Page 40 of The Lake Escape
“Yeah, a very convenient one,” said Erika, echoing Julia’s thoughts exactly.
Chapter 16
Izzy
Am I living under the same roof as a murderer?
I felt kinda badass, secretly investigating the unsolved disappearances at Lake Timmeny disguised as a prim and proper nanny. But now, I’m apparently working for a man who might have offed his girlfriend. Suddenly these cold cases don’t feel so cold. If my mother, aka Ms. Drown-in-a-Tablespoon-of-Water, knew what I was up to, she’d drag me home by my ear like a bratty kid—back when you could do such a thing to bratty kids. While part of me is second-guessing my decision to be here, I can’t turn back now. In fact, Fiona’s disappearance makes me more determined to get to the bottom of things.
Detective Baker left to oversee the water search and rescue operation with a promise to follow up with David later—a pledge that, to my ears, sounded more like a threat. Julia and Erika departed without any pleasant goodbyes. I assume both went to check on their respective children. I’m sure Lucas will get a good grilling from his mother. Will he deny it all? Fiona isn’t around to tell her side of the story.
As for Fiona, where could she be? We all hope she’s not in the water, but the longer this goes unresolved, the more concerned I become for her well-being.
Everyone left, but David’s still agitated. He paces around the living room, muttering expletives at his phone. I imagine he’s tryingto figure out what happened to the security system and why the camera was disabled after midnight. Was it an inconvenient technical malfunction or something else, something intentional? I understand that David might be putting on an act to fool everyone, including the police.
I don’t stick around to see how he devolves. Instead, I head upstairs to check on Brody and Becca. It will be hard to hide a team of scuba divers from them, especially in a house with so many windows overlooking the water. I’ll have to concoct a believable explanation for what they’re doing and why.
While I didn’t think I’d left them alone for long, I should have known that children don’t need much time to make a gigantic mess. To my astonishment, they’ve converted their bedroom into a lunar landscape with white sheets stretched from wall to wall, pinned in place with chairs and a small desk that the kids managed to move by themselves. Since both are unscathed, I direct my attention to the scratches they’ve put in David’s new hardwood floor, no doubt from shuffling the furniture around.
Apple cider vinegar mixed with olive oil can work miracles on the gouges (thank you, Grandma), but that will have to wait. I need to clean up this fortress and get the kids out of the way before the divers hit the water.
“Sorry that took so long,” I tell them. “But everything’s fine.”
Sort of. Kind of. Liar.
The kids don’t notice that I’ve returned without the promised treats.
“Welcome to Fort Brody!” he announces, emerging from a cave of white sheets, a pleased-with-himself grin stretching from ear to ear. For some inexplicable reason, he’s wearing turtle floaties around each arm.
Not to be outdone, Becca crawls out from underneath the sheets on her brother’s heels. “No, it’s Fort Becca,” she insists.
Before I know it, I’m dragged through a narrow makeshift tunnel into a fabric underworld. It’s actually quite lovely. A broomstickplaced strategically in the center creates a big top effect that gives me plenty of headspace and breathing room. Pillows galore are strewn about to make sitting more comfortable.
Becca even thought to bring her tiny tin tea set. She primly pours me an imaginary cup that I drink as daintily as possible, my pinkie finger extended for proper etiquette. I don’t want to be rude and rush her, but we can’t spend long drinking imaginary beverages. The divers will be on the scene any minute. I hear a boat motoring about.
“We’ll have more tea later. We’re going out for walk, so let’s all use the bathroom before we leave.”
Becca stays seated with her tiny tin cup and Brody heads to the bathroom first. I follow him out with a reminder to wash his hands. “I know, I know,” he says.
I wait by the door, but when it closes, I feel someone grab my arm from behind. I’m so startled I gasp. Becca is still enjoying her tea, while my heart is now firmly lodged inside my nose.
I turn slowly to see who seized my arm. Part of me thinks (hopes) it’s Fiona, but my face falls when I realize it’s David glaring at me. I try to pull free, but he doesn’t let go. In fact, his grip only tightens. His brown eyes look black, like a turbulent sea. I assume he’s upset about the mess in the bedroom.
“I told the kids they could make a fort,” I say preemptively. “But I promise I’ll clean it up soon.”
I don’t tell him about the marks on the floor, not while he’s clearly so volatile.
“I’m not worried about that. Look, Taylor is downstairs,” he says. He might not be angry about the fort, but his tone conveys he’s upset about something. I detect a low, menacing growl, reminiscent of a distant rumble of thunder. “She wants to talk to you.”
Maybe my confession angered him more than I realized. I wouldn’t have said anything if the police weren’t involved. But I suppose David would have appreciated a heads-up beforehand. News of the kiss must have been a shock.
David glances over his shoulder when he hears a boat on thelake. Does it make him feel sick to his stomach? Or does he already know what they’re going to find?
I need to tread carefully. I don’t know who I’m dealing with, and true crime podcasts tend to follow a familiar script. As the walls close in, the prime suspect becomes more desperate. They start acting out, behaving erratically, taking dangerous risks, and perhaps resorting to desperate measures. David’s not there yet, but given the ugly twist of his mouth, it may not be long before he reaches a boiling point. Good thing Taylor’s here, so I have an excuse to leave.
But David won’t let me go. His cold, threatening eyes linger, his fingers pressing harder into my flesh. I study his knuckles, which are white and strained. My arm begins to ache in his grasp. If he crowds my personal space anymore, he’ll be pressed up against my body. As it is, I can smell coffee on his breath and that musky odor I noticed after his run. He towers over me, blocking the hallway light like an eclipse.
“I want you to think carefully about what you share from now on, Izzy,” he says. “You don’t have the full picture. That stuff you said about Lucas makes me look bad. Real bad. You understand that, right?”
