Summit Lake

by Charlie Donlea

  Jack nodded.

  “You wrote his speech?”

  “Me and the rest of the interns,” Jack clarified. “And most of my stuff got cut out.”

  “You always do that,” Becca said. “I hate when you put yourself down.”

  Jack laughed. “That’s not a putdown, it’s a fact. My part was on defense spending and most of it got cut.”

  “Only because of time restraints.” Becca leaned forward between the seats so her parents could hear clearly. “The senator called Jack later to tell him he had more promise than any of the other interns.”

  Becca’s mom turned in the passenger seat. “Really?”

  “I think it was a courtesy call,” Jack said. “He sponsored the program, so I imagine he called all the interns and said something similar.”

  Becca shook her head as she leaned back. “He did not call the other interns. Sammi Ahern was in the same program and she never got a call from Ward. That’s just you being modest. Senator Ward wrote one recommendation letter this year, even though a hundred students probably asked him. It went to Jack.”

  “So why law school if you want to write speeches?” Mr. Eckersley asked.

  “I’ll intern during the summers and get some more experience, and law school will be a good résumé booster. I guess it’ll make me more legit if I write about policy stuff.”

  “Well, the law is a fascinating occupation and maybe you’ll change your mind when you start school. Either way, it sounds like you’ve got your head screwed on straight.” William Eckersley turned his head to look back at Becca while he drove. “So I’m finally piecing together why you were so adamant about staying in DC last summer instead of clerking for me. Is this official now? You two are dating?”

  “No one at school knows,” Becca said. “But we’re telling everyone when we get back.”

  An acidic gas bubble burst somewhere in Jack’s esophagus, causing instant heartburn. He stifled the belch and faked a smile to Becca.

  Mr. Eckersley changed his focus to the rearview mirror, where he could see his daughter’s face. “And why the secrecy about you guys dating?”

  “I already told you, Daddy. We’re all friends and we just want to wait to tell everyone.”

  “Wait for what, honey?”

  “We’re waiting for the right time, Dad. It’s just one of those situations you’re not going to understand.”

  “Ah, of course. But remember, you were three years old before your mother and I told anyone about you, so I might understand more than you think.”

  “You’re such a dork, Dad.”

  They drove in silence for ten minutes before Mr. Eckersley spoke. “Jack, are you familiar with the Blue Ridge Mountains?”

  “Not so much,” Jack said. “I’m from Wisconsin, so mountains are a new phenomenon to me.”

  “They’re part of the Great Smoky Mountain Range. They’re sort of the interior of the Appalachians and formed a barrier to the original settlers. Not until late in the 1700s—”

  “Dad! We just finished finals, we don’t need a history lesson.”

  “It’s not a lesson, it’s interesting background on where we’re headed. Anyway, we have a home up in the mountains where we like to spend Christmas each year. It’s a lake home and we also spend quite a bit of time up there in the summer. I used to like to run my Catalina around the lake, until Becca decided she was the new captain. I only take orders now. The town is called Summit Lake,” Mr. Eckersley said.

  “Becca told me about your house. It sits on the water, right? On stilts or something?”

  “If you fell off the porch you’d land in the lake,” Becca said.

  “A stilt house,” Jack said. “I’m really excited to see it.”

  Becca’s brother was engaged to a girl whose parents lived in Manhattan, so he was spending his Christmas in New York. And being a newly minted member of his father’s law office, he was flying back to Greensboro on Christmas night to be in the office on the 26th. That made Jack, Becca, and her parents the only participants in the Eckersleys’ holiday trek to Summit Lake. The same pressures of making her mark were coming for Becca when she joined her father’s firm. But she’d have to tackle law school first before she joined the other gunners who thought ninety hours a week was the only way to prove their worth.

  It was approaching 6:00 p.m. when they pulled into Summit Lake. Even without daylight Becca and Jack could sense the mountains staring down on them.

