Page 181 of It Happened on the Lake

From this vantage point she couldn’t see the boat as it moved closer to the mainland and under the bridge, but she could hear the churn of its engine.

“What’re you doing?” she whispered and hurried, wincing, into the kitchen, but the view of the water was obscured by trees, so she entered Gram’s shadowy room and waited, pushing the sheer curtains aside and counting off the seconds. When he didn’t appear, she imagined him stopping . . . but why? Of course there was the myriad of paths that crisscrossed the island, but they were overgrown and steep and rarely used these days. Besides, there was no reason for him to get out of his boat and climb the rocky cliffs. She strained to listen, wondering if she heard the sound of an idling boat engine, or was it just her imagination?

Time to find out.

She wasn’t about to hide up here and peek out of windows.

She found a flashlight and walked back through the house just as the prow of the boat appeared.

Good.

May as well have it out.

She wasn’t going to cower here in her own damn home.

He might be a detective, but he was Rand Watkins and she’d known him most of his life.

But she thought of the dolls with their weird message.

And she remembered how he’d stared at her during the interrogation, how his mistrust for her was evident.

And she knew that he was looking into her grandmother’s death again.

So what?

She had nothing to hide!

She should confront him. Ask him what he wanted. Invite him in for a drink. See how he’d like that!

You’d be dancing with the devil, she heard her grandmother say.

Too bad. She wasn’t going to be a wuss about it. If Rand had something to say to her, something he wanted to see at the house, then fine. Flashlight in hand, she walked to the French doors off the living room, and as she stepped onto the terrace she caught sight of his navigation lights, heard the purr of the boat’s engine fading. He was already leaving.

“Hey!” she yelled, swinging the flashlight. “Hey! Rand!”

He kept motoring.

“Detective!” she screamed.

To no avail.

Well, fine.

“And good riddance,” she added, not wanting to examine why he bothered her so much. It was more than the fact that he was looking into her grandmother’s case or that he’d once been Chase’s best friend. Something deeper. And something she didn’t want to consider.

She went back inside, had one last drink, and was a little wobbly as she climbed the stairs to her room, then glanced up at the stairway to the turret room. She should clean up the mess from the broken lamp. At least sweep up the sharp pieces. She could find a hand vacuum and clean the rest tomorrow.

The broom was already in the room, so she trudged up the remaining flight, put the shade and base on the chaise, and began sweeping the big shards into a trash can.

She was just about finished when she noticed one piece of glass winking from beneath the skirting of the chaise longue. Bending down to reach it, she used the bristles of the broom to pull the jagged piece out of its resting place and peered beneath the fringe.

And stared into deep, black eye sockets.

She let out a gasp and scooted away.

Before she realized she was looking at the remains of a crouching skeletal cat.

“Oh God. Jinx,” she whispered, her heart cracking, her insides shredding. Tears touched the back of her eyes. Her stomach turned over.

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