Page 52 of It Happened on the Lake

B eth was looking at the items in Harper’s closet. “You really think Levi wants this stuff?” Beth asked. “Chase’s class ring and jacket?”

“Maybe the necklace.” Harper offered Beth a weak smile. “I’ll find out.”

“Well, okay. But if everything, including the necklace, were gifts?” She lifted a padded shoulder. “I don’t know if they need to be returned. I mean, the only one left in the family is Levi, right? And he doesn’t have any kids—no son or daughter—that we know of, so maybe you don’t need to bother.”

“I’ll check anyway,” Harper said, thinking it better to leave Levi’s family situation out of the conversation.

Beth frowned. “If I were you, I’d keep the diamond—well, all the stuff—but then I’m not an heiress.

” There was a bit of a bite to her words, a little sting that Harper had felt throughout the years, not just from Beth but others who had envied her family’s fortune.

It always made her uncomfortable, but today she decided not to dwell on it.

Beth was already walking into the next room, the bedroom once occupied by her brother.

Evan’s things were just as he’d left them, neither Gram nor Harper having had the heart to get rid of his slingshot, records, books, skateboard, and baseball mitt, the twin beds still covered in matching nautical-themed quilts.

All, like everything else, dusty from years of neglect.

Even bubbly Beth quieted when she walked through a room filled with the long-forgotten possessions a teenaged boy would covet, including his beat-up Converse high-tops and a hunting jacket that still held bullets in its pockets.

A .22 rifle was propped against the wall of his closet, a Bowie knife on the shelf above.

“Wow, this is like a time capsule,” Beth whispered, running her finger along the dusty edge of the bureau as she looked at a bulletin board where ticket stubs for concerts and events from the sixties were displayed.

She eyed the stubs. “Geez, I don’t remember most of these bands, but he saw the Beatles and the Stones? ”

“Yeah.”

“I would have killed to see them,” she said. “I was so into the British bands at the time. What a trip.” Then she stepped away from the board. “All of this, though, as cool as it might be, has to be cleaned out.”

“Eventually.”

Beth eyed the room quickly and turned toward the hall. “Let’s get out of here. What’s upstairs? I forget.”

The third floor was similar to the garret over the garage, once a living space for servants, now an attic filled with junk, aside from the turret room—her room—which Beth observed with a jaundiced eye.

“The door needs rehanging,” she said.

“I know.”

“And not to be sacrilegious, but the crucifix, this one and, well, all of them have to go.” Then hearing herself, she said, “Well, maybe one or two can stay, but the rest should be donated.”

“With the dolls?”

“Wherever. Just . . . well, at least packed away if you want to keep them.”

“I don’t. Got it.”

“Good. You’re gonna need help. This is a huge place, and there’s so much to be done.

Even with Craig doing the repairs, the clean-up is going to be massive.

Look, I know a couple of women who do this kind of thing—under the table, mind you, so cash only—but they could put this place in order, wash linens and dishes, and mop floors, shampoo carpets, and even tackle most of the windows.

Whatever you want as long as you keep it on the down low, if you know what I mean. ”

Harper nodded. She did need help.

“Even so, it’s going to take weeks, maybe more, and that doesn’t touch the big stuff—like plumbing, electricity, refinishing the floors, and .

. .” She let her voice trail off as she motioned to Harper’s sleeping bag.

“So this is where you’re camping out?” she asked.

“When there are all those other bigger bedrooms with larger bathrooms?”

“So far, yeah. I haven’t really settled in.”

“I guess.” Beth shrugged. “Well, to each his, er, or her own.”

“Right.”

“There’s another floor, right?” she asked, pointing toward the ceiling.

“Yeah. Well, just one room.” Harper had mixed feelings about the unique area at the top of the turret—she hated it and loved it, sometimes dreaded going up there again, other times was lured to its incredible view.