  “See, look,” Becca said as they came into town. She pointed to the lake where two rows of ten houses ran into the water, supported by long pillars. Decorated in Christmas lights, the houses were ablaze and reflected off the lake below. A narrow road ran behind the houses and Mr. Eckersley steered the Escalade along the path. He parked in a small spot next to the last house in the line. They all piled out. It was chillier here than at sea level. Becca took Jack by the hand and led him to the deck that ran 360 degrees around the house. They walked to the back of the house where they looked out at the lake.

  “What do you think?”

  “This is amazing. Now I know why you love it so much. What’s out there?” Jack asked as he stared at a light on the other side of the lake.

  “The Summit Lake lighthouse. On Christmas night, it alternates red and green. It sits on the point right where the mountains end. On the other side, the lake opens up for many miles.” She excitedly turned him in the other direction and pointed at the town. “See the tree?”

  Over the two-story buildings Jack saw the top of a pine tree glowing with colored lights and a bright star. Becca squeezed his hand, reading his mind the way she always did.

  “Don’t get sad. We’re going to Green Bay next year for Christmas.”

  “I know. I can just see my mom crying Christmas morning when I’m not there.”

  “Next year my mom will be doing the same thing. When I’m thirty years old she’ll still cry if I’m not around on Christmas morning.”

  They unpacked the car and then headed into town. Becca carried a wrapped box containing the latest rage doll, while Jack carried a Tonka truck. They walked along the dock that ran behind the stilt houses and then onto Maple Street, which was five blocks long and concluded with a three-story hotel at the end. Shops and restaurants lined the road and in the middle of town they came to the giant pine that would not have been misplaced in Rockefeller Center. They each put their donation underneath it.

  “Come on,” Becca said. “I want to show you the town.”

  They headed to the end of Maple Street, turned around, and walked back on the other side. Foot traffic was sporadic as people strolled in and out of shops grabbing gifts a few days before Christmas. Without the intrusion of city lights, the night sky was decorated with stars. It reminded Jack of home. He stared off at the houses that ran up the mountain. They were alive with Christmas decorations and he imagined a life where a second home waited in the mountains, where family and friends gathered for long weekends and holidays. He got to know wealthy kids since he started at George Washington, some so rich they made his life back in Green Bay look like a page out of National Geographic. Becca and her family, he knew, approached this type of wealth. His own family never had much money, and could never afford a vacation house up in Door County where some of his friends went during the summer, but none of that ever mattered to him. His parents gave him and his sisters everything they had, and from that Jack was able to attend GWU. Maybe from that opportunity a life like the one Becca had lived for twenty years might be possible. Maybe.

  For the first time, doubt crept into his mind and stained the way he thought about his future. As he stood in this town, he was nervous about what he would have to offer the girl he loved. Was his counselor correct in his guidance? Jack thought of ninety-hour workweeks digging through research in the basement of a New York firm. No, he decided. He’d crash and burn and live off food stamps before he gave up on his dreams, or fell into the rut of a nine-to-five life. Or a five-to-nine life as man
y first-year graduates in New York live.

  “That’s our church,” Becca said, pointing to the large structure at the end of Maple Street. “They have a really pretty service for Midnight Mass.”

  Jack smiled. “I can’t wait.”

  “Are you glad you came?”

  “I am.”

  Becca wrapped her arm around his waist as they walked through town. He lifted his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

  CHAPTER 14

  Kelsey Castle

  Summit Lake

  March 9, 2012

  Day 5

  She woke early and took to the streets in a slow jog. Despite her dream, or perhaps because of it, she was determined to run this morning. The town was asleep at 5:30 a.m. as Kelsey snaked her way along the sidewalks and through the avenues until she reached the lake. A dirt path took her past the hospital and around the water to the Summit Lake Lighthouse two miles away. A paved path led through the courtyard to the entryway of the lighthouse tower. She climbed the stairs—spiral, metal planks that clinked under her shoes. Forty-watt bulbs offered dim resistance to the darkness outside. She was breathing heavy when she made it to the top and exited from the small doorway that felt like it belonged on a submarine. The breeze was stronger at the top of the tower and Kelsey grabbed the railing to steady herself.

