Page 58 of It Happened on the Lake

Harper started to put the binoculars down, then talked herself out of it. Adjusting the focus, she observed Craig scoop his bag from the front hallway floor and then start up the stairs. He opened the bedroom door, his silhouette visible because of the hall light filtering up the staircase.

A bedside light turned on. Beth’s doing.

She levered herself up on an elbow and yawned.

Craig said something to her from the doorway, then walked to the bed.

Stretching, her hair mussed, Beth acted as if she’d been asleep for hours.

Craig pulled off his T-shirt and stepped out of his jeans before sliding under the covers.

Don’t watch! Don’t be like your grandfather. These people deserve their privacy .

Still, she stood at the window, binoculars glued to her face.

They kissed, Beth’s arms wrapping around Craig’s neck as he rolled atop her.

Finally Harper walked away from the window and realized she was still holding onto the doll.

The doll that she’d found on the sofa.

Not on the side table by the Tiffany lamp. Where she’d left it a few days ago.

Hadn’t she seen it, still propped against the lamp just last evening, after the cleaning women had been in the house? They hadn’t moved it.

Or had they?

The hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning. Something was wrong here. Or maybe she was mistaken. A lot of people had been in and out of the house in the days since she’d nearly stumbled over the damned doll. Someone could have moved it and she hadn’t noticed.

But she thought back to the night before, when she’d sat on the sofa with a glass of wine and a paperback she hadn’t been able to get into. She hadn’t had to move the doll. It hadn’t been there.

So Toodles had to have been moved after the locksmith had been inside and changed the locks.

But that couldn’t be.

She tried to think, to come up with a different scenario, but couldn’t.

And then she lifted Toodles’s pink gingham dress. There on the white gathered panties were three red letters: ICU . Worse yet, when she lifted the dress, she’d realized there was something hung around the doll’s neck. A necklace of sorts.

Something hidden by her clothes.

Something coldly familiar.

Her heart stopped for a beat as she saw the silver disc, engraved with the name Jinx .

She bit back a scream.

Toodles was wearing Jinx’s collar?

Her blood turned to ice.

Fear curdled her stomach as she turned quickly around in the room, her heart in her throat, barely able to breathe. Her heart was drumming as fast as a hummingbird’s wings and she had to fight the swell of panic rising within her.

Someone had Jinx?

And they were toying with her?

Taunting her?

Playing into her worst fears?

Who?

Why?

Frantically she eyed the room, looking for she didn’t know what. A clue as to who was behind this sick little joke? A reason to believe that Jinx was still alive?

“Oh God,” she whispered and realized she was still holding the offensive doll, the one Gram had said looked like Harper as a child.

Her skin crawled from touching it, but she removed Jinx’s collar and stuffed it into her pocket.

Then she carried Toodles into the kitchen and the trash bin.

She stomped on the pedal to open the lid and expected to see Maude staring up at her.

The can was empty.

A new frisson of fear swept up her spine. And she looked around sharply, as if the doll were somewhere else in the kitchen, staring down at her. Mocking her.

That was impossible, and she saw no evidence of Maude.

Anywhere.

Then she remembered the cleaning people.

They’d taken out the trash, doll and all.

“Calm down,” she told herself as she turned on the exterior lights.

“Don’t give into them. They’re playing mind games, that’s all.

Games you can win.” Despite her verbal bolstering, she wasn’t sure of her chances of winning against this hidden, maleficent enemy and fear was very much her companion.

“Get a grip,” she reminded herself. Whoever was behind these parlor tricks was a twisted individual and a coward, hiding in the shadows, watching from afar.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of cowering, but oh, oh, oh, she was worried sick about Jinx.

Surely whoever had him, if they did, wouldn’t hurt him.

So far, the loser who had done this to her had just tried to scare and intimidate her.

But she couldn’t trust he wouldn’t escalate.

Shakily she turned on the exterior lights, then walked outside to the cool morning, dawn still not breaking. She went to the large cans by the garage and opened one. Junk and dirt was piled high, but she didn’t see the missing doll. Nor was Maude in the second can.

Well, too bad. She dropped Toodles into the trash and said, “Sorry, Gram,” as if her grandmother could see her and was silently scolding her. Then, still extremely unnerved, she went inside, her eyes sweeping the ground for any sign of the cat, or an intruder.

Of course she saw nothing.

“Great,” she muttered, then went to the garage, found her grandfather’s tool kit, dug through it, and, as luck would have it, found two hook and eye latches.

They weren’t all that strong but offered some security for now, since she hadn’t thought to have the locksmith install a lock on her bedroom door.

She carried the tool kit up the stairs to the third floor and, using hammer, screwdriver, screws, and nails, fastened the latches to her door and frame.

It wouldn’t keep a serious intruder out.

But it might buy her some time.

This was crazy.

Someone was playing with her.

Trying to frighten her.

But who?

And why?

By the time she replaced the toolbox in the garage, dawn was crawling across the eastern sky.

Inside the locked house, she reheated a cup of coffee in the old Radarange and tried to keep her mind from spinning with questions she couldn’t answer.

She did think about calling the police, but again, what could she say?

Someone was sneaking into her house just to scare her?

That didn’t make any sense.

Yes, they had left a weird message on the dolls and possibly stolen her cat, just to taunt her? Would the police even care?

Certainly they would think that whoever was doing this wasn’t seriously dangerous.

Yet.

Otherwise she would be dead or maimed and back in the hospital. It was almost as if some ghost of the past was trying to intimidate her, wanting her to leave.

Except she didn’t believe in such nonsense.

“This isn’t Amityville,” she reminded herself as she carried her cup into the parlor and then, noticing that the door to Gram’s bedroom was ajar, she went to close it. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the bed.

There, wedged perfectly between Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, sat Maude.