I didn’t stay long after dessert. We all gave one another goodbye hugs.
Watching for Derek or his motorcycle, I walked to my car. With its doors securely locked, I drove past Terri’s town house. It was still dark inside, and the porch light hadn’t been turned on.
I almost didn’t notice the white slip of paper sticking out between her storm door and the jamb.
It had not been there earlier. Was it a note from Derek, perhaps threatening? The police wouldn’t leave a message where anyone could read it.
Anyone could read it....
I stopped, checked my mirrors, and craned my neck around. Hoping there were no security cameras focused on me, I got out and walked casually to Terri’s door as if I had every right to be there.
The white thing was a folded piece of paper. I pulled it out and peered at it in the dim light. It was an advertisement for a snow removal service.
Certain that Terri or Derek was about to fling the door open and ask what I was doing there at ten o’clock at night, I clumsily refolded the flyer and stuck it between the storm door and the jamb. I walked as normally as possible to my car. Driving away, I saw similar flyers at other doors and scolded myself for not having paid attention to the other houses before going up to Terri’s porch. For sure, someone in the neighborhood had a security camera, or the witnesses I’d hoped were peeking between their curtains when Derek confronted me were now calling the police to report a prowler in an orange denim skirt.
If Terri had opened her front door since I was last there, she probably would have taken the flyer inside, or it would have dropped to her porch. She either hadn’t gotten home yet, or she’d been inside when the flyer was delivered.
I wondered if she’d been located. I wondered what Brent was doing, and how he and Detective Gartborg were trying to solve Rich’s murder.
I would be glad when they arrested someone. Gartborg could move on to her next DCI assignment, and Brent might again be free to join the rest of us at parties and dinners.
I didn’t mind that he hadn’t been there to see Misty’s and my excitement over Samantha and Hooligan’s engagement. Brent and I weren’t dating each other, but he might have thought we were pressuring him to change our comfy and supportive relationship. I didn’t mind if Scott and Misty felt pressured to consider becoming engaged, but I understood why Brent should be cautious about dating his late partner’s widow.
I hadn’t been cautious with Alec, and I had never regretted saying yes to him.
Meanwhile, if I could do anything non-dangerous and non-interfering to help Alec’s best friend solve this latest murder, I would.
Where could Terri be? If Derek had done something to her, I didn’t want to be the one to find out. The police could do that.
But what if she was all right, and merely scared of someone—Derek, for instance? Rich might have given her the keys to his house and cottage. Could she be hiding at either of those places when police investigators weren’t there?
She’d seemed very friendly with Rich’s neighbor, Hank, but shortly after he mentioned her at Deputy Donut, he’d realized he had to rush off to his performance at Happy Times Retirement Home.
Maybe Terri was hiding from Derek and the police in Hank’s house.
Maybe Hank had killed Rich, and fearing that Terri might suspect him, Hank had killed her, too.
I could drive past Rich’s and Hank’s houses and Rich’s cottage. Maybe I would figure out if Terri was staying in any of those places, either on purpose or against her will.
Lake Fleekom wasn’t far out of the way home.
Chapter 18
Staring at Rich’s mansion, I drove slowly down the hill. If I saw any sign of investigators or murderers, I would turn around and go home.
The moon would be full on Halloween, which would be perfect for my party that night. This was only the twenty-ninth, but the moon was high, almost round, and very bright. Rich’s mansion was dark. No vehicles were in his driveway, the tent was still on the lower part of his side yard, and his gates were closed. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the property. Watching his house for signs of life, I followed the road as it curved right and passed Hank’s house.
I couldn’t see anyone in or around Hank’s house, either, but lights in back illuminated trees near the shore. As usual, no vehicles were in his driveway. A man fastidious enough to blow leaves off his dock probably kept his cars or trucks tidily in the two-car garage attached to his house.