  She looked across the lake. The town was just starting to rise now, with lights visible in scattered homes and chimneys twisting smoke into the morning. She walked around to the other side of the tower, where the lake opened up to a vast expanse of water that covered many miles. From her perspective, she could see the horizon burning with predawn. The metal grating was cold as she sat down and slipped her legs between the railings, dangling her feet over the side. Hugging the two railing bars, Kelsey stuck her face between them and watched the sunrise.

  When the sun peeked over the horizon and painted a highway along the surface of Summit Lake, Kelsey’s mind settled on Becca Eckersley. If Kelsey’s information was correct, and Becca had married in secret—why? The list of possibilities was long. Becca’s parents did not approve of the guy. Their relationship was new and they were young and no one would understand getting married so soon. He was older—a professor perhaps, or maybe an attorney—and their affair had to be kept quiet.

  Despite the reason, the result was the same—Becca’s parents knew nothing about the marriage. Or at least they didn’t the night she was killed. Kelsey shifted her gaze across the lake. The arc of the stilt houses was visible. At the end, the Eckersley home caught the morning light. Kelsey pursed her lips and exhaled a long, slow breath that was scantly visible in the cool air. She needed Becca’s journal. If it existed, it surely held the identity of the man she married. And if Becca did write in it at the coffeehouse the night she was killed, someone knew about this journal. Kelsey spent thirty minutes on top of the lighthouse, mulling over the facts of Becca’s murder and piecing together her information. Finally, with the sun over the horizon, she headed down the stairs and jogged back around the lake.

  He offered to meet her at 7:00 a.m. and it was just a few minutes past when Kelsey finished her jog and slowed her pace. She walked onto the dock next to the stilt houses and spotted him at the far end of the pier. She cooled down as she walked the length of the dock and stopped in front of the Eckersleys’ home. Commander Ferguson approached her, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and lit the end of it, pulling for a few seconds before talking.

  “Good morning, young lady.” Smoke leaked from his mouth and rode away on the lake breeze. “Looks like you’ve had a hell of a day already.”

  “Early jog. I didn’t sleep well.” Kelsey pointed to the Eckersleys’ house. “Thanks for doing this.”

  “Not sure what you’re going to learn from going inside, but let’s do it before anyone in this town wakes up and sees me letting a reporter into a crime scene.”

  They bypassed the yellow tape that encircled the deck and flapped in the breeze. Commander Ferguson rattled some keys and fidgeted with the patio doors. He pulled the sliding glass door to the side and Kelsey followed him inside. She walked through the living room and into the large kitchen where, she knew, Becca was assaulted. Kelsey had been here in her dreams the night before. She looked around now and saw a long island with four stools. Pinewood cabinets reached the ceiling. Stainless-steel appliances and granite countertops gave the place a polished look. She noticed the doorway off the kitchen that led into a mudroom—the door the attacker entered the night Becca was killed.

  She imagined that night. Becca’s law school materials spread across the island as she sat on the stool. Somehow the man entered the house, either walked straight in through an unlocked door or was allowed in by Becca. Then, a struggle. Becca’s knuckles were bruised, and two of them on her right hand broken. Skin beneath her fingernails and facial hair stuck in her palms. Papers and textbooks strewn across the kitchen, and dishes shattered on the ground. As she ran the scene through her mind, Kelsey found herself tensing and rooting for Becca to fight harder, to somehow change the outcome. The fight happened right here, where Kelsey stood. The remnants of that night—the broken dishes and upended furniture—were still present. An eerie feeling came over her as Kelsey considered she was standing in the same place another woman had been assaulted—something Kelsey went through just weeks before.

