Page 47 of It Happened on the Lake

W indshield wipers swiping at the thickening mist, Levi turned off the county road and drove into the long, tree-lined drive of Serenity Acres.

Last April, the cherry trees had been gorgeous, blooming pink, a bright spot on somber spring days, but now, with winter soon arriving, the branches were shedding their leaves, looking barren and bleak, a reflection of his own feelings.

He wanted answers, and he wanted them now. How the hell had his mother gotten out of the facility and ended up in the middle of Lake Twilight with the means to set herself afire?

Even now, his stomach churned at the thought of it.

But he had to know what had set her off.

Couldn’t stand the unanswered questions.

He’d always been this way. Had never been able to let things lie.

His mother had called him “curious.” To which his father had replied, “He’s goddamned nosy if you ask me.

Remember the old saying about curiosity killing the cat?

” With that he’d skewered his son with a hard glare.

“So, Levi, you keep your nose clean and out of other people’s business. ”

Well, screw that.

Especially now, he thought as the facility came into view, a huge structure sprawling over gentle hills, parking lot to one side, sloping lawn on the other.

Then there was the matter of Harper. He believed that somehow suspecting Harper was returning to Almsville had exacerbated his mother’s mental state and pushed her into the chasm of insanity.

Not that Cynthia hadn’t been teetering on the brink for years.

But something had propelled her to find her way to the middle of Lake Twilight with family photo albums, a can of gasoline, and a book of matches.

But how the hell had she gotten to the lake in the first place? How had she known about Harper. Had she known?

He parked in the near-empty lot, where only a few cars and trucks were scattered. He cut the engine, noting that a large white van was leaving as another sedan pulled into the lot, a dark Toyota.

People coming and going, visiting loved ones, some of whom were shut-ins.

He climbed out of his Fairlane, locked it, and pocketed his keys. Turning his collar to what was becoming a steady drizzle, he jogged to the front door and walked into the reception area with its pale blue walls, industrial-grade carpet, and potted palms.

“Mr. Hunt!” Patty, the petite receptionist, greeted him from behind a massive desk.

She had a wild mane of permed brown hair and wore oversized glasses.

Behind her, a large poster decorated with smiling jack-o’-lanterns invited residents and family to a Halloween social promising hot apple cider, donuts, a raffle, and “fun for all.”

No thanks.

Not that he had any connection to the place any longer.

“I’m, um, terribly sorry for your loss,” Patty was saying. “Your mom was a sweetie.”

Doubting that anyone here would think his often sarcastic mother was sweet, he nodded and paused at the desk. “I’ve got a meeting with Allison.”

“Yes, I know.” Patty was nodding rapidly, her mountain of brown hair barely moving. “Sign in.” She pointed to the clipboard on the desk. “She’s expecting you. It’ll be just a sec. She’s with someone—”

At that moment the door to Allison Gray’s office opened, and Rand Watkins strode out. He was beelining for the doors but stopped at the sight of Levi. “Hey.”

Levi nodded. He’d been friends with Rand years before, if you could call it a friendship, but they hadn’t been around each other for a couple of decades. Who knew what the guy was like now? He extended his hand by rote, and Rand shook it.

“You find anything out?” Levi asked. “About Mom?”

“Workin’ on it.”

“You know anything more?”

Rand’s expression showed no emotion. “Not yet.”

A non-answer. Levi said, “Keep me informed.”

“I will. We need to sit down. For your statement.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by the station later.”

“Call first. To make sure I’m there.”

“Okay.”

They locked eyes for a moment, and Levi got a hint that Rand—make that Detective Watkins—was all business.

The firmness of his handshake and the way he held Levi’s gaze suggested that Rand took his duty as a cop to the letter of the law.

Which Levi understood. He figured Rand was one of those rules-are-rules guys.

No breaking nor bending them. He expected that Rand’s world was made up of black and white, no shades of gray.

The law was the law. There were good guys and bad guys.

Right now Rand hadn’t decided on which side of the dividing line to place Levi.

Friendships in high school, loose as they were when you were the younger brother of a best bro, didn’t figure in.

But that worked two ways. Rand had been close to Chase, closer than anyone, and Levi had always suspected that Rand knew more about his brother’s disappearance than anyone else. It just so happened to coincide with Rand shipping out to Vietnam, so . . .

