Page 32 of It Happened on the Lake

She couldn’t help but lean down and train the telescope in the direction of the Alexanders.

They were seated around the table, the three of them in the nook off the kitchen.

Nothing going on there. And the Hunts’ place was dark.

She moved the telescope again to focus on the Watkins’ A-frame.

The lights were on, shining brightly from the peak of the windows at the top of the A-frame and down the back side to the floor below to the bank of windows that illuminated the kitchen area and part of the living room.

She wondered if Rand was home, and just as she did, she saw the top of his head and then his body as he climbed the stairs into the loft.

He’d pushed a desk up to the glass, so that he could sit and stare out at the water, and though he didn’t know it, he was facing her as well.

His features seemed less harsh in the soft glow of the desk lamp, and she observed the brush of his eyelashes against his cheek as he opened an accordion file folder that seemed ancient.

Slowly, he pulled out a sheaf of papers tucked inside.

The pages were yellowed, obviously very old.

“What’re you up to?” she whispered, watching the man who had questioned her at the police station, the detective who had once sworn he hated the fact that his dad was a cop, the one person she suspected of knowing what really happened to Chase Hunt.

How ironic.

As she viewed him, she saw Rand frown and sit on a corner of his desk as he began to read, and she watched him sort through the pages slowly, his eyes scanning the yellowed sheets.

Funny, she’d never noticed his eyelashes before, though earlier today she’d been reminded that his eyes were golden brown, his cheekbones as sharp as they’d been in his youth, only his jaw darker from beard shadow.

Also he bore a tiny scar above his eyebrow that she was certain he hadn’t had in high school.

There had been a time in junior high when she’d been teased mercilessly that he had a crush on her. They’d even shared a kiss, compliments of a taboo game of Spin the Bottle at a seventh-grade party. Her first kiss. Maybe his, too. She didn’t know. Didn’t care.

A smile touched the corner of her mouth as she focused and caught sight of the newspaper clipping he’d been reading, holding up to his face.

As he spun in his chair, she was able to barely make out the headline over his shoulder.

Then he tacked the article to a bulletin board, and she could see the headline clearly. although she remembered it.

TEEN GIRL SUSPECTED IN GRANDMOTHER’S DEATH .

She gasped, her heart turning to stone. “You son of a bitch,” she muttered, all kind memories of Rand Watkins withering quickly. There were other articles and notes tacked to the board, most of which she could read due to the intense magnification of the telescope.

He rotated back to the desk and glanced up then, to look out the window as he ran a hand through his black hair.

His eyes narrowed, and she wondered if he could see her through the panes and across the distance, but she doubted it.

She didn’t think he was focusing on anything nearby, anything real.

No, he seemed caught up in his thoughts, staring into the middle distance but searching inwardly, possibly returning to the night when his best friend vanished and the only person he could blame was Harper.

Angry, she backed away from the window and told herself to let it go. Rand was only doing his job.

“Really?” she asked aloud, then forced herself to turn away.

The events playing out on the other side of the lake were already plaguing her thoughts.

She couldn’t quite forget that Rand appeared to be investigating her, and Craig Alexander was doing what?

Hiding a weapon he didn’t want his family to find?

Planting evidence of some crime in the Hunt house?

Returning a gun he’d stolen or been given?

And what about Levi?

Hadn’t Beth said he might be moving back to the house on the lake? She knew so little about him. Only what he’d divulged when he’d come to the hospital. The truth was she hadn’t kept up with him, had thought it for the best.

But she’d probably been wrong about that, just as she’d been wrong about so many things.

“Get out of the past,” she told herself. She needed to leave the telescopes and binoculars and such alone.

She wasn’t a voyeur, for God’s sake!

She spent the next few hours finishing another couple of drinks while unpacking, making lists of things she needed, and searching for the elusive cat, which was nearly impossible.

There were so many hiding spots, nooks and crannies, attics and basements, three staircases, the turret and apartment over the garage.

Then there was the island itself with its myriad of paths crisscrossing through overgrown landscaping and towering fir trees.

