Page 59 of It Happened on the Lake

F orget the historical society.

Forget any other place that might want the dolls for donations.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” Harper muttered as she dropped the trio of dolls she’d found in Gram’s room right into the garbage can in the garage.

Maude and Toodles, lumped together. Of course, there were lots more dolls throughout the house. Tons of them. Harper planned to round them up and dump them, too. But for now, at least the worst of the lot were out there.

Until they crawl back in the middle of the night.

“Nope,” Harper said aloud. She wasn’t going there.

The garbage would be picked up tomorrow. She’d already confirmed that when she’d made her calls to the utilities.

Who was behind the stupid prank?

And why?

Someone was obviously trying to scare her off.

Names ran through her head as she breathed in the pre-dawn air, so cold her breath was visible.

Lou Arista, the sleazy attorney Gram had hired, wanted her to sell.

He might be worried about a lawsuit against him for the way he’d handled Harper’s trust. But the childish antics with the doll were beneath him. And he no longer had a key.

Then there was her ex-husband. He’d always talked about her inheritance and how she could sell the house for a fortune. “Not a small fortune, mind you,” he’d advised on more than one occasion. But he was out of the picture. And again, without a key.

What about the people who lived across the lake on Fox Point? They were the only people who were connected to her or the island. Taking off her jacket, she forced herself to calm down. The thought of a drink sifted through her mind, but she resisted. Good God, it wasn’t even eight in the morning.

Just to be certain she was alone, she grabbed a butcher knife from the block on the kitchen counter, then searched the house top to bottom, as best she could.

She found no one hiding in the closets or cowering in the shadows.

She checked the doors as her grandmother had taught her, the whole points of the star routine, and found all entrances buttoned up and locked.

But someone had gotten in.

Someone evil had broken through Gram’s feeble line of defense.

Nonetheless, she believed she was alone despite the ever-present feeling of hidden eyes watching her. How could she ever be certain? There were just so many nooks, crannies, entrances, and staircases in this old Victorian. And some lowlife had found access.

Nonetheless, for the moment, she told herself she was alone, that the intruder, whoever he was, had gone, that all her lingering fears were only manifested in her head.

For now.

She thought about Jinx again, still had his collar in her pocket, but tried to push her worries about him aside for the moment.

As she walked into the parlor, she picked up the pair of field glasses she’d left on a side table, then peered through the lenses.

The sky was beginning to pale.

Across the lake one window in the Sievers’ bungalow was lit, a small upper window, possibly a bathroom. The rest of the house was dark, unlike it had been years before with all the security lamps. But no one there had any interest in gaslighting her.

Next door was the Watkins’ A-frame. A few lights glowed.

She couldn’t help but wonder about Rand with his hard jaw, keen eyes, and military bearing.

She had a feeling he didn’t miss much, that he was suspicious by nature.

He was far harder-edged than she remembered him, any hint of boyishness long eroded by time and experience and yet, as in the past, she found him much more layered than Chase had been. Or Joel, for that matter.

Now he was a police detective, had almost literally stepped into his father’s hated shoes, and, it seemed, was a detective looking to solve a cold case or two.

But even if he was digging into the past—her past—why would he stoop to such childish/terrorizing tactics of defacing dolls and using them to menace her? What would be the point?

Unless he knew more about Chase’s disappearance than he’d ever let on?

Unless he thought she might somehow blow his cover?

Maybe he wasn’t digging through the past looking for answers.

Maybe he wasn’t digging at all, just shifting the sands, covering up.

But did that make any sense? She didn’t think so. And knowing Rand, she couldn’t believe he was behind any of this. No, scratch him off the suspect list.

Also, how would he get in?

He’d never had a key that she knew of, and even if he did, it wouldn’t work now.

Sipping from her cup, she saw him walk through his kitchen in boxer shorts and battered T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders.

He was muscled and fit, as if he kept to a regular exercise regimen.

She saw him drink what appeared to be a glass of water, then disappear.

The bedroom light switched on, but the shades were drawn and she had no idea what he was doing.

A minute later she saw him again, in a sweatshirt and running shorts.

He retrieved a rain jacket, slipped into it, and then was out of sight again.

Running?

Probably.

Maybe changing up his routine from the stationary bike to a jog?

But who cared?

The point was that there was no reason she could think of that he would try some parlor trick to get her to leave.

She wondered about him as she turned her attention to the Hunts’ cottage. Now dark.

Was there a reason Levi would want Harper to leave? Did he blame her for Cynthia’s death and all the other tragedies that his family had endured?

