Page 8 of It Happened on the Lake

“N o.” Harper let out a little cry as she stared through the telescope.

She was certain it was Tom Hunt’s boat .

. . no . . . oh . . . God . . . She searched the surrounding area around the boat again, and with every beat of her heart her dread mounted.

It was dark, far from a hint of sunlight in the eastern sky, but, as far as she could discern, the black water appeared unbroken.

No person in the water. No Chase. Nowhere.

Call his house! You have to call and check!

Harper didn’t. Instead, she raced to the back hallway where the keys to Gram’s old Cadillac hung and pulled them from the hook.

Wait a second!

If she started the car and drove across the bridge, then opened the gate on the other side, she’d have to drive by the gatekeeper’s cottage.

Her father or stepmother would probably hear her.

Even if she kept the headlights off so that the Caddy’s beams wouldn’t splash against the windows, there was no way they wouldn’t hear the gears of the gate grind or miss the rumble of the car’s big engine.

Her grandmother might be partially deaf.

Not so Bruce or Marcia Reed.

The canoe!

She could use it without waking anyone.

She scrabbled on the shelf above the keys for a flashlight, nearly tripping over her father’s wet boots in the process and startling a cat that was perched on the shelf in the dark.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath as that damned Diablo hissed, switching his long tail as Harper snagged the flashlight.

Silently praying that Gram wouldn’t wake, she slipped through the side door and retraced her steps to the dock, where she found the canoe positioned upside down near the boathouse.

Heart in her throat, she pushed the craft off the dock and didn’t care that it scraped loudly. She rolled it into the water, then slid inside and began to paddle feverishly around the old willow tree that jutted out over the water from the island’s only small beach.

Maybe she’d been mistaken.

Maybe Chase was in the boat and she hadn’t seen him. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to the island. For a second she thought she saw movement on the dock. A shadow slinking by the stairs—but no. It was just the willow tree, bare branches moving in the wind.

She turned her attention to Fox Point and rapidly began rowing, dipping her oar in and out of the water, pushing the canoe forward.

Closer to the boat rocking slightly on the water.

But it was empty; no one on board.

Circling the boat, she eyed the water. With each stroke of her oar, her fear deepened.

It was too dark to see below the surface, but even as she squinted and searched, she found it hard to fathom that Chase, an athlete and excellent swimmer, would have drowned. So . . . what then?

“Where are you?” she whispered into the night, and though she dreaded what she might see, she pulled the flashlight from her pocket and shone its yellow beam into the water. Heart pounding, she searched the depths and half expected Chase’s bloated face to surface, blond hair floating around him.

She thought she heard an oar dip into the water and froze.

Was someone nearby?

She looked around quickly. “Chase?” she said, goose bumps rising on her arms. “Chase, is that you?” She spun the canoe around, but all was quiet now. She shone her light in the direction of the sound. “This isn’t funny.”

But the night remained still.

Only the sound of a frog croaking somewhere.

Maybe she’d just heard the sound of a fish jumping or a duck landing or . . .

She heard the noise again and swung her flashlight wildly, once more finding nothing.

Swallowing back her fear, telling herself that she was just jumpy, she started paddling again, faster and faster, to the far shore. She felt as if hidden eyes were upon her, that her every move was being followed, but she shoved her case of nerves aside and concentrated on Chase.

Maybe for some unknown reason, he had returned home or been forced to.

Without the boat?

She couldn’t come up with an answer, not one that made any sense.

Even if the engine hadn’t started, it could be rowed .

. . or not. Maybe that was the problem. The engine had died and Chase had decided to swim home and get help from his brother, Levi, or maybe his best friend.

She’d heard that Rand Watkins was home on leave from the army, maybe . . .

Oh, please!

Emotions raw, fear raging, she kept rowing toward the south shore.

Hard.

Fast.

She spotted the Hunt house located at the very tip of the point, the “fox’s nose” according to some locals. Weak light filtered from the kitchen window.

The neighboring two houses, the Watkins’ A-frame and the Leonettis’ split level, remained dark.

Good!

Those three families—Leonettis, Watkins, and Hunts—spent a lot of time together hanging out on their docks, having neighborhood barbecues and parties and such.

Harper had always envied them their closeness.

She knew the distance between the neighbors on the point and her family on the island and far shore was wider than the stretch of water physically separating them.

The beach ran deeper. But she wasn’t going to think about that now. She was too scared. Too worried.

She rowed the canoe along the shoreline and decided she couldn’t risk tying up on any of the private docks. The chance of being seen or heard was too great.

Instead, she moved a little farther on, toward town and the community swim park. Less than a quarter of a mile from the point, it was easy to spot as a nearby street lamp gave off a faint, filtered illumination.

She moored the canoe at the public dock.

Using her flashlight sparingly for quick bursts of illumination, she jogged on a path that cut through the tall firs and past the now-closed snack shack. The gates were locked, but she scaled the fence easily, dropping onto the cracked asphalt of the parking area.

Then she ran.

Skirting the lamplight, she dashed to the fork in the street where Southway Road wound sharply up the hill while Trail’s End edged along the shoreline. She ran past Old Man Sievers’s place where the chain-link fence was plastered with handwritten signs warning off trespassers.

Through the mesh, she spied Sievers’s dog, a huge German Shepherd that usually patrolled the yard. Tonight the beast was lying on the porch, a furry shadow in the golden glow of the exterior light. His ears pricked up as she passed, and his eyes followed her. Silent.

Don’t bark! For God’s sake . . .

Hackles raised, the dog growled once and kept his wary eyes on her as she ran past to the edge of the Watkins’ yard, noting that Rand’s Jeep was parked in the drive.

So it was true, he was back for a short leave.

Rumored to soon be shipped to Vietnam.

Rand was Chase’s best friend. And he’d been drafted into the army soon after he’d turned eighteen.

Just as Chase would now be, since his college deferment was no longer.

At that thought, she nearly stumbled. Chase had talked about going to Canada before.

Would he? Abandon the boat in the lake to cover his tracks and then hitchhike or take a bus north to the border?

Would he do that and not tell her? Leave her alone and . . . no, no, no! Not now!

Stop it!

There had to be another reason, and she just had to find him. That was all. But with each step, she felt a deeper fear, a darkness gnawing inside.

Whatever had happened tonight, it wasn’t good.

She spied Chase’s car parked at the side of the driveway.

Relief washed over her. He was home.

So why hadn’t he met her?

Heart hammering, she crossed the small yard. On the porch, she eased along the floorboards to the window of Chase’s room where she tapped softly on the glass.

Please be inside.

Please, please, please be okay.

Nothing.

She tried again with another series of taps—slightly louder this time.

Suddenly a shadow loomed on the other side of the glass.

Chase!

Her heart leapt for a second.

But no—

His brother, Levi, stood on the other side of the window.