At the unpaved part of the road, I slowed down. I couldn’t see crime scene tape near the pathway leading into the woods where I’d found the canoe. I guessed that the canoe and paddle had been taken to the forensics lab and a mold of the tire prints had been made so they could be compared to the tires of suspects’ vehicles.
No one was at the public beach.
I tucked my car close to trees on one side of the parking area, shut off the engine, made certain that the dome light wouldn’t come on, opened the door, and listened. All I heard were wavelets washing onto the beach and a late-falling leaf floating down, touching branches, and settling almost soundlessly on the ground.
I slipped out of the car. Leaving the door ajar and navigating by the light of the moon, I walked quietly to the water’s edge.
I couldn’t see Rich’s and Hank’s houses from this secluded beach, and I couldn’t see Rich’s cottage. I could barely make out the cottage’s dock. I stood listening and watching.
I could get back into the car, drive to Rich’s cottage, check it visually as I drove past, and take another look at his and Hank’s houses on the way home.
If I drove past Rich’s cottage and Rich’s and Hank’s houses, my car’s engine and headlights would be noticeable.
Kayaking near the backs of the buildings would be nearly inaudible and wouldn’t involve bright lights. From my kayak, I would be able to check the lake sides of all three buildings. I would be able to kayak quite safely on that lonely, moonlit lake. Hank had told me that he had never been married. I had the impression that he lived alone. Unless Terri or someone else was in Hank’s or Rich’s house, or some of the cottages were occupied this late in the season, Hank might be the only person who could look out and see a kayak on the lake.
Maybe he wouldn’t think it was unusual for people to kayak at night.
No other boaters would bash into me unless the fingers of mist curling up from the lake thickened into an impenetrable blanket and we couldn’t help a collision. But no one else was likely to go out in a boat in the semidarkness at this time of year, no one in their right mind, anyway.
When it came to kayaking, was I ever in my right mind? Maybe I was addicted to the freedom of skimming across the water. Maybe I also associated kayaking with Brent.
I could imagine Alec telling me not to go out on this lake by myself at night before the murderer was caught and to call Brent instead.
There was no reason to call Brent. I didn’t know where Terri was. I merely had a guess, lots of guesses, and maybe I could rule out some of them.
Besides, the investigation was keeping Brent too busy to answer calls about unsupported hunches.
Even if I didn’t find a clue to Terri’s whereabouts, I could simply enjoy the moonlit magic of this lake, with mist swirling around me.
How could I resist?
I muttered, “I’ll be careful.”
Thanks to the moon and a flashlight, I quickly removed my kayak from the top of the car. I carried the kayak to the edge of the water and retrieved my paddle, life jacket, and my phone’s flotation case from the trunk. I stowed my backpack in the trunk, closed the lid as quietly as I could, and locked the car.
A short skirt, a sweater, tights, and flats weren’t the best outfit for kayaking on a chilly October night, or any other time. Maybe my life jacket would provide extra warmth. I fastened it on and tucked my phone in its case into a pocket. After hitching my skirt up around my hips, I managed to clamber into the kayak without getting my feet—or anything else—completely so
aked.
And then, there it was, the euphoria of effortless floating. Sitting among the growing wisps of mist was spectacular. I wished Brent could have been enjoying it with me.
I paddled across the lake without going close to the cottages. Seeing no lights around Rich’s cottage or any of the Bide-a-Wees, I kept going and steered the easily maneuverable little craft through shallow water beside the wild and undeveloped shore.
Hank’s and Rich’s houses were still far away, and the white party tent was ghostly in the moonlight. I could have stayed warmer by paddling faster, but I didn’t want my movement or splashing to be noticeable to anyone on the shore or the lake if anyone else was out here.
Besides, floating on this calm water and absorbing all this moonlit beauty was worth a little shivering. Listening, watching, and occasionally merely drifting, I stayed close to the wooded shore. I eased past the stream flowing out of the duck and turtle pond. Slowly, I paddled into shadows behind junipers leaning out over the last point of land between the pond and Rich’s property. The shadows, the high bank, and the trees should shelter all but my head from potential watchers in Rich’s or Hank’s houses.
