Page 63 of It Happened on the Lake

Just as she was about to leave the cottage, a Ford pickup flew past, Craig Alexander at the wheel. A big woolly dog was on the front seat beside him while lengths of lumber protruded beyond the bed, a red flag tied to one of the boards and flapping.

He didn’t catch sight of her as he drove across the bridge.

She followed, jogging for the first time since she’d fallen through the steps at Joel’s and feeling her hip protest in pain.

She was only halfway across the span when he parked in front of the garage.

Wearing a baseball cap, worn jeans, and a sweatshirt, he climbed out of the truck.

“Didn’t see you,” he said as she neared, then into the cab he added, “Rambo. Stay!” He shut the door, and the dog’s head appeared through the open window.

“Don’t do it,” Craig warned, then turned back to Harper.

“Rambo, here, has a tendency to jump out. But he’s a good boy.

Calm. Mainly Newfoundland.” Then he caught sight of her face and sucked in his breath.

“Beth said you’d been in the hospital after trying to rescue Cynthia.

” Thick eyebrows slammed together. “You okay?”

“Getting there.” Then she changed the subject. “Rambo?” she asked, petting the dog’s broad black head.

“Yeah, Max named him. My son. He’s seen that movie a dozen times, I bet.”

She remembered catching a glimpse of the movie poster of First Blood in Max’s room when she was looking through the telescope but, of course, kept that bit of knowledge to herself.

“Max is a big Stallone fan.”

“So is half the country. Probably more.”

Craig was nodding, but he’d quit sizing up her wounds to squint up at the house. “Beth says you need some work done.”

“A lot, I’m afraid.”

“Okay. Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it.” He nodded and squared his hat on his head. “Let’s take a look.”

He started for the front door, but she said, “First you should see the gatekeeper’s cottage. See if it’s even worth repairing. Lots of damage. I just looked it over and it’s bad, but—”

He grinned then. “My specialty.” Grabbing a clipboard from the front seat of his truck, he gave a second command for the dog to stay, then followed her back across the bridge.

All the while she thought of his nocturnal activities with the gun, then of someone breaking into her house.

Despite the fact that he was Beth’s husband, she needed to be careful around him.

He eyed the cottage as they reached it. “You probably want to save it,” he said, “since it’s where you grew up.”

“For the most part.” She and Evan spent most of their time at the lake, at the big house on the island with Gram. Rarely were they at the penthouse in Portland with Dad and his new bride, Marcia, whom he’d married less than a year after Mom died.

“A lot of the time, I lived with my grandparents.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Craig grinned again, and this time there was an edge to it—or was that her overactive imagination?

“But you’re right, I’d like to save the gatehouse if it can be salvaged. And won’t cost me an arm and a leg.”

He laughed. “The way I hear it, you have lots of body parts to spare.”

He was talking about her inheritance and thought he was being funny or clever.

Forcing a smile, she bit her tongue. Though she really wanted to argue, she let it slide.

She didn’t want to do battle with him, needed him to believe that she trusted him completely so that maybe he would open up to her.

And tell you that he had one of Gramps’s pistols and snuck it over to Cynthia Hunt’s house after she set herself on fire in the middle of the lake? Get real, Harper. He’s not that stupid.

Or is he?

“So everything is insured, right? I would think your homeowners would cover some of the damage. But man, who the hell was in charge?”

“Attorneys handled it,” she told him, remembering the slick attorney she’d met on her last trip to Oregon. “A Portland law firm Gram used.”

“Let the insurance company and the law firm battle it out. Someone’s responsible.” His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the exterior of the cottage. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

She walked him through the cottage, and flashlight in hand, he poked around, looking into cabinets, testing the electrical panel, trying to turn on the water, checking the furnace, and eyeing the rooms. He even checked the attic, using an old chair he dragged from the kitchen up the stairs to hoist himself up.

“Lots of water damage,” he said, hauling the chair down the uneven steps again.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He scratched the beard stubble on his cheek as he took one final look around.

“It’s a big job. I’ll run the numbers, get together some estimates from the subs.

So don’t panic if you see a plumbing or roofing or electrician’s truck parked out front.

” He paused for a second. “Listen, I’m not going to bullshit you, Harper.

