Page 18 of It Happened on the Lake

“I don’t know.”

“It’s fine. Be a dear and go get it.”

Harper retrieved the bottle, returning to the room just as Gram drained her teacup and made a sour face. Harper said, “I don’t know if you should—”

“Oh, for the love of God, Harper, I’ve been drinking gin for fifty years—er, maybe even a little longer.”

Harper hesitantly poured, and when she tried to pull back the bottle, Gram motioned quickly for more and coaxed, “Don’t be shy.”

Okay. Fine. Maybe a little alcohol would help Gram sleep better. Harper filled the cup to Gram’s satisfaction and recapped the bottle as her grandmother sipped. “That’s better,” she said with a satisfied sigh as she leaned back on pillows where two of her favorite dolls, Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy, were nestled. “Thank you.” Another sip and she added, “Listen, Harper, whoever this boy is who is giving you so much worry . . .”

“No, Gram, I—” Harper tried to cut in, but her grandmother held up a shushing finger.

“He’s not worth it.” And before Harper could say another word, Gram buried her face in her cup and took a very long swallow. Then Gram dismissed her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Harper started to leave, but Gram wiggled her fingers at the bottle. “Just leave it.” The old lady winked. “In case I need a little nip in the middle of the night.”

Harper was pretty sure that by-the-book Matilda wouldn’t leave a half-full bottle of gin on the bedside table, but then Harper wasn’t the nursemaid, and her grandmother, as she’d pointed out earlier, was a grown woman.

Chapter 4

Shutting the door softly behind her, Harper let out a long breath, then hurried up the steps, avoiding all the dolls Gram displayed on the staircase, to the turret bedroom on the third floor which had been her mother’s room at times. From this little room with its high windows, she had a bird’s eye view of the lake. It wasn’t as expansive as the locked tower room on the floor above, but it would do.

In the darkness, she went to the lamp near the window and turned the light off and on three times in succession—their signal, then searched the darkness for a reply, an answering three short bursts of light.

Nothing.

She waited another five minutes and tried again.

Still no response.

Something was wrong.

Really wrong.

But she had to meet him.

Had to!

Have some faith, Harper.She hazarded a glance at the crucifix of Jesus with blood dripping from his crown of thorns.Faith.She sketched the sign of the cross and decided to trust Chase.

He would come.

If he could.

Using a small set of binoculars she found in the drawer of one of the bedside tables, she scanned the dark water, her eyes darting from the dock on the island across the lake to the far shore and Fox Point, where Chase Hunt lived with his parents and younger brother, Levi. One light was burning, a low glow from the kitchen. Probably the stove’s hood light his mother always left on.

But no sign of Chase, and she couldn’t see if the family’s boat was in the boathouse.

She moved the binoculars a bit, to the Watkins’ A-frame where Chase’s best friend, Rand, lived. But the Watkins’ home was dark, no signs of life.

“Where are you?” she whispered as she checked out the next house on the point, the bungalow close to the swim park and nearest to town. Old Man Sievers’s place. Eyeing it was a long shot. There was no reason Chase would be anywhere near the bungalow where the crazy old coot lived with his guard dog. His place, next to the swim park, was visible under the glow of his security lights. An anti-government loner, Edward Sievers was a one-man vigilante. A “nut job,” according to Gram. He didn’t get along with anyone, especially his neighbors. It was rumored he had motion detectors and booby traps installed around his house—even a bomb shelter where, according to local kid gossip, he hid the dead bodies.

Tonight Sievers’s house was quiet, visible in the blue haze of a security lamp.

Finally she turned the binoculars on the house at the opposite end of the point, where the road petered out to a dead end at an old deer trail. She didn’t know anyone who lived there at the cabin as it was a rental, with, again according to Gram, “a revolving door of hippie slackers. All they do over there is smoke dope and practice free love. Disgusting!” Gram didn’t even believe they were students. But Chase had mentioned some of them. What were their names? Charla, maybe, and Ronnie and then some girl named Moonbeam and a guy who called himself Trick.

She searched for any sign of Chase. But the shades were drawn, a few silhouettes passing behind the closed curtains, people still awake. There even seemed to be a small light emanating from the round window of the roofline, which had to be an attic or loft or something, but as she peered at it, the light disappeared.

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