I peeked between juniper branches. Rich’s house was as dark in back as it had been in front. No one seemed to be around, but I kept watching until my wet feet reminded me that I had a nice warm cat waiting for me at home. Sitting up straighter, I dipped my paddle toward the water.
A light moved behind one of the upper windows of Rich’s house.
I stilled the paddle and grabbed a branch to prevent my kayak from drifting away from the treed point.
The light went out.
I watched. The light did not reappear. I was about to turn around and go back the way I’d come, as far as possible from Rich’s house and the person who might be inside it, when someone appeared on Hank’s lawn at the end of the hedge between Hank’s and Rich’s houses.
I didn’t move.
Seemingly unconcerned about watchers, he—I was sure it was a he by his size and the way he walked—strode across Hank’s beach, slipped into a canoe near Hank’s dock, and paddled toward the middle of the lake. He paddled quickly, without splashing or banging against gunwales.
Unless I wanted to confront him or be confronted by him, I didn’t dare return to the public beach via the end of the lake where Rich’s cottage was. Similarly, if I paddled straight across the lake and the person in that canoe turned around, he might see past the curling mist and notice me. Plus, although I would try to paddle quietly, I might end up close enough for him to hear one end of my paddle splash as it went into the water and the other end drip as it came out.
The best and perhaps safest choice was to stay close to the shore near Rich’s mansion where trees and the party tent would partially shield me from the view of anyone who might be looking out one of the windows near where I’d seen the light. And maybe by the time I was skulking along that shore, the person in the canoe would be at the other end of the lake, too far away to see or hear me in the rising mist.
Hoping that if anyone did see me they’d mistake me for some sort of kayaking fiend, which wasn’t too far from the truth, I paddled cautiously around the point and past the party tent.
I stayed close to Rich’s dock and rounded the end of it, and then I was in open water between his dock and Hank’s. I passed the hedge that divided their properties.
Lights were on in Hank’s house, flooding the glass-walled back room with a warm glow. Maybe Terri was in there, enjoying a nice warm mug of something delicious by the fireplace.
Or screaming for help.
No one was screaming that I could hear, but that didn’t prevent me from imagining it.
I stilled my paddle again and held my breath.
“Meow.” It sounded like Dep.
Chapter 19
A catlike form sat near the shore on Hank’s side of the thick cedar hedge. “Meow.”
My heart thundered. I managed to call in a strangled whisper, “Dep?”
“Mew.”
How could Dep have gotten here? All the time I was telling myself that the cat meowing beside the hedge could not possibly be Dep, I was picturing someone breaking into my house, grabbing my darling kitty, and bringing her to this isolated lake where a man had been murdered two and a half days before.
Staying underneath cedar branches, the cat slunk up the hill and away from where I sat in my gently rocking kayak.
Carefully, I turned and scanned what I could see of the lake. If the man and his canoe were on the water, they were out of sight in the moonlit mist.
I paddled to Hank’s beach. Listening for noises from the houses and watching the lake, I thrust myself out of my kayak and pulled it higher on the sand to keep it from floating away. Bent over, knowing that Brent wouldn’t approve, I darted to the hedge. “Dep?”
“Mew.” This time, the plaintive cry came from close to Hank’s house. I ran up the hill beside the hedge until I was near one corner of the windowed back room.
“Mew.” There was a click and a rattle.
A large, gray, long-haired cat let himself into Hank’s back room through one of those cat doors that unlocked when a cat wearing a transmitter came near it.
I called Dep again. No answer.
Exhaling, I relaxed my shoulders. Dep was undoubtedly still safe at home, and Hank had a talkative cat who probably smelled like cedar at the moment.
