Page 200 of It Happened on the Lake

She tried the knob.

No luck.

Locked tight.

“Awesome,” she whispered. She didn’t know what she’d expected. A windowed suite of offices with a panoramic view of the street? A busy receptionist seated behind a mahogany desk, a headset in place, a computer keyboard at her fingertips? Maybe a large door with pebble glass and Levi’s name engraved in gold leaf?

Well, this wasn’t it. Definitely not.

This could only be described as a back-alley hole in the wall.

She knocked.

Waited.

Nothing.

So here she was with her bag of Chase’s belongings and no one to give them to.

Looking down the hallway, she spied a staircase. Hadn’t Beth said Levi lived above his office but was moving? She took the stairs to that second-story hallway, a duplicate of the one at street level. The whole setup reminded her of a cheap inner city hotel with a row of doorways on either side of the carpeted corridor, all numbered, no names and no way to tell which one was Levi’s.

“Great. Mission not accomplished.”

Once back at the main vestibule, she checked the listing for the mailboxes. Numbers only. She tried the door to his office once more, failed, and wrote the phone number listed on a notepad she found in her purse.

It was as if Levi didn’t want anyone to find him, which was a weird way to run a business. Unless, of course, that business was somewhat secretive. And he’d told her about being a PI. “A long story,” he’d said and hadn’t elaborated. Hadn’t Beth said he’d been a spy or something? Was that possible? She remembered him visiting her in the hospital and certainly hadn’t immediately thought of clandestine meetings, smoky back rooms, or dark, puddled alleyways.

Get over yourself !

She was letting her imagination get the better of her. He had a small, cheap office and he wasn’t in. No big deal.

But it was a frustrating way to spend a fall afternoon when she had a million and one other things to do. She slid inside her Volvo and reversed her course, noting as she crossed the river a few fishing boats scattered on the gray water and sunlight peeking through the cloud cover reflected in patches that shimmered.

Absently she switched on the radio, where a news reporter was talking enthusiastically about the Dodgers winning the World Series before he launched into a report that President Reagan was leveling the new American Embassy in Moscow because of suspected listening devices implanted in it.

Was that a surprise?

Spy vs. Spy, she thought, remembering the comic strip inMad Magazinewhere espionage agents took on the images of masked birds. Evan had devoured every issue of that magazine while she had been more interested inSeventeenorTiger Beat.

Such a long time ago. And now Levi was back, possibly had been a spy himself, and had opened up a small one-man investigation gig in Portland.

The newscast ended and the lilting tune and upbeat lyrics of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” by Bobby McFerrin played. “Sorry, Bobby.” She snapped off the radio. “Not in the mood.” Happiness was in short supply these days.

The rest of the drive she was lost in thought, mostly about Levi and what she was going to say to him. What she was going to admit. “Nothing,” she said as she reached Almsville and drove along Northway. Through the trees she caught glimpses of the lake, dark and moody, the water choppy with the wind, the sun now blocked by clouds. As she turned into the short lane to the bridge, she spied the red pickup she recognized as belonging to Craig Alexander.

“Great.” She wasn’t really in the mood to deal with him.

The truck was empty, but as she parked, he rounded the corner of the garage. Wearing a bomber jacket and jeans, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, he was followed by Rambo, who tagged along slowly sniffing the wet shrubbery as they approached.

“Hey!” he said, greeting her with a smile. “I thought I’d missed you.”

“No such luck,” she half joked and wondered about him. If he had a key. If he’d put the threatening message on the dolls. If he had left the dead cat’s skeleton. She glanced at the freshly turned soil in the rose garden where once Earline had been buried.

“Very funny,” he said, but it wasn’t, and as he reached into the cab of his truck, she noticed a rifle was mounted in the gun rack. Was he dangerous?Not today, she decided, but she was wary, watching as he withdrew a manila envelope. “I took a chance and brought over the estimate rather than send it through the mail,” he explained, and she relaxed a bit. “Look it over, and we’ll talk. I’m just finishing a job—it should take about three weeks, maybe four, but I could order materials and get started, say, uh, maybe around the middle of November?” He handed her the envelope, then squinted up at the upper story of the house. “Just as long as there’s no major roof work or foundation issues—nothing serious that has to be done outside, the weather shouldn’t affect us too much. Oh, and Beth said you really wanted to seal off the boathouse.”

“Her idea.”

“Well, she’s right. It needs to be closed off, or maybe built out in that cave. That should probably be done sooner rather than later.”

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