Page 84 of It Happened on the Lake

Of course. No one was here. What was wrong with her?

Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

Ridiculous.

Ears straining, she listened but heard only the thudding of her heart in her ears and the soft rush of warm air being forced through the ancient heat ducts.

She slipped back into the bathroom where she’d seen an old pair of scissors. Once she had them in her grip, she decided to check the house.

One more time.

Holding the shears in a death grip, she headed first up the stairs to her grandfather’s crow’s nest and held on to the banister for support. She had, after all, had several drinks, and she wasn’t as steady as normal. Once at the top of the turret, she flipped on the light and blinked, muscles bunched, ready to spring if an attacker was inside.

But no.

She found no one lurking in the shadows or hiding in the shower stall. Down she went, past the floor she’d claimed for her bedroom, then lower to the second floor. Cautiously, every muscle straining, she searched the bedrooms and bathrooms, opening closets and expecting someone to leap out at her at any moment.

No one did.

Don’t freak yourself out!

On the landing, she paused, again listening hard.

Could Jinx have nudged a door open? One that hadn’t quite latched? “Kitty?” she called. “Jinx?” But her voice seemed to die in the darkness.

Down another flight she went, switching on lights. Through the foyer and kitchen, parlor and Gram’s bedroom and everywhere, every damned room she encountered the dolls, all of them staring sightlessly at her.

Plastic faces unmoving.

Rubber arms limp.

Lips set in forever pouts.

Unnerving.

She’d get rid of the damned things tomorrow. Every last one of them.

Still clutching the scissors, she moved through the butler’s pantry and dining room, then peered out to the terrace where anyone could hide in the darkness. The lake beyond was a black abyss, only a few lights on the opposite shore winking.

Get a grip, she told herself but knew she’d never go to sleep unless she double-checked the doors.

So she went through the same routine she’d done with Gram years before: front door, kitchen door, terrace door off the parlor, door to the basement, and door to the garage. Five. “Like the points of a star. Remember that,” Gram had told her when she’d been a child and they had counted them off together. Then, later, when Gram was unable and Harper had spent some nights with her, she had gone through the ritual.

Tonight, all the doors were secure.

Berating herself, she returned to her room, her heartbeat returned to normal, though she was still unsteady and her damned hip was hurting again.

Well, so be it. At least she was safe here.

After snapping off the bedroom light, she slid into the flannel-lined bag and told herself not to be such a goose—and to cut down on the drinking. She needed to keep her wits and be at the top of her game.

No one else was inside this huge house.

Yet, despite everything, she kept the shears at her side in the sleeping bag.

In the pale light from the window, she caught one last glimpse of the crucifix in the room, Jesus appearing to look down on her.

“Don’t judge me,” she mumbled to the ceramic son of God hanging on the faded wallpaper. Then absently made the sign of the cross over her chest, a habit left over from childhood. As she was drifting off, she told herself she was being ridiculous. She hadn’t been to mass in ages.

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