Page 186 of It Happened on the Lake

How could Rand prove it?

Confront his father?

That was his plan, but now, thinking about it, he decided he needed a little more ammunition, and he knew where he might find it.

Chapter 46

It looked like his mother was home.

Rand parked in the driveway behind her yellow AMC Pacer with a Reagan bumper sticker from the last presidential election still proudly displayed. Probably Kent’s doing. Kent’s influence on Rand’s mother was ever-present.

When Rand knocked on the door, his mother answered. “Rand?” she said, obviously surprised, “I didn’t expect you, but come in, come in.” She stepped out of the doorway and let him pass into the living area, which smelled of lemon oil and furniture polish. “I can offer you a cup of coffee, unless you’d like something else. All we have is Diet Coke and Fresca, I think. Kent’s death on anything with sugar. Claims it’s bad for your teeth, and he should know, right?” She was heading for the kitchen.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, following her through an immaculate house with modern furniture, long low couches, and chairs situated around a round teak coffee table. Probably twenty or so years old and still looking new. The art on the walls was original, all splashy modern pieces.

In the kitchen, she poured two large cups of coffee and motioned for him to sit at a white Formica-topped table. It was situated in front of a sliding glass door that looked out to a small yard where several bird feeders were surrounded by towering arborvitae and shrubs, most notably the heavy-blossomed hydrangeas with their fading blooms. “You still drink it black?”

“Right.”

She placed the cups on the table, then sat across from him. “Well, this is a nice surprise,” she said, smiling over the rim of her cup. Her hair was blond and cut in a short curly shag. She was still trim and fit, a dedicated Jazzercise enthusiast, now wearing acid-washed jeans and a coral sweater with wide shoulders that narrowed to her waist. “I thought you would be working.”

“I am,” he said.

“So this isn’t just a friendly drop by.” Her eyebrows arched.

“Afraid not this time.” He glanced around the room. “Is Kent here?”

“At work, but only a half day. He has tennis and a massage later. Why?”

“Just asking,” he said, sipping from his cup. “You know about Cynthia Hunt, right?”

“Oh, dear, yes. The poor thing.” Barbara set her cup down. “A tortured soul.”

“Right.”

“You’re looking into what happened?”

“That and a few other things.”

“Like what?” she asked, and she played with her wedding ring, a nervous habit he remembered from the years when she was still living at Fox Point, still married to his father.

“Let’s start with the night Chase Hunt disappeared,” he said, and she looked away sharply, to the window where a hummingbird was flitting around a hanging feeder.

“You remember?” he asked gently.

She swallowed. “Yes. Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

“You came to the house. You said you wanted to say good-bye as I was shipping out.”

“That’s right.” She returned her gaze to his. “But you weren’t there.”

No, he’d been out getting drunk as hell after his fight with his best friend and before Levi had shown up on the doorstep. “Did you talk to Dad?”

She paused. Her pale pink lips compressed.

“Mom?”

Barbara let out a tremulous sigh. “No, I didn’t. He wasn’t there, either.”

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