Page 116 of It Happened on the Lake

It wasn’t anything she could name, just a slight shift in the air and the soft sound of someone creeping through the rooms, but, of course, she had checked all of the floors again this morning.

Found no one.

She thought about the broken window latch. She thought about the doll she found in her bathroom, with the warning scribbled across her panties.

How?

Who?

Why?

“You’re a basket case,” she said, checking her watch and noting that now it was officially afternoon.

Though she knew it was a mistake, she went back to the liquor cart and poured herself a stiff shot of vodka that was probably twenty years old. “You need therapy, not a drink,” she mocked, and remembered Joel saying just those words to her. The prick. She downed the drink, contemplated another, and reached into the cupboard for the bottle again, before she realized that something was off.

Something was missing.

The revolver.

Gone.

But she’d left it here. Remembered handling it and putting it back.

Had it been here last night, when she’d poured herself the drinks?

Yes? No?

Had she noticed it?

She couldn’t remember. Nor could she recall seeing it when she was creeping around the house, her fingers clenched around a pair of scissors. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she searched through the glassware.

No gun.

Of course she remembered Craig Alexander with a similar pistol, one that he left at the Hunts’ home. “Not obviously,” she reminded herself. It might have been another gun altogether. Or he may not have left it there. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen it again that night.

She rocked back on her heels and told herself she was not losing her mind. Someone was in the house last night, moved the doll and took the gun. That had to be the explanation.

The doorbell chimed just as she was reaching for the vodka bottle.

Belatedly she remembered that she hadn’t closed the gate.

Shoving the bottle into place, she walked through the parlor and down the hall to the foyer, where she peered through the sidelights of the massive front doors.

Beth was standing outside. In a red jumpsuit with oversized sleeves and a wide silver belt that matched her wedge heels, Beth held a huge wicker basket.

She was definitely put together. While Harper in her ratty jeans and a dirt-streaked sweatshirt was not.

Awesome. Just frickin’ awesome.

Catching sight of Harper in the window, Beth waved frantically, her wide smile in place.

Great. Just what Harper needed. Cheery, well-dressed Beth carrying an enormous gift basket.

Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, Harper opened one of the doors and a cool October breeze scooted inside, bringing with it the promise of rain. “I didn’t know you were stopping by,” she said, as Beth stepped into the foyer.

“Compliments of Alexander Realty,” Beth said brightly. “I thought I’d swing by and officially welcome you back to Almsville.” She motioned to the basket laden with small bags of cookies, coffee, cups, candles, and miniature pumpkins all wrapped in cellophane and tied with a huge black and orange bow. “All of these items are made in Oregon, most of them around here actually.” Her grin just wouldn’t quit as she passed the basket to Harper. “But—” She checked her watch with its large bejeweled dial. “—I can’t stay all that long. I’ve got a showing later today, and I want to get there early to make sure the house is presentable. The owners have two dogs, and theyneedto be locked up. Little barkers, both of them. They’re friendly enough but jump up and demand attention and so—off they go to the kennel in the garage!” Then her smile faded slightly, and her eyebrows knitted in sudden concern. “So how’re you doing today?”

“I’m okay.” That was a bit of a stretch. Harper’s headache had just about disappeared after two doses of Advil, and her whole body ached. Not to mention she’d been up long before dawn and was anxious about the doll and someone breaking into the place. And then there had been Joel’s call. And now, the missing gun.

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