Page 138 of It Happened on the Lake

Harper followed, the pain in her hip nagging at her.

Once they were on the main level again, Harper said, “Look, I’m not sure I’m selling, but I do have to do at least minor repairs to the place.”

“At least—and let’s call them major repairs.”

“Fine, if I can afford them.”

Beth threw her a disbelieving look as they walked to the foyer.

“If you say so.” Beth didn’t sound convinced.

As they reached the door, Harper decided this was the chance to find out more about Beth’s husband. What made him tick. “So tell me about Craig’s construction company. How did he even get into it?”

“He’s a bit of a one-man band,” Beth admitted and opened her purse to retrieve a business card, which she pressed into Harper’s hand. “He works with subcontractors—plumbers and electricians and the like—and has one guy who is kind of an extra handyman, I guess you’d say. I, of course, am the bookkeeper, but he pretty much runs the show. Things are slower right now, but there are times when he barely has any time off—even during hunting season, and that about kills him.”

“He’s a hunter?” Harper pressed.

“Oh yeah.” Beth was nodding. “Major hunter. And he loves fishing and camping. Anything the least bit outdoorsy.”

“He has guns, then?” Harper asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“Guns?” She let out a little laugh that echoed in the tall foyer. “Oh yeah. It’swaybeyond that. He has himself a damned arsenal.Lovesany kind of weaponry. Knives, rifles, shotguns, you name it. And, let me tell you, if there’s a gun show anywhere in the tri-county area? He’s there! Like that!” She snapped her fingers. “I swear if it was legal to have machine guns and bazookas, he’d be at the front of the line to buy one.” She laughed at the image.

Harper thought about viewing him with the handgun on his nighttime canoe ride to the Hunts.

“So what about pistols?”

“Sure. He inherited a lot of that stuff from his father. But I don’t know the particulars as he’s always buying and selling and trading with other gun nuts.” Beth was already fishing in her purse for her keys.

Harper pressed, “What about cowboy guns, you know, pearl-handled revolvers?”

“Pearl-handled?” Beth asked, shaking her head. “Are those things for real?”

“Yeah.”

Beth shrugged. “I really don’t know. I leave all that weapon/army stuff to him. And I keep Max out of it, you know. Just because his father is a big gun nut—excuse me gunenthusiast—doesn’t mean he has to be. Nuh-uh.”

Once again, Harper wondered if she should tell Beth about seeing Craig on his night journey with the canoe, but that would mean she’d have to confess that she, like her grandfather, viewed the comings and goings of the houses across the lake, that she’d watched Beth cooking dinner, seen Max in his bedroom, and followed Craig’s activities. All when they didn’t know they were being observed.

She decided to hold her tongue.

For the moment.

Harper opened the door.

As Beth stepped onto the porch, she said, “And whether you do repairs or not, get rid of all those dolls and the other collections that your grandmother kept. Freshen the place up with some new furniture and curtains. It’s a cool house, very cool, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t know how you can stay here all alone. It’s so big and empty, and there are ghosts here, you know. A lot of people have passed. And now, you think someone is getting in and moving ugly dolls around. I don’t know. I wouldn’t stay here.”

“I fixed the window.”

“You temporarily fixed one. And there are dozens! And all the doors. You don’t even know if he came in through the broken window.” She eyed the exterior of the house, gloomy in the rain. “I just know I couldn’t do it. I’d be a nervous wreck. I mean, what if he comes back? And this time he’s not just messing with those repulsive dolls? What if, God forbid, he attacks you? You could be killed, Harper. Murdered.”

“You’re not making me feel better.”

“I’m just trying to talk some sense into you,” she said as a gust of wind rattled across the parking area, so fierce it blew wet leaves across the puddled asphalt. “You could live in the gatekeeper’s house.”

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