Page 135 of It Happened on the Lake

With a squeal, the tram suddenly stopped.

Oh crap!

Don’t freak. Do not freak out!

She waited, her mind whirling. Would someone get out of the car? Or was the gunman still inside the tram? Had he ever been inside? Why was he here? Was he still here? Had someone been shot? Oh dear God. She was sweating, freaking out, beginning to full-on panic.

Pull yourself together!

She gave herself a sharp mental slap.

She had to stay calm despite her racing pulse and gut-grinding fear.

Ears straining, she stayed flattened against the stone wall and tried to think of a way to get out of being trapped down here. The fastest, surest way back to the house was the stairway that ran parallel to the tram’s rails. But she would be exposed.

Other than that, she could swim across the lake or to a neighboring dock on the north shore or possibly round the island and climb up the bridge. But who was to say he wouldn’t be waiting there?

She could swim across the lake . . .

Her eyes were drawn across the water to Fox Point.

Security lights were visible at Old Man Sievers’ bungalow, of course, but the Watkins’ A-frame was dark, and the Hunts’ cottage only showed the night-light that shone eerily from one window. The Leonettis’ split level was devoid of any kind of illumination. Only the rental house’s windows glowed with its weird pulsating light behind the blinds. No. Wait. Was there a light on in that round window cut into the roof? She squinted, almost imagining someone at the window, staring back at her.

But that was crazy.

And yet . . . there was the glint of something, like a small reflection of light from another source. A mirror? Or a telescope—maybe field glasses?

The thought that someone could be staring at the mansion, keeping track of what was happening, was unnerving.

But everything was.

Including the freaking gunman.

She didn’t have time to think about a Peeping Tom now. She had to get back to the gatehouse somehow. It would be safe there, right? If nothing else, she could call Chase to come and get her. Yeah, that was what she would do. She took several deep breaths, then inched her way to the dock.

She saw no one.

So far, so good.

She stepped onto the dock and to the stairs and was about to start climbing when something shot across her feet, and she let out a tiny scream. Earline, Gram’s orange cat with only one ear, turned and hissed before shooting toward the boathouse.

Shit! Damned cat!

Had the gunman heard? Been tipped off by her scream?

Oh. Dear. God.

Her pulse pounding in her ears, Harper melted onto the first step. Her scream had been stupid. The gunman could’ve heard her startled cry or the cat’s hiss.

And yet there was silence, just the sound of water lapping at the dock and her own frantic heartbeat.

She waited, mentally counting off the seconds, nervous sweat running down her back.

Insects began to buzz again, and a bat swooped close.

Still no sound of anyone nearby.

Even the cat strolled past again to take up her favorite spot on the edge of the dock near the boathouse.

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