She led Beth up the narrow, curved staircase to the tower room, which her grandfather had called his “crow’s nest,” and unlocked the door with another one of Gram’s keys.

This was the place where, she knew, he did private things. Dirty things.

But George Dixon had been dead for years—twenty-three years to be exact—and yet, as she stepped into the loft area, her skin crawled and it was almost as if he were here, as if she could smell the smoke from his pungent cigars.

He’d bragged about still being able to get Cubans, though those imported cigars had been banned in the early sixties.

But he had the boxes on the bookshelf in here to prove it.

The room was circular, windows all around, which allowed for a 360-degree view of the lake. The bathroom was partitioned off near the staircase, and it, too, had a wall of windows, so that even from the shower, one could look outside.

“Oh wow,” Beth said, her breath taken away. “This . . . this is incredible. Your grandfather’s sanctuary.”

Harper was nodding, trying not to remember how Gramps would come up here, lock the door, smoke his cigars, pour a drink, and pleasure himself while looking across the water and ogling the women sunbathing.

It was more of a lair than a sanctuary.

“I didn’t like him, but this is . . . well, it’s a selling feature for sure.

What’s this—blueprint?” She unrolled large, yellowed pages with schematics of the house and outbuildings on Gramps’s desk.

“Oh wow,” she said. “Look at this. Plans for when this house was built. Check the date. 1901. How cool. You should frame them,” she said with a wink. “You know, for the new owner.”

“Right.”

“And since you’ll probably remodel, these will save you having to start from scratch.”

“I guess so.”

“I know so. I live with a contractor, remember?” Beth rolled the plans up again, then peered through the telescope.

“Holy Mother of God, with this, you can see . . . Geez, right into all of the houses on the point!” She swung the telescope left to right.

“This is even more incredible than the one downstairs. There’s the Sievers’ place.

Remember that old coot and his nasty dog?

That German Shepherd. It was always on patrol around the perimeter of his property.

You know, I wonder if there are still booby traps there?

I told you his daughter owns the place now.

A single mom, she moved in with her kids—I think they’re teenagers. ”

“Right, you did tell me. Until then, I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

“None of us did. Never really saw her before he fell and broke his hip. He ended up in an assisted care facility. The same one where Cynthia Hunt lived. Serenity Acres, the only game in town.” She was still bending over the telescope.

“And there’s the Hunts’ place. I still can’t look at it without thinking about Cynthia. Dear Lord, what was she thinking?”

“Don’t know. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

“I guess . . .”

“Didn’t you say that Levi plans on moving back?”

“Mmhmm. Soon. Maybe this weekend? He has a studio over his business in Sellwood, but he let his lease go.”

He hadn’t mentioned that when he’d visited her in the hospital. She asked, “He told you?”

“Yeah.” Beth was still staring through the eyepiece of the powerful scope.

“Have you been there?”

“To his place?” A bit of color rose in her cheeks. “Yeah. I heard he might be interested in selling his house on the point, so I tracked him down.”

“Oh.” It seemed innocent enough, though Beth avoided her eyes, kept slowly moving the telescope.

“And is he? Interested?”

“Mmm. Who knows?”

“When he stopped by the hospital, he said he was a private eye.”

“Yeah, I think he worked for the government for a while. FBI or CIA, maybe, something like that,” she mused. “Then something happened—he got a divorce or . . . no! His wife died. That was it!”

“Died? How?”

Beth straightened away from the telescope. “I don’t know all the details, or many of them really, but he came back to the Portland area a few years back.”

“From where?”

“All around, I guess.” She shrugged. “Washington, D.C., Seattle, and somewhere in California, I think. I don’t really know.” She turned her attention back to the telescope. “This could be addictive,” she said.

Harper bit her tongue, but Beth didn’t notice, she was too enthralled by what she could see.

“This is so fantastic, you can see into Almsville. The Catholic church spire and city hall. Yep, there’s the flag.

And the water tower near East Bridge.” She was slowly moving the telescope.