But the dolls? Nah. Wasn’t his style. She and he had been friends a long, long time ago, and she couldn’t imagine that boy stooping to sneaking into her house and messing with the stupid dolls. To scare her? To punish her?

No, she didn’t believe it.

He’s no longer a boy now but a man.

A man who has reasons to distrust her.

A man who could have blamed her for so many things.

A man who has more reason than you might know to want her far, far away.

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening on the cup as she thought back to the nights she’d used him. Betrayed him. How she’d known that he was in love with her and how wickedly delicious that knowledge had been at eighteen. How she’d used it. How she’d used him.

She bit her lip and felt more than one jab of guilt.

Don’t go there. Don’t even think about it. That was all long, long ago. Think about the here and now.

She blinked at an unexpected burn of tears. As if regrets now could change anything. As she looked through the lenses, across the calm water, she asked herself how, even if he wanted to, would he have access to the inside of this monster of a house?

It was locked.

But he might have a key, right? Didn’t you slip one to Chase when you were so crazy about him? Didn’t you take it off Gram’s key chain and later that night, when you were alone on the dock with him, offer it up? Didn’t he willingly take it?

She felt her color rise. She’d never gotten the key back from Chase, didn’t know what he’d done with it.

And then he’d disappeared.

But back to square one, she reminded herself. The key she’d given Chase would no longer fit.

Unless the locksmith missed one .

What about the basement? The access from the boathouse and tunnel? And wasn’t there some kind of connecting door between the second floor and the attic over the garage?

“Damn,” she whispered. This old creaking house had more than Gram’s “points of a star,” so many almost forgotten entrances, any of which might have been accessed by an old key.

She moved her binoculars to the Alexanders’ split level. Still dark.

But what about Beth? Could she really be behind the doll desecration and—what? Cat stealing?

No. That was crazy. Harper had witnessed how she reacted to Toodles.

She’d barely been able to pick up the doll and throw it in the trash.

True, Beth had motive. Harper’s best friend from high school had always been envious, even jealous, of Harper’s family’s wealth.

She’d said so herself. And she was pushing Harper to sell the entire island and no doubt counting on what her commission might be, but still, the idea was far-fetched.

Then there was Craig.

He was the dark horse in all of this. Her father didn’t trust him; Bruce Reed had said as much in the hospital. And hadn’t Harper always had an innate aversion to him? She remembered him creeping around when she was a teen, always eyeing her from a distance.

Oh, and now you’re watching him, observing him across the lake, from afar but still doing the same thing he used to do. Only he was a horny teenager, and you’re a grown woman. And remember: He’s Beth’s husband. Get a life, Harper!

But there was the gun she’d seen him skulking around with the other night. How could that be explained?

She had no answers as she turned her attention to the end of the street. The rental house was dark and, according to Beth, unoccupied.

She set the binoculars on a nearby table and told herself she was chasing ghosts, nothing tangible.

Maybe the residents across the lake had nothing to do with what was happening here on the island. Yes, she knew some of them. And yes, any one of them could paddle across the water unnoticed, climb onto the dock or the beach, and somehow get into the house.

But there were other people who had keys.

People who had worked for Gram. Matilda Burroughs, her housekeeper who had moved to Canada soon after Gram’s death, or Martin Alexander, Craig’s father who had once been the gardener and lived on the property.

Any one of Gram’s bridge group friends, possibly, or even Harper’s father or his wife.

What about other servants as well, or repairmen who had come and gone over the years?

And what if Evan, like she, had “loaned” a key to one of his friends or girlfriends and never gotten it back? Harper knew that he’d sneaked girls into the manor. She’d seen the backside of a brunette hurrying down the back stairs one night. It had been dark, and the image was fleeting.

It happened when Harper stopped in one night while Gram was away for a “girls’ getaway” with some of her friends who had not been girls for several decades, and Harper was supposed to feed the cats one afternoon.

She’d forgotten and remembered late that night, near midnight, so she’d come over to the house and slipped in the side door by the kitchen.

She’d just reached for the cat food in the pantry when she heard quick footsteps and peered through the window to see a slim woman with long hair pass through the parlor and onto the terrace.

Evan was right behind her. He caught up with her, and they embraced before disappearing.

Seconds later she’d heard a boat’s engine cough, then start.

She’d never found out who the woman was.

It hadn’t mattered then. There were too many to keep track of.

But now she wondered if that girl, or any others, or some of Evan’s friends had a key.

It didn’t matter now.

Or did it?

Jinx’s collar heavy in her pocket, she wondered. Someone was getting in. Somehow she had to secure the place and call the locksmith back, then, this time, seal up any forgotten access points.

If she could find them all.