Page 47 of It Happened on the Lake

“Yeah,” Harper agreed, but in her mind’s eye she witnessed Cynthia Hunt’s tortured face, could hear her bone-chilling shrieks.

“I knew it was, but I’d forgotten. As a kid, you know, who cared? Anyway, if you do decide to put it on the market, talk to me.” Beth’s gaze swept over the tall windows, the worn carpet, the ancient furniture. “Of course you’d have to fix it up, but that shouldn’t be a problem, right? You inherited more than the property?”

She was asking about money in the estate. A not-so-small fortune.

Before Harper could reply, Beth added, “Craig could fix this place up. I think I mentioned that he has his own construction company now, and he knows this place like the back of his hand from living here, you remember, when his dad was the groundskeeper?”

All too well. “Yeah.”

Her father had been right about Beth suggesting Harper hire her husband, just as Dad had remembered how Craig was as a teenager. How many times had she caught him surreptitiously eyeing her as she sunbathed or swam in the lake? While trimming shrubbery or mending the gutters or painting the trim, Craig had often let his eyes stray to her bikini-clad body.

Not that it had been a crime. Just a little unsettling. And then, after graduation, Beth had married him.

Quietly Beth surveyed the rooms and grounds, biting her lip as she walked to the French doors and stared out at the terrace.

Assessing.

Evaluating.

Calculating.

Despite Harper’s headache, exhaustion, and worry about the damned cat, she knew what Beth was doing. She felt a jab of disappointment that there was more to Beth’s insistence on driving her home than just Beth’s need to help out and reconnect. But really, what had she expected? Hadn’t it happened before? Even when they were “besties” in school, hadn’t Harper known that deep down her friend’s interest in her was all because of Beth’s crush on Evan, Harper’s older brother?

“If you decide to sell . . .” Beth said again.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You want to list it.”

“Of course I’d love it! But only if you want to—”

“I’ll think about it.” Harper cut her off, suddenly weary, her headache pounding, her shoulder beginning to ache.

“Do. If you decide, I’ll look around and give you a fair assessment. The only private island on the lake! And it’s yours!” she gushed. “Well, until it isn’t. Until you sell it and make an absolute fortune!” She was beaming. “I’d like to look around, check out the bedrooms and garage and—” She stopped short, must’ve read the censure in Harper’s eyes. “And you’re tired.” Though Harper hadn’t said a word, Beth held up her hands, palms out, in mock surrender. “Sorry. I got carried away. I’ve always loved this island, you know. Envied you for being able to live here. In your own private Eden.”

How ironic. Harper had always felt isolated on this side of the lake, had wanted to be a part of the crowd on the south shore.

Beth noticed the telescope, bent down, and adjusted the focus. “Oh wow,” she said. “What a view. You can see everything going on in the lake from up here and . . .” Her voice drifted away. “And the houses on Fox Point.” She moved the telescope slowly.

“I know.”

“I guess I never realized how much you all could see from here . . . The point is kind of sheltered, except . . .” She let out a whistle. “Holy Mother Mary, you can see right into our bedrooms and bathrooms and . . .” She straightened, her eyes troubled. “I guess we should all pull our shades, or else you could become a Peeping Tom.” She forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Or a Peeping Thomasina!”

“Yeah, right.” Harper tried to sound dismissive, but Beth didn’t know the half of it. How many times had Harper stared through that very telescope hoping for even a quick glimpse of Chase?

How pathetic it seemed now.

Harper had been hopelessly, blindly in love with him. Of course it had been puppy love, but it had consumed her. She would have done just about anything for him, and now that thought made her uncomfortable. Looking through the linked prisms of age and wisdom, she realized how one-sided the love had been, how pathetic.

Beth peered through the eyepiece again. “This isreallyhigh-powered.”

“My grandfather bought it a million years ago.” So he could get off by ogling the women—and girls—across the lake. George Dixon, “Gramps” to Harper and Evan, had pocket binoculars, as well as this telescope and an even higher-powered one in the tower room on the fourth floor.

Beth would have freaked out if Harper had dared to share the extent of her grandfather’s interest in the women of Lake Twilight while touching himself. Had he been watching Cynthia Hunt exercising? Or viewing Beth’s mom, Alaina, the ex-model sunbathing in her tiny bikini? Or had he been focused on Beth, who was just starting to develop into a woman, or even some of the coeds who occupied the last house on the point?

Harper never knew.

She had backed down the steps, quiet as a mouse, when Gramps did his dirty spying.

Over the years, she’d steadfastly pushed the vision of her grandfather with his hands down his pants aside, just as she’d tried to forget the “girlie” calendars she’d found in the garage. Sensual images of Hollywood starlets, posed nearly naked, large breasts with pink nipples exposed, lips puckered in come-hither expressions. Despite the years passing, Gramps had kept the slick calendars and foldouts in a neat stack.

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