“And all along the south side of the lake, the open spaces between the trees for houses and the road. Talk about a bird’s-eye view!

I mean, the view downstairs was spectacular, don’t get me wrong.

But this panorama? Wow. I had no idea.” She straightened and dusted her hands, then slowly walked around the suite, all the while looking through the grimy windows.

“Hey, there’s St. Catherine’s,” she said, and it was true, from the north side of this room one could see the hospital’s second and third stories rising on the hill over the tops of the trees.

“So . . . at night—do you see the city lights? Can you actually see Portland?”

“Just the glow from the city. The hills are in the way.”

“Doesn’t matter. This—” Beth swung her arms wide and turned slowly. “This is incredible!” Frowning, she looked at the windows. “And when the glass is cleaned—God, I can’t imagine what you can see.”

“So it’s better than the bat cave?”

“Don’t remind me.”

She peered through the telescope once more, training it on the opposite shore.

“What a view! Just look at what you can see. It’s .

. . it’s almost too clear. I mean, I can read Oster on my blender.

” Suddenly she lifted her head and backed away from the telescope.

“It’s a little creepy, if you know what I mean.

How much is visible, especially if the blinds aren’t drawn.

” She worried her glossy lip. “So you think, I mean, could maybe your grandfather have watched us? I mean, a long time ago, when he was alive, you know. When I was living there with Mom and Dad and my brothers?”

There was no reason to lie, no reputation to protect. “Yes, sometimes, I think so,” Harper had to admit. It was obvious. “He spent a lot of time up here.”

“Oh. Ick. And my bedroom . . .” Once more, the exaggerated shiver. “Do you think he watched my parents . . . you know . . . doing it?” Her expression turned to disgust.

“I don’t know,” Harper said quickly as the image of her grandfather jerking off filled her brain again.

“Look, whatever he did, it’s . . . it was a long time ago.

He’s been dead for ages.” Dear God, was she making excuses for Gramps now?

Or maybe for herself? Of course she didn’t touch herself or fantasize while looking through the lenses, but even as a teen she’d stared through binoculars and telescopes hoping for a glimpse of Chase and felt a thrill run through her blood just at the sight of him.

Stupid.

Beth leaned down and put her eye up to the telescope again.

She fiddled with the focus. “Anyone looking through this”—she tapped the metal optical tube—“could observe us and—oh God—videotape us . . . or . . . or . . . blackmail us if we were doing anything illegal.” She looked up sharply.

“Not that we are. No way. But from here you can watch us and . . . well, all of the houses on the point.”

Harper thought again about Craig and the gun. “Good thing you’re not criminals.”

“For a lot of reasons,” Beth said, peering through. “Oh, look, there’s my husband now.”

“Oh? What’s he doing?”

“Paperwork, it looks like.” She straightened suddenly. “I—I don’t want to spy on him. That’s not my thing. Lots of wives, they want to know what their guy is doing every second of the day, but that’s not the way it is with us.”

“So what is your deal?” Harper asked. “I mean, I didn’t even know you were dating, and suddenly you were married.”

“That works two ways, you know,” Beth said. “I hadn’t even heard of Joel Prescott, and then suddenly you’d eloped.”

“I was pregnant,” Harper said matter-of-factly. Why try to hide the obvious? “But you knew that.”

“I can count,” she said. “So your daughter? Is she Chase’s?”

“Joel is Dawn’s father,” Harper said firmly, not wanting to go into details. She held her friend’s gaze, and the room seemed to close in on them.

“That’s what Dawn thinks?”

“She’s never asked.”

Beth raised a knowing eyebrow. “And when she does?”

“I guess we’ll cross that bridge when it starts crumbling.”

Beth let out a low whistle.

“But what about you?” Harper asked, changing the worrisome course of the conversation. “Why Craig?”

“Because he asked,” she said, and a sadness stole over her face. “And because the boy I loved killed himself.”