Page 40 of Stranger in the Lake

Chet’s voice bleeds away, and new worries snag in my brain. Why was Sienna looking for Paul? Did she know who he was when she approached him in town, or did I feed that info to her when I introduced myself as a Keller? And Wade isn’t exactly known around these parts for his discretion. If he told Chet, he’s told other people. People like Sam, who will automatically think the worst.

Chet pushes up from the chair. “Hey, you got something to drink? I’m parched.”

“Check the fridge.” I gesture behind me, in the general direction of the kitchen.

He wanders off, and I sit here for a moment, the breath turning sluggish in my lungs. If what Wade said is true, if this woman was here asking about Paul, if heknewher, then he looked me in the eyes and lied like it was nothing. What else has he lied about? What other secrets has he stuffed down, hidden in files on his hard drive or buried around the house like rotten Easter eggs? Happy couples don’t keep secrets, and they don’t lie. What does all this say about us? What does it mean for our future? For the future of the baby growing in my belly?

And then the darkest, ugliest question rises above the rest, sticking to my brain.

What time did Paul get out of bed,really?

18

The snowstorm blows off on a warmer wind, clearing the clouds into a bright blue sky. Late-afternoon sunshine heats the hill behind the house, a blinding white field of smooth crystals melting like ice cream in the summer, sliding into the lake in slushy chunks. According to the news, we got a full eight inches, a record for this time of year, all of which is supposed to be melted by this time tomorrow. Welcome to winter in the South.

Word of Sienna’s murder has also made the news, though the details are scarce. They haven’t mentioned her name or where she washed up, only that she was fished out yesterday morning. I keep Paul’s laptop tuned to a local news station and roam from room to room, poking through closets and dressers, searching for anything that might explain why a dead woman under our dock might have been asking about my husband.

I save the study for last, settling in at Paul’s desk and digging through the drawers. I rearrange the pens, sort the paper clips and rubber bands, flip through a stack of unopened bills, Post-it notes and papers. I spread a pile of business cards across the desk, examine the names, put them back in the drawer with neat, exacting edges. He’s been gone too long. He could have made it around the lake three times by now.

Footsteps at the door snap me to attention. Chet wanders in, stirring in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. He’s in jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, one sleeve dusted in a fine white powder. I mute the volume on the laptop.

“Hey, taste this, will you?” He scoops up a bite and holds the spoon across the desk, waving it in front of my nose. “Tell me if it needs anything.”

I wrinkle my nose at the wet blob of orange and pink. “It’s not pimento cheese, is it? I hate pimento cheese.”

“Nope. Let’s just say I took a few liberties.” He wags his brows and the spoon in the air. “Stop being a baby. Taste it.”

I sigh and take the spoon from his hand. Lick the blob with the very tip of my tongue. Frown, but only out of surprise. A pleasant surprise. I put the spoon in my mouth and it’s an explosion on my tongue, salty and sweet and...

“Is that nuts?”

“Nuts and cheese and some strawberry preserves, a little bit of powdered sugar. I thought we’d have it on some French toast tomorrow.” Chet grins, leaning back on his heels. “You really like it?”

“No—I love it.” I give the spoon one last good lick and hand it back. “Seriously, Chet. This tastes like candy. Where’d you learn this stuff?”

He lifts a shoulder, suddenly bashful. “Annalee was always watching those cooking shows. You know, the ones where they give you half a coconut and some peanuts and you have to use it to make a gourmet meal. I guess some of it rubbed off.”

“You’re really talented. If I owned a restaurant, I’d hire you in a second, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your sister.”

But because I’m his sister, I’m also counting the places in town that would be lucky to have him. The diner, Buck’s Bistro, even the pub puts on a decent Sunday brunch. Paul knows all the owners. When he’s back, I’ll ask him to put in a good word.

And just like that, my cheerfulness bursts like a soap bubble.

Because what’s going to happen when Paul walks through the door? After the relief at having him back in one piece, I mean. We can’t just pick up from where we left off, those innocent moments before my early-morning trek down to the dock. I need answers, and to questions I’m terrified of asking. Especially now that there’s a baby on the way. He can’t keep me in the dark, can’t keep holding me at an arm’s distance. I need more from him.

Chet drops the bowl onto the desk and sinks onto the calf hide lounger by the window, swinging his feet up and crossing them at the ankle. “I know I’m supposed to be the ignorant one, but—”

“Don’t do that, Chet.” I shake my head, my shoulders slumping. “Don’t make those kinds of jokes about yourself.”

“Word on the street is it’s no joke.” One side of his mouth lifts into a half-cocked grin. “Anyway, you’re supposed to be the smart one in the family. So how come you’re acting so dumb?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well, your husband skips town two seconds after you find a dead lady in the lake, and you’re running around here trying to pretend that you’re okay with it, even though anybody with a set of eyes can see that you’re not. Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” He pulls one hand from behind his head and ticks his points off on his fingers. “Lady asks about Paul. Lady turns up dead. Paul splits. You provide cover.” His hand wriggles back underneath his head. “You gonna tell me what’s going on here, or are you gonna lie to me like you did with Sam and Micah?”

I stare across the space at my brother, so much more observant than anybody ever gives him credit for. Chet didn’t come in here for my opinion on his latest food creation or help in finding him a job. He’s seen me poking around the house all afternoon, heard the silent debate raging in my head. He knows there’s something bothering me I’m not telling him.

I realize with a pang that I want his opinion. I need another person’s honest, no-holds-barred take, and I want that person to be Chet.

---