He told himself to let it go.

Rand was a cop now.

Trustworthy.

Sworn to protect and serve.

But beneath it all, he was still just a man.

And everyone had secrets, even a decorated war vet who’d become an officer of the law.

“See ya around,” Rand said and was through the door.

Levi didn’t bother signing in but walked through the still-open door and found Allison Gray behind her wide desk, just picking up the receiver of her phone. She glanced up sharply as he arrived.

For a second panic rose in her eyes, but it was quickly disguised.

“Oh.” She dropped the receiver into its cradle and rose.

“Mr. Hunt.” With sharp features, wispy Debbie Harry hair, and bright red lips, she forced a smile as she stood and offered her hand.

“So good to see you, even though I know this is a hard time for your family. I’m so, so sorry for your loss.

Cynthia was . . . was a character, a fixture around here if you will, and we all loved her. ”

At least Allison didn’t call his mother a “sweetie.” Still, this was all corporate cover-your-ass bullshit.

He took her hand for a brief second but then didn’t mince words. “I just want to know how the hell she got out of here—walked right out and no one seemed to notice.”

Her confidence faltered for a heartbeat, but she found it again. “Please, have a seat.” She motioned to the two chairs facing her desk. “I have to be honest with you—”

In his world those words were usually a hedge if not an out-and-out lie.

“—we’re not really certain how she was able to leave undetected. But we’re working on it.”

“It’s your job to know.”

“Of course, and as I said, we’re launching our own internal investigation to find out how to prevent—”

“My mother died,” he said flatly. “As the result of your incompetence—”

“Sometimes, if a resident is determined to leave, it’s impossible to deter them,” she interrupted, cutting off his threat.

“This place is supposed to be secure.” He wasn’t backing down. Not an inch.

Allison tensed visibly. Her practiced smile tightened. “As you know, and as it’s spelled out in the contract you signed, Serenity Acres is not a lockdown facility.”

“It should be! I was led to believe—”

“As I was saying, our policies are written into our contract,” she said, her chin notching up a fraction.

“Now, as I said, I’m deeply sorry for your loss, Mr. Hunt.

If you could be so kind as to take your mother’s personal belongings, say, by sometime tomorrow? I’ll have all of the paperwork ready.”

“Don’t the police have to go through her room?”

“That’s happening as we speak.” Her smile was brittle. “I’ve asked them to be quick about it, as it’s disturbing for the other residents.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, in the morning if you can manage it. We’re a very sought-after facility, and we have a waiting list for our units. So, the sooner you can arrange to take her things, the better.” She scraped together a few loose pages on her desk.

“Really? Is that all you can say when a woman died on your watch—that you need to turn over the room?” he asked, and when she didn’t respond, he realized that Allison Gray dealt with death on a monthly or often weekly basis. One way or another, this was the last stop for a lot of people.

But not under conditions like this.

“I would hate to have to charge her estate for another month,” she said firmly.

“My mother died a horrible, grisly death.”

“Yes. I’m aware. It’s awful. As I said, my condolences.

” She managed a quick, insincere smile as she slipped the pages into an envelope and handed the packet to him.

“Please bring these back with you when you clean out her belongings.” Her icy smile was back in place.

“And again, Mr. Hunt, I’m truly sorry for your loss. ”

“As you’ve said a couple of times.”

“Yes, well. Your mother was—”

He didn’t hear the rest. Didn’t want to. No amount of platitudes would suffice. And if they charged him for another month’s services, so be it. He’d take his own damned time.

In the reception area again, he turned away from the exit and reception desk, passing by the wide dining room with its plastic-covered chairs situated around an array of tables.

The dining area opened to a veranda. Through the glass doors was a calming view of the well-kept lawn and trees with bird feeders swinging in the breeze.

Two elderly women, one of them in a wheelchair, were deep in conversation near a huge coffee urn.

He wondered if they’d known his mother but left them to their conversation as he entered Hallway C and ignored the faint smell of pine cleaner as he walked to room C-112.

His mother’s name was listed on a placard on the door: Mrs. Cynthia Hunt.

Above the placard someone had hung two decorative ears of Indian corn, dry husk open, colorful kernels exposed. A nod to the season.