Page 47 of The Lake Escape
“Detective Baker is asking for no unauthorized search parties and to let the professionals do their job. A team from Northeast Search and Rescue is helping now. We would just be in the way.”
I can’t tell if he’s upset or relieved to be off patrol, although I’d like to think he wants to be proactive. I want to believe he didn’t do anything to Fiona. And yet, he was threatening when he warned me not to blab about him to Taylor. As I head to bed, I lock my door for the first time, reminding myself to beverycareful.
In the morning, the kids sleep in. I’m surprised. Yesterday’s events may have finally caught up with them. I head downstairs, half-expecting to see Fiona in the kitchen making breakfast, but I’m the first up and the only one there. I brew coffee because, Lord knows, nannies need caffeine. As I enjoy my hot, overly sugared beverage, I ponder the day’s schedule from a comfy chair with a great lake view. As I take in the beauty of this idyllic vacation spot, I can’t help but reflect on the underlying darkness. Across from me is Susie Welch’s former house, and what should be a pleasant morning is marred by visions of bones and missing women.
I’m lost in thought when Taylor slips inside.
“Any word on Fiona?” she asks, a sprig of hope in her voice.
“None,” I answer glumly.
“Lucas is going for a hike with his father. They said you could join them,” she tells me.
I groan on the inside. “What? Go hiking with Rick and Lucas? Now?”
Taylor sends me an imploring look. “Yeah, Rick asked me to go with them, but I said you’d probably love to go on a hike, since you’ve never been to the lake before. I’ll stay and watch the kids. I’ll tell David I made you take a break to experience some of the area’s scenic beauty. He’ll be fine with it.”
I’m aware I agreed to get to know Lucas better, but traipsingoff into the woods with a potentially dangerous musician and hisDuck Dynastydad isn’t high on my morning wish list. But since I don’t see an easy way out, I agree to go. I’m sure David trusts Taylor with the kids as much as he trusts me. He’s known her far longer.
In no time, I have on pants and a lightweight hoodie as part of my anti-tick ensemble, and off I go.
I come around the corner to see my hiking companions standing on the same patio where Lucas and Fiona had their tongue-wrestling match. Father and son don’t seem particularly close. Lucas has his back to his dad. He’s shuffling his feet, hands stuffed in his pockets. I don’t blame him—I don’t want to acknowledge Rick, either. He looks intimidating in camouflage pants, a matching shirt, and an orange vest. He’s also holding a rifle.
I head back to the house to tell Taylor we’ll try another way that doesn’t involve weaponry, but Rick homes in on me with his hunter’s eyes. “Hey, Izzy. Glad you’re joining us,” he says.
Busted, I turn around, resigned to my fate. I sidle up to Lucas, reminding myself not to be taken in by his friendly grin.
Meanwhile, Rick looks excited to kill something. It’s puzzling, because I don’t think it’s hunting season until the fall.
He notices me eyeing his attire, and especially his firearm.
“We’ve got a coyote problem around here,” he tells me. “More than a few local cats have gone missing. We have a year-round license to hunt them, so I hope we get lucky on our hike.”
I’m hoping the coyote gets lucky.
“You should both put on vests,” Rick instructs. “I doubt there are other hunters, but better safe than sorry.”
Reluctantly I take one of the orange garments he holds out and slip it on like a smock. I look like a walking traffic cone, but it’s better than being mistaken for a target.
Lucas puts his vest on, rolling his eyes at his father. It’s probably more about the getup than his stance on killing animals. We fall into step behind Rick, who walks like a man on a mission.
The trail is easy enough to navigate, which is a relief. Dressed in camo, Rick looks like a soldier in the war movies my dad likes towatch. His eyes are ever vigilant, probing the dense woods for any sign of movement. Even though I don’t know him well, I feel a duty to warn.
“I hope you don’t shoot at anything that moves,” I say tentatively. “Fiona might be out here somewhere.”
“Don’t worry. I work as a hunting guide. I know how to identify a target before I shoot.”
I’m on a hunting mission myself, and my target is walking five steps in front of me.
We’re heading up a slight incline, and already I feel out of breath. I’m pondering ways to break the ice when Lucas slows down. Before I know it, we’re marching side by side on a path narrow enough for leafy branches to brush our shoulders.
“My mom gave me the fifth degree because of what you said to the police,” he informs me.
I should have been prepared for this. I did rat him out, after all. Perhaps my preoccupation with the bones and the lake lore short-circuited my common sense. Then again, I have an impulsivity issue. And a bad-boy problem as well.
I try to read his emotions. His eyes are veiled behind sunglasses. His mouth is in a half smile, which is annoyingly ambiguous. He’s either toying with me or letting me off the hook.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry about that,” I say. I don’t mean it, but maybe it will soften him up if I’m apologetic. “I just happened to be up on the deck and saw what I saw. And then the police started asking questions about Fiona, and I felt I had to be honest. But I’m sorry if—” My thought is cut short as I stumble over my words and the uneven terrain simultaneously. I fall forward, realizing a second too late that my foot has caught a rock jutting out of the ground.
