Page 149 of It Happened on the Lake

She felt her color rise. She’d never gotten the key back from Chase, didn’t know what he’d done with it.

And then he’d disappeared.

But back to square one, she reminded herself. The key she’d given Chase would no longer fit.

Unless the locksmith missed one.

What about the basement? The access from the boathouse and tunnel? And wasn’t there some kind of connecting door between the second floor and the attic over the garage?

“Damn,” she whispered. This old creaking house had more than Gram’s “points of a star,” so many almost forgotten entrances, any of which might have been accessed by an old key.

She moved her binoculars to the Alexanders’ split level. Still dark.

But what about Beth? Could she really be behind the doll desecration and—what? Cat stealing?

No. That was crazy. Harper had witnessed how she reacted to Toodles. She’d barely been able to pick up the doll and throw it in the trash. True, Beth had motive. Harper’s best friend from high school had always been envious, even jealous, of Harper’s family’s wealth. She’d said so herself. And she was pushing Harper to sell the entire island and no doubt counting on what her commission might be, but still, the idea was far-fetched.

Then there was Craig.

He was the dark horse in all of this. Her father didn’t trust him; Bruce Reed had said as much in the hospital. And hadn’t Harper always had an innate aversion to him? She remembered him creeping around when she was a teen, always eyeing her from a distance.

Oh, and now you’re watching him, observing him across the lake, from afar but still doing the same thing he used to do. Only he was a horny teenager, and you’re a grown woman. And remember: He’s Beth’s husband. Get a life, Harper!

But there was the gun she’d seen him skulking around with the other night. How could that be explained?

She had no answers as she turned her attention to the end of the street. The rental house was dark and, according to Beth, unoccupied.

She set the binoculars on a nearby table and told herself she was chasing ghosts, nothing tangible.

Maybe the residents across the lake had nothing to do with what was happening here on the island. Yes, she knew some of them. And yes, any one of them could paddle across the water unnoticed, climb onto the dock or the beach, and somehow get into the house.

But there were other people who had keys. People who had worked for Gram. Matilda Burroughs, her housekeeper who had moved to Canada soon after Gram’s death, or Martin Alexander, Craig’s father who had once been the gardener and lived on the property. Any one of Gram’s bridge group friends, possibly, or even Harper’s father or his wife.

What about other servants as well, or repairmen who had come and gone over the years?

And what if Evan, like she, had “loaned” a key to one of his friends or girlfriends and never gotten it back? Harper knew that he’d sneaked girls into the manor. She’d seen the backside of a brunette hurrying down the back stairs one night. It had been dark, and the image was fleeting.

It happened when Harper stopped in one night while Gram was away for a “girls’ getaway” with some of her friends who had not been girls for several decades, and Harper was supposed to feed the cats one afternoon. She’d forgotten and remembered late that night, near midnight, so she’d come over to the house and slipped in the side door by the kitchen. She’d just reached for the cat food in the pantry when she heard quick footsteps and peered through the window to see a slim woman with long hair pass through the parlor and onto the terrace. Evan was right behind her. He caught up with her, and they embraced before disappearing. Seconds later she’d heard a boat’s engine cough, then start.

She’d never found out who the woman was.

It hadn’t mattered then. There were too many to keep track of.

But now she wondered if that girl, or any others, or some of Evan’s friends had a key.

It didn’t matter now.

Or did it?

Jinx’s collar heavy in her pocket, she wondered. Someone was getting in. Somehow she had to secure the place and call the locksmith back, then, this time, seal up any forgotten access points.

If she could find them all.

Chapter 38

His pre-dawn run cleared Rand’s head. As his Nikes slapped the wet pavement and the bracing air filled his lungs, he found some much needed perspective. He thought about the embossed card that Levi had given him along with the bank statement and bit of paper that had led Levi to find out a little more about Tristan Vargas aka Larry Smith aka Conrad Nelson. Then there was the cryptic note.They killed him. They killed Chase. Make him pay.

He turned the words over and over in his mind as he ran, sweating up the steep road of Southway and down to the bridge before he turned sharply and headed back, halfway home, veering off the road to the deer trail that cut sharply down the hillside. He had to slow to a jog through the fir trees and ferns, using his small flashlight and wending his way along the path. Who were “they,” and who was “he”? Why didn’t she give names? Was Cynthia’s note the fantasy of a woman who had lost touch with reality? The results of a grief-addled mind? Or was she sane when she penned it but didn’t name names for fear of repercussions?

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