Page 70 of It Happened on the Lake

“B itch.”

Cynthia’s final accusation, one hurled in agony from a burning, sinking boat, still rang in Harper’s ears.

So she decided to pour one more drink. “Why not?” Harper drained the remainder of the bottle into her glass, reminded herself to stop at the liquor store the next day, then walked up the stairs to the tower room.

She didn’t bother turning on the light but made her way to the telescope and brought her grandfather’s chair closer to it.

Ignoring the sense that she might be invading someone’s privacy, that she wasn’t much better than Gramps, she took a swallow from her glass, then bent down to look through the eyepiece.

She, as was her custom, started with the Sievers’ bungalow where lights shone from the windows.

A noise interrupted her.

Muted but audible.

A quiet footfall?

No.

But she didn’t move a muscle and listened.

Was there another—just the softest tread of a footstep?

She swung around.

Nothing.

No one.

Get over yourself.

Yet she was certain she’d heard something. She walked to the top of the stairs and looked down the dark spiral to the light from the hallway below.

No furtive shadow passed on the landing.

No blood-thirsty monster jumped out at her.

No killer appeared holding a knife or gun.

Whatever she’d heard—or thought she’d heard—was gone. She strained to listen but heard nothing but the rumble of the old furnace and the sough of the wind as it swept around the tower.

Don’t be a goose.

Yet her skin crawled, icy pimples on the backs of her arms, and she remembered the dolls, moved and desecrated.

Everything was quiet.

Still.

Maybe she’d been mistaken. Maybe what she’d heard was all her imagination.

She took another sip from her glass, told herself to calm down, then settled in her chair again, but her nerves weren’t calmed.

Despite the warmth of the liquor running through her veins, she was still edgy, her ears straining for any unfamiliar sound, her muscles tense.

Pull yourself together.

She finished her drink and poured another, then spied the telescope and decided to check things out.

Already it was pointed across the lake to Fox Point, so she leaned into it and focused on the houses across the lake.

The night was clear, moonlight visible and a gaseous blue light from the lamp post on the street in front of the row of houses offered some visibility.

She started at the house closest to the swim park and town. Harper already knew there were people in the Sievers’ place. She adjusted the focus and sipped from her glass until the images on the other side of the lake were crystal clear.

From her vantage point, she saw glimpses of a round woman as she walked in and out of what appeared to be a kitchenette.

A teenaged boy with a mop of reddish hair sat at a table and scowled at the open books and notebook open in front of him.

In a gray sweatshirt and jeans, he twiddled with a pen as he read the books and every once in a while stopped to take a note or sip from a Big Gulp on the table near his homework.

He didn’t look up as the woman, his mother, presumably—Francine, according to Beth—opened the slider and walked onto the back deck.

Short, with curling auburn hair, pulled into a topknot, she switched on an exterior light.

Immediately her deck and dock were illuminated, and the light was bright enough to light several neighboring yards.

Harper watched and sipped, her glass draining, a buzzy feeling settling warm inside her, her frayed nerves finally calming.

In faded jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, Francine pulled on a pair of kitchen gloves, then carrying two buckets, she stepped onto the dock and sat on a plastic chair that was positioned on the dock’s edge. She adjusted her topknot before using a knife and cleaning the buckets of crabs.

All the while, the kid worked at the table inside. Supposedly he had a brother or sister. Beth had mentioned two kids, but Harper saw no one else in the house, and as the kid picked up his drink, she hoisted up hers. “Cheers,” she said, then swung the telescope to Rand’s house again.

Tonight the A-frame was dark, no light emanating through its sharply angled windows, and she felt a little pang of disappointment.

Oh, puh-leez, Harper. Just how pathetic are you?

She moved the telescope to focus on the Hunts’ cottage. It, too, was dark, showing no signs of life.

Another letdown.

Are you serious? Is this how you’re going to get your jollies, by watching people you knew twenty years ago? For God’s sake, get a life.

“For God’s sake, shut up.”

She took another long swallow and swung the telescope to the Alexanders’ split level. No lights there. She didn’t even see the dog that sometimes ambled out onto the deck.

“Strike three.”

