Page 157 of It Happened on the Lake

“How complicated?” Harper wanted to know.

“Oh, like so many things in life. You’ll see.”

Her grandmother tugged on her hand. “Come along now, let’s go inside.”

“Wait.” Harper stopped, gazing up at the pillar where the dragon gargoyle crouched. “What’s that?” She pointed a finger at the overhang on which the statue rested and the papery mass beneath it. Tucked beneath the shelf it looked like gray cotton candy with a dark, narrow hole at its tip.

“Oh, a nest.” Gram said. “Hornets.”

Harper studied the shiny creatures crawling on the nest and took a step forward until Gram’s hand held her shoulder. “Don’t disturb them,” she warned. “Their stings are painful. And in a nest that size, there are enough of them to do real damage.” Her voice trailed off.

“We should tell the gardener to get rid of it,” Harper had said.

“Yes. Yes. I suppose we should. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of it.” With that, Gram whistled to the dog as she tugged on Harper’s hand and started walking back across the bridge.

“I’ve got a new board game for you,” Gram confided, squeezing her hand. “Have you ever heard of Stratego?”

Harper shook her head and glanced over the side rail to the darkening water far below. “No.”

Bandit, ears flopping, shot past them, startling Marilyn, the pretty calico cat who had been sunning herself on a flat rock near the garage. Arching her back, she hissed at the dog, then scrambled up the rough trunk of a fir tree.

“Oh, Bandit, don’t scare the cats,” Gram mock-scolded with a chuckle.

As the dog wandered off, sniffing at the rose bushes in her garden, Gram explained, “Stratego is kind of a military war game, but you’ll like it, I think. What you do is root out the spies of your enemy. Use logic. It’s easier than chess but can teach you a lot about your opponent’s strategy—hence the name, I suppose—and knowing your enemy’s mind-set is always important. Not just in game play, but in life.” She sighed heavily and glanced up at the heavens just as they reached the parking apron.

The house loomed before them, the first stars of evening visible in the sky. “Your mother, she never learned that lesson,” Gram admitted sadly, then looked down at Harper and touched her on the nose. “Boop,” she said as she always did. “We won’t make the same mistake with you, though. Not on your life.”

Today Harper felt a pang, missing Gram, but rather than allowing herself to get caught up in nostalgia or, worse yet, melancholy, she stared at the interior of her childhood home, taking stock and wondering if this cottage was even worth repairing. Maybe it would be better to raze the building and start over.

She’d find out more when she had her meeting with Craig Alexander, she supposed.

She didn’t have to wait long.

Just as she was about to leave the cottage, a Ford pickup flew past, Craig Alexander at the wheel. A big woolly dog was on the front seat beside him while lengths of lumber protruded beyond the bed, a red flag tied to one of the boards and flapping.

He didn’t catch sight of her as he drove across the bridge. She followed, jogging for the first time since she’d fallen through the steps at Joel’s and feeling her hip protest in pain. She was only halfway across the span when he parked in front of the garage. Wearing a baseball cap, worn jeans, and a sweatshirt, he climbed out of the truck.

“Didn’t see you,” he said as she neared, then into the cab he added, “Rambo. Stay!” He shut the door, and the dog’s head appeared through the open window. “Don’t do it,” Craig warned, then turned back to Harper. “Rambo, here, has a tendency to jump out. But he’s a good boy. Calm. Mainly Newfoundland.” Then he caught sight of her face and sucked in his breath. “Beth said you’d been in the hospital after trying to rescue Cynthia.” Thick eyebrows slammed together. “You okay?”

“Getting there.” Then she changed the subject. “Rambo?” she asked, petting the dog’s broad black head.

“Yeah, Max named him. My son. He’s seen that movie a dozen times, I bet.”

She remembered catching a glimpse of the movie poster ofFirst Bloodin Max’s room when she was looking through the telescope but, of course, kept that bit of knowledge to herself.

“Max is a big Stallone fan.”

“So is half the country. Probably more.”

Craig was nodding, but he’d quit sizing up her wounds to squint up at the house. “Beth says you need some work done.”

“A lot, I’m afraid.”

“Okay. Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it.” He nodded and squared his hat on his head. “Let’s take a look.”

He started for the front door, but she said, “First you should see the gatekeeper’s cottage. See if it’s even worth repairing. Lots of damage. I just looked it over and it’s bad, but—”

He grinned then. “My specialty.” Grabbing a clipboard from the front seat of his truck, he gave a second command for the dog to stay, then followed her back across the bridge. All the while she thought of his nocturnal activities with the gun, then of someone breaking into her house. Despite the fact that he was Beth’s husband, she needed to be careful around him.

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