This will take a lot,” he said, replacing the chair in the kitchen and eyeing the wood-soaked paneling.

“You know, I remember being here. With your brother.” Lifting his cap and running his hands through his hair, he shook his head. “Man, that was a long time ago.”

He seemed caught up in a memory, so she said, “You were friends with Evan?”

“Well, yeah. Kinda. You remember. Right? We hung out as kids when Dad and me lived over your garage. Evan and me, we got along but we weren’t real buds, if that’s what you mean. Not like he was with Chase and Rand.”

“So, do you still have a key for the attic?”

“What?”

“Since you lived here.”

“Nah.” He shook his head and stared at her. “Maybe my old man still does, but I doubt it. It’s been years.” His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just trying to round up any that Gram may have left.”

He shrugged. “I’ll ask Dad.”

She wanted to ask more questions, a lot more, but she didn’t know exactly how to dig further without coming right out and asking about the gun.

And the way he cocked his head, as if sizing her up, gave her pause.

She either had to be up front and tell him what she saw or keep quiet and wait, rather than tip him off that she’d been aware of his late-night venture into the Hunt house.

For now, she held her tongue as they toured the main house together and he did the same kind of inspection he’d done at the cottage—taking stock, making notes on his clipboard, asking questions about the house and grounds.

Outside at the tram, he wondered aloud if she wanted it repaired and thought maybe the same mechanic who worked on elevators might be able to fix it.

He thought all of the kitchen and laundry appliances should be replaced, and she might want the broken dumbwaiter converted to closet space on all the floors it serviced, which included the basement and up to the tower room.

“I mean, would you ever use it?” he asked, studying the service panel on the first floor.

“Yes.” It would have come in handy when she moved her equipment to the tower room, and she explained as much.

“So you’re really gonna live here? Beth says you were thinking of selling.”

“Beth is thinking I’m selling,” she clarified, and he let out a snort.

“That’s my wife, always looking for the next listing.” He eyed the furniture. “I remember this place. Looks the same. But, what, no cats?” he said as a joke, his eyes glinting.

“Only one and he’s missing. Black and white. Be on the lookout.”

“You got it.”

She led him up the stairs and told herself not to be nervous even though they were alone in the massive house. He was Beth’s husband, and his wife knew he was here.

Besides, he might not be the intruder.

Nonetheless, she was on edge as she opened the door to the tower room.

One step behind, he let out a low whistle as he surveyed the room.

“Now this is something. I can see it from our place—the tower, I mean—but I had no idea of the view.” Like his wife before him, Craig peered through the eyepiece of the telescope and slowly viewed the far shore.

“Man, you could see a flea on a dog with this thing,” he remarked.

“This was your grandfather’s room, right?

I heard about it from my old man. Never was up here myself,” he said, straightening and surveying the tufted couch in one corner.

“I think Dad referred to it as ‘Old George’s study,’ then he would wink at me and say, ‘and what he is studying, son, is the opposite sex.’”

“Is that right?”

“Uh-huh.” Craig checked the light switch, turning the overhead fixture on and off. “Dad said he’d sneak girls up here and show off this place, then, you know . . . score.”

Harper bristled. “Girls?”

“Well, they were girls to him. I think I saw one of them once. A brunette in real high heels, and he was sneaking her in.” Craig was nodding as he watched the light flicker off and on.

“She wasn’t a girl to me. Probably in her early twenties.

” Moving on from the switch, he added, “But definitely a lot younger than him.” He smiled then, almost a leer.

“I say, more power to him. If the old guy could still get it up . . . well, sorry.” He held up his hands, palms out.

“Nothing you want to hear.” Then he gestured to the room as a whole. “But this place is awesome, you know.”

She did know, and though he offered her a self-deprecating smile, she wasn’t put at ease.

No. She was still on edge, reminded of the unnerving message scrawled on the dolls and the fact that she’d thought she’d heard someone in the house before discovering Maude in the bathroom.

Not only had she witnessed Craig skulking around at night, seemingly behind his wife’s back, but also he lived just across the lake and had access to the island.

Having lived on this property, he knew this place like the back of his hand.

But what would be his game? She had no answer but couldn’t help being nervous. Edgy.

Just ask him! See his reaction. Why the hell not?

But she waited, hoping he would trip himself up.