

“For twenty years?” Rand asked.

“If what the Musgraves say is true.” She scanned the sloped roof and bare beams where spiderwebs and bees’ nests were in evidence. “It sure doesn’t look like anyone’s been up here. Just rats and yellow jackets and spiders.”

“You’re right,” he said. “Let me take a look.”

She stepped aside, and he leaned over to stare through the telescope. The magnification was powerful and indeed focused across the lake to Dixon Island. Through the lens he viewed the entire island, including the boathouse, dock, tram, and mansion. Or, intensifying the magnification, he was able to stare into individual rooms, with enough clarity as to make out the bottles in the liquor cabinet, some old doll on a divan, and a crucifix on the wall.

He froze as Harper passed by the window. She glanced outside, and she seemed to be staring straight at him, so visible that he saw the lingering discoloration on her face, the red area on her chin where there had once been stitches.

Harper blinked, her blue eyes intelligent and searching. He felt a tightening in his chest. Then, as if she’d heard something behind her, she turned quickly and disappeared from the viewfinder.

“You done being a voyeur?” Chelle prodded as Rand straightened from the telescope in the Musgraves’ attic. She was smiling. “And you claim you don’t have a thing for her.”