Page 65 of The Woman By the Lake

“Yeah?” he repeated in the same tone since he still didn’t know where she was going with this.

“Which leads me to the second thing. Your place has a lot of windows, but from what I can tell, you can’t see the cabin from any of them.”

He looked in that direction, and he saw her pier in the moonlight, but she was right.

He couldn’t see the cabin. It was tucked too far back in the trees. And even from the back bedroom on the next level, you probably couldn’t see it.

He’d just noticed it, but he didn’t miss noticing how he really didn’t like it, since now, Nadia lived there.

“Do you know how much of a hand Lincoln had in designing this house?” she asked.

“Word is, he worked closely with the architect to create it.”

“Well, that tells me, even if he wasn’t about to go there in his head, he knew something was up with his brother and his wife. I don’t have a sibling, but if I built close to one, especially if I was emotionally close to them, I’d want to be able to see their space.”

He would too.

“Methinks Lincoln wasn’t as surprised as it seems he was with what he found in those stables,” she remarked. “You said he served seven years? That’s not much for two murders.”

“He confessed and was sentenced for manslaughter.”

“Thriller writer would probably know what premeditated murder would buy him,” she noted. “And the man didn’t shoot them then call the police to turn himself in. He made sure he didn’t start a wildfire before he set the stables alight. I mean, how much work would it be to drench the land and trees around an entire building?”

Jesus.

“A lot,” he grunted.

“Mm,” she hummed before she allowed, “I could see being in emotional overload after you shot your twin brother and wife to death, so you went through the emotions, doing strange stuff while not thinking clearly. But how long would that actually last? And seven years is a long time, and it isn’t like he’s thrown into a room and not allowed to speak to anybody during that time. How could he not sort his affairs so his children and family were taken care of when he took his own life? Especially if he was going to take his own life, you’d think he’d make those plans. Furthermore, how easy is it to get your hands on a bottle of arsenic? I can’t imagine that’s something you can stroll into the local CVS and source.”

“Nope,” he agreed.

“Not to mention,” she kept at it, “Roosevelt obviously couldn’t know he was soon to die, but if you have a lot of money, you make arrangements. How is his estate tied up with Lincoln’s?”

“I don’t know, and when I bought this place, I didn’t ask. But you’re correct. All this shit is fishy.”

“No one ever asked these questions before?”

“I didn’t, because other people’s mess isn’t something I give a shit about.”

Though, he was starting to give a shit about it now.

She settled even deeper into his chest as she took a drag from her beer and then murmured, “Well, I think this house tells a tale about Lincoln Whitaker. Just as the cabin tells one about Roosevelt. One was complicated. Brilliant, but complicated. The other enjoyed the simple life. It isn’t surprising, they might have been twins, but they were two different men. Still, something doesn’t add up here.”

She was correct about that too.

He’d had plans for the next day of taking his kid to school and spending the rest of the day getting Nadia’s cameras set up, the American flag she told him she bought, and if there was any time left, working in his workshop.

But he slotted a visit to Harry on his schedule.

After doing that, he gave Nadia another squeeze and asked, “Feel like more cake?”

She twisted her neck again to look at him. “Seriously? I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a week.”

“Well, I feel like more cake.”

Her sunny smile came back, stating plain she dug that he liked her cake, and while she was still blasting it at him, he let her go, but took her hand and led her to the kitchen where she watched as he cut himself another wodge of her amazing cake.

And she kept watching as he downed it.

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