As for the last house on the point, there were no lights on and the shades were drawn, just as they had been twenty years earlier when it had been occupied by the rotating group of college students.

Then she’d seen silhouettes of people backlit by the shifting, eerie light from the lava lamps and candles they had throughout the house.

Tonight? Nothing.

She took a long, final swig from the glass and was about to go downstairs in search of dinner when she took one last peek at the dark Hunt house.

For a second she thought she saw someone on the deck but, after staring at it long enough, decided it was just a trick of light, a shadow cast by some of the tall trees surrounding the area.

Then the figure moved, catching a wink of light. A tall man. Broad shoulders. Light hair catching in the breeze.

“Chase,” she whispered, her heart soaring.

In the wispy, foggy light she saw the sharp features of his profile.

She dropped her glass and fell to her knees. A small sob escaped from her throat.

He was alive!

After all this time—oh my God—Chase Hunt was alive!

Her heart skipped an elated beat, before she realized she was wrong.

Of course she was.

Her imagination had got the better of her.

Chase wasn’t at the Hunts’ house.

The man walking across the deck was Levi.

But, here in the dark, he could have been his brother’s twin.

As kids, the two boys had resembled each other and as teenagers even more so.

Now she couldn’t help but wonder. If Chase were still around, would they still look so much alike?

Or would they have grown into men who only slightly resembled each other?

Their coloring was slightly different, of course, but other than that . . .

It was a moot point now.

Chase was long gone.

Living?

Dead?

She doubted anyone would ever know.

She picked up her glass from the carpet and went downstairs where she considered another drink.

Deciding she was already slightly tipsy, she set her glass in the sink.

She told herself to quit spying—who cared what Levi was doing, she was tired and should go to bed—but she couldn’t resist and went to her bedroom where the binoculars were stashed.

Then, from this lower angle, she adjusted the lenses and noted that lights were coming on at the Alexanders’ house.

Feeling as if she were somehow betraying her friend, she trained the glasses on the kitchen where Beth dropped her purse and slipped out of her long coat before kicking off a pair of shoes.

Craig and Max came in after her, the boy disappearing up the staircase with Beth following.

Craig emptied his pockets of keys and wallet, setting both on a side table near the front door, then shrugged out of his jacket.

Lights snapped on upstairs and in the master bedroom, Beth shimmied out of a silvery jumpsuit, then disappeared into the adjoining bath, while in the bedroom down the hall Max had snapped on his bedroom light.

Harper saw the top of Max’s head and the messy upper shelf of his closet as he opened the closet doors.

Meanwhile, Craig had descended into his office/workout room and dropped into his desk chair. He rubbed a hand around his face, checked his watch, and then went back to the door to lock it.

Odd , Harper thought, and wished she had another drink.

Once back at his desk, Craig settled into his chair again and picked up the receiver before dialing the phone.

All the while his gaze was drawn to the door, almost as if he expected someone to burst in.

He seemed agitated, drumming his fingers on the desk, then snapping to attention as if whoever was on the other end of the line had picked up.

But he didn’t say a word, still waited, his face set and hard, then speaking for a few seconds—maybe leaving a short message—before he slammed the receiver down and dropped his head into his hands.

After a minute or so he looked up, muttered something, then stood and stripped off his polo shirt and tossed it onto the floor.

He opened a drawer to retrieve a Walkman into which he slipped a cassette before fitting earphones over his head as he strode to the exercise bike in the corner.

He swung onto the bike and started peddling fast, as if he were trying to run away from something but was going nowhere. As if demons were chasing him.

Harper moved the glasses. Though the shade was partially drawn in Max’s room, she noticed light flickering as if a television had been turned on. In the master bedroom the lights were on and the bathroom door open.

No Beth.

So what?

She was probably somewhere on the street side of the house, areas that weren’t visible from Harper’s vantage point.

What the hell are you doing, spying on your friend?

Are you nuts?

And then in the dark kitchen, the refrigerator door opened, casting a soft glow on Beth’s face as she quickly pulled out a green bottle of . . . champagne? She’d changed into jeans and a loose sweater with a boatneck. Not pajamas. Well, maybe it was too early for her to get ready for bed.