I could not see Terri or anyone else in the room. It was an enviable retreat, with warm shades of wood paneling on the walls, gorgeous rugs on the floors, and comfy chairs and couches underneath lamps placed just right for reading. A fire burned low in a massive stone fireplace. The gray cat curled up in a kitty bed in front of the hearth and settled his chin on his front legs. I could almost hear him purr.
Next to the wall of windows, a shiny black grand piano displayed only one photo on its closed top. I crept to the window nearest the piano.
The photo was a cute one, obviously vintage, of two teenagers dressed for prom. The boy was wearing a white dinner jacket with a red carnation in the lapel, and the girl was wearing a shimmery silver dress with a white orchid pinned to the bodice. Both about seventeen, their smiles were somewhere between proudly overjoyed and painfully shy.
They looked familiar.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that the boy had to be a much younger Hank.
I’d seen many photos of the girl, taken other years, in Rich’s cottage.
Hank had dated Patty, the girl who had later married Rich.
Hank had left Deputy Donut abruptly after he’d mentioned Patty Royalson.
And now a man I thought might be Hank was out on the lake where Rich’s wife had drowned. Did Hank have anything to do with her death or with her husband’s, twenty years later?
And there I was, trespassing on Hank’s lawn and peeking into his windows while my kayak was on his beach. And the night was lighter than ever, with the nearly full moon shining on the growing mist.
Hoping that the mist would envelop me and my kayak, I scuttled back to the beach and paddled away from the two houses and toward the cove where someone had dragged a canoe onto the beach and into the woods. I was shivering.
Hoping that the person who had canoed away from Hank’s house was not already in that cove, I listened. If the man was out here on the lake, he was silent.
For once, I hadn’t felt that thrill of floating free when I launched my kayak at Hank’s beach. I paddled as quickly and quietly as I could past the cove.
I swung farther out into the lake to survey the county park’s beach before I attempted to land. I wasn’t sure how I would get to my car if someone was prowling around on the beach. Encountering police investigators would be embarrassing, but better than coping with a murderer. My kayak paddle, a hollow aluminum shaft with plastic blades, would not be a particularly good weapon.
Gliding past the beach, I peered over the mist. The only vehicle I saw was mine. The moon’s reflection was lik
e an ethereal white ball on the windshield. I paddled quickly, accidentally splashing my paddle too loudly, to the beach.
I had stopped shivering. I disembarked. And plunged both feet into the shallows.
I carried the kayak and paddle to my car and stowed my paddle, phone case, and life jacket in the trunk. I let the trunk lid drop into place. The sound was loud enough to echo from the other side of the lake. Sliding the kayak into its carrier on the roof was not much quieter. Not knowing where the canoer was, I didn’t turn on a flashlight, which made fastening the kayak to the straps on my car more difficult than usual.
I had snapped the latches in back and was going around to the front when I heard an engine and the rattling of a vehicle traveling on bumps and potholes in the gravel road. It was coming from the direction of Hank’s and Rich’s houses. Could it be the person who’d moved a light on Rich’s mansion’s third floor? Or was someone heading for one of the Bide-a-Wees, perhaps arriving Thursday night for a long weekend?
Maybe someone was planning to investigate this public beach....
I slipped into the driver’s seat and quietly shut and locked the door.
Headlights lit the road. A small, dark pickup truck bumped past and continued toward the cottages.
As soon as it was out of sight, I jumped out of the car and latched the kayak’s front tie-down straps. Because of moonlight reflecting off the misty lake, they were easier than the back ones. The rattles from the pickup truck dwindled.
I quickly got into the car again and was about to close the door when a light, blurred by mist, wobbled near Rich’s dock or one near it. The light disappeared.
Had it been the person from the canoe or someone else? I didn’t think it could have been the driver of the pickup truck. I could still hear faint rattling as if the pickup was almost at Rich’s cottage.
Hugging myself for warmth, I stared through the windshield.
I’d hoped that when I was kayaking, I’d been hidden in the mist, and maybe I had been. I was short, and people in kayaks could be lower than people in canoes.
Boston Scream Murder Page 14
