Page 180 of It Happened on the Lake

Maybe—just maybe—the room was clean.

Barely daring to hope and fingers clenched around the broom handle, she ascended to the top floor and her grandfather’s refuge. Heart knocking, she flipped on the light. “Please,” she whispered as she shut the door and scanned the room.

Saw no little bat cowering in a corner or hiding on the doorjamb.

“Where are you?” she wondered.

At that second the bat darted from behind the ornate frame of a picture, diving down and flying crazily around the room.

“Get out!” she ordered and swung the broom upward. “Get out!”

The little bastard cut past her, soaring in a panic as she swatted at it. “Get out, get out . . . getout!” she cried, as frantic as the bat. Flailing with the broom, she hit a lamp. It teetered, then fell, shattering against the floor.

The bat swooped again.

Harper spun, twisting her hip, then stepping backward and feeling a shard of glass from the lamp pierce her foot. “Shit!” she spat out but watched as the bat finally got the message and flew out the window and into the night. Quickly she hobbled across the room and slammed the window shut. “Thank God,” she whispered, sagging against the sill and spying the splotches of blood she’d trailed across the old carpet. “Great.”

At least the stubborn little creature was gone.

She only hoped he didn’t have friends in the house.

Down the stairs she hitched, stopping off at the bathroom and opening the medicine chest she found the tin of Band-Aids, circa 1965. She picked out the small fragment of glass from her heel, cleaned the cut as best she could, dried it, and slapped two plastic strips over the wound.

Good enough for one in the morning.

Then, too hyped up to sleep, she limped her way down the stairs to the liquor cabinet and poured herself another drink. Just a short one. To steady her frayed nerves.

As she poured the last of the vodka into a glass, she told herself that she’d have to refresh the supply soon.

But tonight . . .

She took a long swallow of her drink and felt the alcohol warm her stomach as she made her way to the telescope in the parlor. It was late, probably no one was awake, and yet she couldn’t help but peer through the eyepiece to observe the lives of the people across the lake. Visibility was hampered by the mist that crawled across the black water, but she fiddled with the focus and was able to bring the homes on Fox Point into some kind of clarity.

Most of the houses were dark, she noted. Only the Watkins’ A-frame was illuminated at the very peak, where the triangular window offered a view of the loft and the desk where she’d seen Rand work before.

He was at his desk again, and she had to remind herself that he was the enemy. He thought her capable of murdering her grandmother and knowing about Chase’s whereabouts. Didn’t he remember that she and Levi had come to him that night to ask about Chase? Did he think it all part of some elaborate ruse she’d concocted at eighteen? An act?

“Who cares?” she said aloud, taking a sip. She watched as Rand stood and stretched, rotating his muscles and twisting his neck as if hours in the desk chair had cramped his muscles. Well, good. Fine. Harper hoped he ached all over. Unable to turn away, she observed him walking out of the loft to disappear, presumably going downstairs.

She focused on the lower level, but it remained dark.

About to give up, she took a final swallow of her drink and noticed a shadow. On his dock. Near his boathouse.

She leaned in closer as he disappeared inside the boathouse. A few minutes later his boat slipped onto the dark waters of the lake.

“Where are you going?” she wondered aloud as the boat, running lights visible, moved slowly around the point, then made a wide arcing turn to cross the lake and cruise toward the island.

He’s coming here?

No.

Why? The muscles in the back of her neck tightened. This wasn’t good.

They’d left on such harsh terms, she challenging him to arrest her and calling him a liar. “Not smart,” she reminded herself. “Not smart at all.”

And still she kept her eye on the boat as it slowed near her dock. She no longer needed the telescopic lens to watch as the boat crawled, slowly circling the island as if he were trawling for something.

Why?

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