Chapter 23
THE LAKE HOUSE IS COLD AND SILENT, LIKE A PLACE LONG VACANT. After settling in, Alex goes next door to see Ruth. Up in my room, I sense a change since I left, a subtle shifting, a light perfume in the air. On the little desk, my laptop isn’t closed all the way and that’s not how I left it.
In the closet, my suitcases have been moved slightly.
There’s nothing in them. Still. Someone has been in here, in my things, and I have no doubt who it was.
I wonder if she saw that I’d opened the box of Mary’s things stored on the shelf in the closet.
But did Sunny even know that the box was there?
She wasn’t even born when Mary died, so how much does she know about her?
I have the feeling, though, that Sunny knows everything that goes on at Spencer House. I peer out my window, the one that looks out on Ruth’s side. I think Alex is still over there. I didn’t hear him come back to the house.
Anger pushes me forward as I slip down the hall and stop by Sunny’s room.
It’s right next to Alex’s room, which totally figures.
I clasp the glass doorknob and turn. Locked.
That figures, too. I stop and listen. The house is still silent.
I take a few steps. I’m in front of Alex’s door.
The master suite where the turret room lies.
I shouldn’t invade his space. Alex has been nothing but kind, but I can’t help myself.
I twist the knob and the door gives way, but before I can venture inside, the front door squeaks open then shuts.
I hear footsteps in the foyer. I quietly close Alex’s door, take a deep breath, settle, then head downstairs.
Alex tells me that he has work to do and he’ll be in his office.
He’s decided to delay his return to Boston.
I retreat to the kitchen, grab a bottled water, and head back up to my room.
I spend the rest of the day working on my novel, letting myself fall into my fictional world, trying to ignore the real one.
In the morning, I hear a car pull up out front.
Sunny. I’d hoped she’d stay in Boston, but no such luck.
I’d like to confront her about going through my things, but I don’t know that that will get me anywhere.
Instead, I’ll keep vigilant. I intend to beat her at her own game.
I’ll keep tabs on her the way she seems to be watching me.
When she heads back to Boston, I’ll search the house for keys.
Maybe I can find one that fits her bedroom door.
I’ll see what I can find in her room. This house seems to be full of secrets, and it might not be a bad idea to start looking for them.
There are voices coming from the front room as I descend the stairs. Ruth has joined Alex and Sunny. Ruth looks smaller somehow, thinner, but she is mourning Simon so that isn’t totally unexpected. Still, she is neatly dressed, hair and makeup perfect.
“Hello, Emma,” she says brightly.
I had hoped to scoot by and make my way to the kitchen unnoticed. I should’ve used the backstairs.
Alex motions me into the room. “Ruth was telling us that Detective Bellman was out here yesterday.” Frown lines appear on Alex’s forehead.
“Anything new?” I ask.
Ruth sighs. “They’ve decided to search the lake tomorrow.”
Sunny sticks her phone in her pocket. “They might as well get it over with, Dad. The sooner this gets cleared up the better.”
Alex nods, absently taps Sunny on the shoulder. “Right. I’m just thinking of the media attention. There’ll be a lot of people in here with something like that going on.”
“I guess I’ll stay then,” Sunny says as if she’s vital to the search.
Alex glances at his watch. “Shit. I need to make a call. I’ll be in my office.”
“And I need to get back to the house,” Ruth says. “Larry was going to take me into town for groceries.”
I’m left alone with Sunny. I say nothing to her as I grab my jacket from the hall closet and head outside.
I decide to walk around the lake, see if the crime scene tape is still up over by the Thompsons’ house.
I need to start my morning jogs again. I feel the effects of missing my workout.
I don’t have the energy that it gives me, and my emotions are unsettled, anxiety cutting through at times it shouldn’t.
Running helps to smooth those emotions away.
And I haven’t taken a yoga class since I left Albany. No wonder my nerves are twisted up.
I stick my hands in my pockets and wish I’d brought gloves. The air stings my cheeks and it seems almost too cold for this early in the fall, but maybe it’s the lake, the breeze off the water that chills the air.
I round the bend in the road that cuts off the view of the three main houses.
Jeffrey’s little cottage is nestled in the trees.
A small one-story, white-painted clapboards and shutters on the two front windows.
One of the shutters hangs precariously, and the small front lawn is overgrown.
It looks lonely and abandoned. A small trellis tilts against the corner of the house where dead roses cling, their red petals faded to a pinkish gray.
I wonder who planted them. How long ago?
Noah said that generations of Joneses had lived there working for their wealthy neighbors.
Only Jeffrey is here now, and I wonder what keeps him at Cheshire Lake.
I round the next bend and can see down the length of road where the Thompsons’ house sits halfway.
From here I don’t see the yellow tape, so maybe the cops have wrapped up their search over here.
I wonder if they are attempting to get warrants to search the homes.
Maybe they’re trying their luck with the lake first. Seems like the houses would be a lot easier to deal with, but maybe there isn’t enough cause for a judge to give them what they need to search private property.
As I pass the Thompsons’ house, I see Dale’s car in the driveway. He’s about to get in when he notices me.
“Hey, Emma,” he calls, walking swiftly in my direction.
His face is drawn and paper white in the cold, and his expensive gray overcoat is missing a button.
“Dale. Hi.”
He steals a glance across the lake. “You haven’t heard anything from Aubrey, right?”
I don’t know why he thinks I would. It’s not like we were that friendly. “No. Sorry. You still haven’t heard from her?”
He shakes his head, his gaze on his shoes. “I’ve called all her friends, her family in Connecticut. No one’s seen her.”
“I’m sorry, Dale.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I need to get to work, but …” He cranes his neck as if someone is walking up behind me, which makes me turn, but there’s no one there.
Just trees swaying in the breeze, dead leaves scooting along the macadam.
“They’re going to search the lake tomorrow,” he says.
“I don’t know what they think they’ll find.
Whoever hit Simon wouldn’t be so stupid to have thrown the weapon right there, would they? ”
“I think they’re at a loss as to what to do next.”
“Have you seen Jeffrey around? I tried to corner him the other day to ask him if he’d seen Aubrey and he ran like a jackrabbit before I could say two words.
He’s a freaking strange guy. I hope like hell that detective talked to him again.
I think he knows something. Why else would he take off on me like that?
” Dale drops his arms to his sides. “Well, I better get going. I’ve got a meeting shortly. I just wish I could concentrate.”
“Take care, Dale.”
“Thanks.” He turns and heads toward his car.
I continue my walk and eventually come to the swampy end of the lake.
I stand still and breathe deeply of air filled with the smells of organic things and rot.
The cattails wave in the breeze and there are pussy willows growing not too far into the muck, and I wonder if I dare venture forward to pick some.
But the mud shifts under my boots and I retreat.
An unsettled feeling washes over me. A swamp is like that.
Mysterious in the uncertain depths, cagey in the shifting bottom, the proliferation of dead and living things entwined there.
A swamp is a place of entrapment, I’ve always thought.
A boggy place where nothing is for sure and where no one is sure to escape.
I step back onto the macadam. Safe. I lift my gaze toward Spencer House.
From here I can just make out the end of Noah’s driveway and the turret next door.
Dale’s car flies past me and I lift my hand in a wave, not sure if he saw me.
I decide to head back to the house, and I start to jog.
Even wearing my boots, it feels right to get on my way quickly.