Page 217 of It Happened on the Lake

“I don’t—” He started to protest, then said, “She was someone I knew, a friend. When we were kids.”If that, he thought. But certainly not after the interview. “She’s not that crazy about me now.”

“Uh-huh.” Chelle didn’t bother hiding her skepticism as she shone the beam of her flashlight over shelving on the far wall where movie reels and canisters of undeveloped film were stacked. On the shelf below were microphones, cameras with interchangeable lenses, batteries, and flashbulbs.

Rand picked up a Brownie movie camera. “Straight out of the fifties,” he said, remembering that the Hunts had owned one like this. The second camera was a Kodak Instamatic M8. And the third he didn’t recognize, but it looked expensive, more professional as it had interchangeable lenses. Possibly one allowing night vision? Rand didn’t know enough about photographic equipment to make an educated guess, but the equipment looked state of the art for its era.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. As he replaced the movie camera, Lynette poked her head inside. “Oh. Gross,” she said, looking around. “Holy . . . Was Dad right? Was this a spy ring? Or drug den?”

Chelle said, “We’re still checking it out.”

“And that awful smell—did something die up here?” Lynette’s face twisted into an expression of disgust.

“Maybe a water leak, or mold. Haven’t found any sign of it,” Rand said. “But you might want to check it out with a contractor.”

“Oh, great. One more expense.” She clucked her tongue. “We should just sell this place. I think I’m making an executive decision here, withoutMom.”

Rand said, “We’re going to need to go through everything here.”

“Oh sure.” Lynette flipped a hand. “Anything you want up here, just take. It’s been twenty years.”

“We will,” Chelle said.

“Good.” Lynette started to leave and touched the splintered wood on the door with a finger. “If you want to see downstairs, I’ll stick around for a while.”

“Be right there,” Chelle said and, once Lynette was out of earshot, shone her flashlight on the film canisters and reels. “I think we should go through all of these. Who knows what we’ll find?”

“Right,” he said and hated the creeping feeling of foreboding about dredging up the past again. But it was too late to turn back now.

Chapter 54

“Son of a bitch!” On a step stool, reaching onto the top of the closet in the master bedroom, Levi yanked the tiny microphone out of the wall and held the small device in his palm.

He knew exactly what he’d found. He’d used a similar one in surveillance for some of his clients.

It was small.

State of the art.

Easy to install.

And accurate. It could pick up whispers from several feet away.

Favored by spies and private investigators, a newer model.

Ironic that it had been used on him.

And Beth.

He didn’t have to think too hard to know who had planted it. And, he bet, if he went into Craig’s workroom at the Alexander house next door, he’d find earphones and a recorder. “Damn,” he muttered, imagining Craig Alexander sneaking into this house and hooking it up. Craig had spent the past twenty-odd years of his life working in construction. He knew the trades. And he had the motive: Levi was sleeping with Craig’s wife.

A mistake.

It had been from the get-go.

Levi hopped off the ladder and wanted to grind the damned microphone under his shoe but figured he needed a harder surface than the green shag carpeting that still covered the floor of his parents’ bedroom.

Why hadn’t he listened to his gut?

He’d had the feeling that he was being watched but had convinced himself that he was just being paranoid, had spent too many years in the spy business. Even as he’d begun the short affair.

---