Not to mention the boathouse, tram, and dock.

She could hunt for the elusive feline from here to eternity and never find him.

Though she didn’t like it, if Jinx didn’t want to be found, she probably would never see him again.

That thought sat like a stone in her heart, and no matter how many times she admonished herself to “buck up,” as Gram had often told her, she was still worried.

She went to the kitchen where she opened a can of tuna and added the flakes of fish to Jinx’s bowl as extra enticement for the cat to reappear.

But no amount of searching, calling, and coaxing could convince the sly feline to show himself. For now, she gave up and concentrated on unpacking the car.

Harper brought the last load inside, adding to the pile at the base of the back staircase. Once the car was unloaded, she took several trips up and down the stairs with her suitcases.

On the last trip down the stairs for her sleeping bag and pillow, she considered a final nightcap.

Why not? It had been a long, nerve-wracking day.

“Just one,” she said and sipped the drink while slowly walking through the rooms, hoping to get a glimpse of Jinx, though she now believed he wasn’t inside.

Otherwise his food would have been touched.

Unless he somehow got locked into a closet or behind the door of the staircase or inside a cupboard.

But she hadn’t opened any.

No, he had to be outside. Tomorrow, when it was light, she would go on an all-out search for him, and if he didn’t come back in another day, she would start knocking on neighbors’ doors.

She looked out the window, willing him to be on the terrace, but there was nothing but the dark, cloud-covered night, not a star visible, the lake a wide, black expanse, the houses on the far shore looking distant.

The old timbers creaked, and she felt a little shiver.

She wasn’t afraid of being alone. Never had been. And the dark didn’t frighten her. This house, massive as it was, with all its dark corners, myriad of rooms, and winding staircases had never felt foreboding or unwelcoming, but tonight it seemed cold. Unnerving.

Maybe it was because she was on her own for the first time in her life.

Her separation and divorce from Joel had transpired over the last two years, the final papers signed just last July after she’d visited him at his home in Bend with the thought that they might give the marriage one more try.

It hadn’t worked out, and she had the pain in her hip to remind her of that fact.

Then, just last month, after two years at a junior college in California, Dawn had transferred to the University of Oregon in Eugene, the very college Chase had attended two decades earlier.

So she was alone.

In this huge house with all of its ghosts.

“Memories,” she reminded herself. “Not ghosts.” She closed her eyes for a second and gathered herself, then decided she could use another drink. She ended up restraining herself. No reason to get wasted, right?

As she capped the decanter, she wondered if she could ever really live here again.

All by herself?

In this huge mansion?

She would have to hire housekeepers and gardeners just to maintain the place.

It seemed beyond ridiculous.

So why not sell? She could rebuild the cottage.

It all sounded overwhelming tonight.

Better to tackle it in the morning, as she was tired, the drink hitting her a little harder than expected, and she wasn’t in any condition to make life-changing plans.

“Tomorrow,” she told herself and headed upstairs, nearly stumbling over one of the dolls propped near the lowest step.

She almost kicked the baby doll with its curly brown hair and outstretched arms out of the way, but she thought better of it when she recognized Toodles.

She remembered Gram had told her how special the doll was.

“I bought this one because it reminded me of you,” she said once, when Harper was about six. Delighted, Gram pointed out the plump doll’s features. “See here, she’s got brown hair and blue eyes, just like you.”

Now Harper looked the doll over. “I don’t see the resemblance,” she admitted, then plopped Toodles down on a side table between a Tiffany lamp and a heavy glass ashtray. “Stay,” she said, before starting up the stairs and wincing at the pain in her hip.

It would have been far easier to camp out in Gram’s room, but no way could she sleep in the bed in which her grandmother had breathed her last. In her mind’s eye, she saw her grandmother as she had been that last night, pasty-skinned and unmoving. Lifeless. Nope, that was way too disturbing.

Yet curling up in the room where her mother had grown up wasn’t exactly calming. Harper wondered if she should settle into one of the guest rooms on the second floor. But those rooms, too, held their own particular ghosts. “Let it go.”