Page 172 of It Happened on the Lake

Beth stood on her tiptoes and said something to him, then took his hand and led him to the slider.

Once they were inside the dark house, the glass door closed behind them, she could see nothing more, none of the interaction, be it innocent or not. Were they popping the cork off the bottle of champagne? Watching the frothy liquid bubble over the sides of the bottle? Pouring two glasses? Celebrating? But toasting what? His mother had died only days before in a horrible, mind-jarring death. It seemed an unlikely time for any kind of celebration.

Fascinated, she stared through the lenses and told herself that the rapid beating of her heart had nothing to do with what she was trying to observe. Were they in the kitchen, toasting each other? Or . . . did she see movement in the bedroom on the upper floor—Cynthia and Tom’s room, the space where she’d thought Craig might have hidden the revolver?

Then she remembered Craig.

She swung her field glasses back to the Alexanders’ house where he was still on the bike, sweating now, his legs pumping fast, up and down, his face red, really going at it.

What the devil was going on over there?

Did he know that his wife had slipped out of the house?

Had she sneaked, or was her visit innocent?

Harper’s mind raced faster than the wheels of the stationary bicycle.

Beth had seemed to surprise Levi.

And yet he’d followed her all too willingly into the house.

She’d brought champagne.

Maybe Levi had agreed to sell his house and list it with Alexander Realty.

Was this a clandestine meeting? If not, why no lights in the house?

Were Levi and Beth lovers?

But even if they were involved with each other, would they take a chance while Craig was in the house and—

Craig’s workout was suddenly over. He stopped pedaling rapidly, the wheels of the bike continuing to spin of their own accord. He dashed across the room to pick up the receiver of the phone. Standing, stretching the coiled cord, he paced back and forth. Listening. Speaking. Obviously agitated.

Then he slammed the receiver down, stalked to a tall closet, grabbed a towel from within, and swiped it over his face and neck.

He reached for his discarded shirt, yanked it over his head, and started for the door leading to the hallway and staircase.

Harper caught her breath.

Beth and Levi were about to be found out.

Whatever was going on was about to come to a head.

She turned the field glasses to the Hunt cottage.

Still dark.

“Oh God.”

Back at the Alexander house, Craig had left the basement. He appeared in the kitchen, where he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer, cracked it open, and took a long swallow. Then another.

“You’d better get home and fast,” Harper whispered, as if her friend could hear her.

Still nothing happening at the house next door, at least nothing she could see.

Back in the Alexanders’ kitchen, Craig took two more long pulls on the bottle, finishing his beer. He set the empty bottle on the counter and walked outside to the deck.

Harper watched as Craig, backlit by the kitchen lights, reached into his pants pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. A second later his face was visible as he lit up. His features were hard and set. He drew deep, snapped the lighter shut, then turned toward the lake as their big, shaggy dog wandered through the open door and headed down the exterior stairs. He wandered under the deck, pausing to sniff at the boxes and junk piled there until he finally made his way to the backyard.

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