  Pulled from her jogging trail that morning, Kelsey fought for her life the same as Becca. And the questions Kelsey was asking of Becca and her life were the same ones that lurked in the dark corners of her own mind. Questions about why she was attacked, and if there was something she did to cause it. If she could have done anything different that morning to prevent it. Questions about why the bastard picked her and not someone else. About how long he had waited for her and watched her, and whether she knew the man behind the mask or if he was just a random stranger choosing a random woman.

  Walking through the Eckersleys’ home caused these dark corners of her mind to shine brightly, and all the questions she was avoiding came sharply into focus. And she wondered now if Penn Courtney—her surrogate father—knew more than he was letting on about Becca’s case. If he knew the only way for Kelsey to conquer her fears was to do so through work and with a case that forced her to look long and hard at herself and what had happened.

  But whether she was giving Penn more credit than he deserved, one thing was certain. There was a reason Kelsey took so quickly to this story, and as she stood in the very spot where Becca Eckersley had been raped and murdered, she realized it. Kelsey felt connected to Becca. There was a sense of knowing exactly what she went through. Knowing how she felt that night. As she stood amidst the crime scene, Kelsey knew she wasn’t simply writing an article to fill the quota of pages for her monthly grind. She was searching for answers to return some dignity to an innocent girl who never had a chance at closure. Becca Eckersley deserved a conclusion to this ordeal, and if Kelsey could find those answers and provide that conclusion, maybe she would benefit as much as Becca. Perhaps she could go back to her life and set a course on doing the same thing for herself.

  Commander Ferguson took ten minutes to describe the scene from that night. Small details Kelsey scribbled on her notepad, information that alone would never solve anything, but, pieced together with what she already knew, added to the narrative.

  “Mind if I look around?” she asked.

  “Place has been cleared out. What are you hoping to find?”

  “Insight.” Kelsey smiled.

  “You’ve got five minutes, and don’t touch anything.” Commander Ferguson sat on a kitchen stool and drummed his fingers on the granite.

  Knowing the kitchen was the main crime scene, and all evidence would have been carefully gathered from there, she walked down a hallway and into the den. A desk and chair and a wall of bookshelves made up the room. Unlike the kitchen and family room, this room was immaculate and untouched. Against orders, she quietly pulled open drawers and fingered the contents
of the shelves. Upstairs next, Kelsey entered each of the three bedrooms. She spent the most time in Becca’s room. She checked the nightstand first, then under the mattress. The closet was mostly empty and the armoire filled with nothing of value. After five minutes, she brushed a stray hair from her face while she looked around Becca’s bedroom. The quiet room of a dead girl who would never again use any of the things that sat on her dresser or in her drawers or on her shelves. Finally, Kelsey headed downstairs.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Commander Ferguson asked as she entered the kitchen.

  “Nope.”

  “Did you make a mess while you were slamming drawers and opening closets I told you not to touch?”

  “Nope again.”

  “Let’s get outta here before I lose my job.”

  They headed back outside and Commander Ferguson locked up the house. They walked down the pier.

  “Okay, young lady, what’s this news you have to tell me?”

  “I know Becca’s secret,” Kelsey said as they walked.

  Commander Ferguson sucked again on his cigarette as his eyebrows rose. With his index and middle fingers he pulled the cigarette from his lips and turned his palm faceup. “Let’s hear it.”

  “She eloped. Ran off and got married without her parents knowing about it.”

  Another pull while the commander considered this. He looked off to the mountains and Kelsey could tell his mind was working. This was a detective who had an unsolved case that spoke daily to him, begging him to solve it. When he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, smoke rose over his upper lip and into his nostrils. Kelsey thought this might be a new definition for secondhand smoke, and she wanted to mention to the great detective that if the initial puff didn’t kill him, taking it in a second time just might. Instead she waved the odor away from her face.

  This brought the commander back from his thoughts. “Sorry about that.” He quickly snuffed the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe and shoved it in his pocket. He waved away the residual smoke, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he finally said.