Page 83 of It Happened on the Lake

He had been wearing his collar when he disappeared with Harper’s phone number on his tag. No one had called, though of course the number on the collar was for her home in Santa Rosa and, more importantly, someone had left his collar around the doll as a clear message.

Nonetheless, she decided to check her phone in California.

She didn’t expect to hear about Jinx, but there could be other important messages.

She called her own number in California and used a numerical key to access her messages.

There were half a dozen, including an offer for lawn service, a volunteer asking for support for Michael Dukakis’s presidential campaign, and several hang-ups.

About what she expected.

She erased all the messages, then, screwing up her courage, called the number that she’d copied from Levi’s office door.

On the third ring, his answering machine picked up, and she hesitated about leaving a message about Chase’s things and the diamond necklace.

Instead, she just asked him to call her back, leaving her phone number.

Only then did she open Craig’s estimate for repair work on the house.

She nearly choked. He’d broken the work down into what was necessary just to get the house functioning reasonably well and what it would take to bring it up to code, and then what he suggested to get it in “resale” condition.

The numbers were staggering. And then there was the gatehouse, which in Craig’s estimation was a total gut job.

There was a note that it might be easier and more cost-effective to level the little house near the front gates and start over.

“Wow,” she said. She’d inherited a fortune, true. But it had been significantly pared down over the years by Gram’s attorneys, and her father and stepmother dipping in—ostensibly for Harper’s care and education, but she still wasn’t convinced of that.

She glanced over the figures and told herself she just had to get a second bid, despite Beth having once been her best friend.

Harper should think beyond the people she knew growing up. That might be smarter. More professional. Beth might be upset with her, but so what?

She was slipping the estimate into its envelope when the phone rang and she answered.

Her daughter was on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Mom, listen,” Dawn said a little breathlessly. “It turns out I’m driving a friend to Portland today, so I thought I’d drop her off and swing by Grandpa’s to check on him. He’s okay, right?” She sounded concerned.

“I think so, as Marcia told me on the phone the other day, ‘It’s not his time.’ ”

“Not ‘his time’? What was she talking about? Like, his time to die?”

“I guess.”

“Gross,” Dawn said. “Well, if I can’t see him, I still need to check in with Dad.”

“He’s here?”

“In Portland at a hotel for now. But he’s looking for a place.”

“Hold on a second,” Harper said at the mention of Joel. “As in looking for a place to stay?”

“To move. That’s what he said.”

“Where?” This was news and not welcome. “Your dad is planning to move to Portland?”

“I thought he told you.”

“I haven’t talked to him since I first got here.”

Hadn’t he said something about being in town for just a few days?

Why the lie?

“He said he was moving to Almsville.”

That was a sucker punch.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. He and Melanie broke up again for like the kajil-lionth time.”

Harper’s heart sank.

Dawn said, “I think that for now he’s in a hotel, but he’s looking for a place to rent.

But, you know, it’s probably just temporary.

” Dawn sighed loudly, and Harper envisioned her rolling her eyes.

“You know how he and Melanie are. Talk about on-again, off-again! Really, it’s too exhausting to keep up with.

” Then she changed the subject. “Anyway, I should be at your place probably in the early evening, but maybe earlier. It depends on Gina—that’s my friend—she may want to go back to Eugene tonight.

Something about a super-late showing of Heathers at the theater here, like at midnight.

But I’m not sure we could even make it, so we might have to crash at your place—that would be okay?

Or maybe Gina would stay with her aunt, she said something about that.

Anyway, I’m not really sure what the plan is, but I thought I’d give you a heads-up. Cool?”

“Cool,” Harper agreed, though it was a lie. There was a lot of Dawn’s plan that she was definitely not cool with. Most of it had to do with the intruder and his dark, twisted messages. How dangerous was he? No way would she knowingly put her daughter in any kind of jeopardy.

Then there was the matter of Joel Prescott.

Why the hell had he lied? Now he was back, and according to Lou Arista, making noise about her inheritance.

He’d known she’d had money when she’d married him, and it was probably some of the allure, a reason he wanted to marry her, pregnant as she was.

He’d made mention of the fact that she was going to inherit several times during their marriage and was always eager to cash her quarterly checks from the trust.

It had bothered her, been in the back of her mind, that he’d known about her when they’d met. He had lived on the lake, in the house across from the island. Joel had been aware of Chase and her relationship with him. And he’d accepted oh so easily that she’d been pregnant.

Of course their marriage had never been solid. Not from the get-go. And then, midlife came and along with it came Melanie Jallet, his on-again, off-again girlfriend fifteen years younger than he.

Shrugging out of her jacket, she walked into the parlor and sat at the table near the telescope again. Then she looked through the eyepiece to the houses across the lake. This time she focused on the rental house, the place where Joel Prescott had spent half a year, including the winter of 1968.

Over the years she’d wondered why she’d never noticed him, if he’d lived so close to the Hunts.

Then again, she’d been wrapped up with Chase.

But what about Joel. Had he seen her? Had he witnessed her with Chase on Fox Point?

Could he, as she was doing now, have looked across the lake to the island and seen her on the dock or the beach?

Had he caught glimpses of her reading or sunbathing or swimming? No, not in winter. Still . . .

She fiddled with the focus. Remembered his first line. “You’re Harper, aren’t you?”

Had it been mere coincidence that he’d run into her in California so soon after she’d moved? At the time she’d thought so. He’d said as much. But she’d been young, na?ve, and desperate.

Now, as an adult and not for the first time, she considered the fact that their first meeting hadn’t been by chance and, more likely, been some kind of pre-planned plot.