Page 34 of Lake House Killer

“Do you have any idea who this woman might be?” Jack asks just above a whisper as if not wanting to break the spell.

“Nope,” Adrienne answers far too quickly as she tosses up her hands. “But I guess that neighbor might,” she says that last bit under her breath. “And, well, knowing the way a cheater’s mind works, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there were more women involved than one. Or if it were all fodder for the rumor mill. I certainly wouldn’t go believing everything you hear. It’s basically nothing but gossip around these parts anyway.” She swallows hard just before a bell goes off. “That’s the register, and I’m running the shop on my own today. Will I see you at the book signing? We’ve got over fifty authors coming down for the convention. I just know you’re going to find something great there to read. The best part of these events is always discovering a brand new author.”

“We’ll be there,” I say as she scurries off with a wave. “Let’s go,” I say to Jack as we rise out of our seats.

“Don’t you want to stock up on some of those naughty books you had your eye on?” He lifts his brows and I glower at him.

“I prefer to read on my phone these days. It reduces the carbon footprint.”

He nods. “And it’s easier to hide the porn. I get it.”

I make a face. “I’m sure you do.”

We get outside and our phones go off simultaneously. It’s a group text from Nikki.

“Look as if our trip to forensics is out,” I say.

The message says that the phone found at the crime scene won’t be released to us until at least tomorrow.

Jack sighs at his screen. “And she’s got a hot date with Owen. How worried should we be about this development?”

“On a scale of mild concern to serial killer?” A groan works its way up my throat. “Very.”

We take Buddy to the lake and watch the mist ripple over the water in waves.

It very much feels like I’m on a hot date myself.

And I don’t like it one bit.

22

Nora Archer

The sun is starting to set as I tug on my gardening gloves with a determined sigh, surveying the small but bountiful garden in the dwindling light of a Briarwood evening.

The fall air is sharp with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and it’s a reminder that another season is upon us. My favorite season, fall. My spring garden is quickly coming to a close, but the zucchini plants are still stubbornly producing.

A dry laugh exudes at the thought as I glance around the yard.

It’s peaceful here in this small oasis I have nurtured for the last thirty years. The woods that border my property are overgrown with evergreens. I keep meaning to hire someone to thin the herd, but truthfully, no one has thinned those woods since Randall died.

Forty years of marriage, he’s only been gone three years, and how I wish he were still here for me to nag. I’d like to think he’d like to be here for that, too.

I glance back at the garden and shake my head.

“I swear, these zucchini are trying to take over the world,” I say with a laugh while plucking yet another plump green vegetable from the vine. The basket at my feet is already brimming with so many that they’re practically spilling over the edges. “Looks like it’s zucchini bread for the neighborhood. Again.” I practically sing the words.

That zucchini bread might be distributed far and wide, but baking it is just as much for me as it is them. Baking, gardening, and losing myself in just about anything has been how I’ve busied myself to help with the grief. But still, those never-ending waves tend to sneak up on me when I least expect them.

I get back to finishing up my work before I lose any more light.

Tomorrow, I have a full day that starts with my volunteer work at the hospital. I’m closing in on ten thousand hours, and I’m determined to get those numbers on my badge before the end of the year. That’s almost ten years at twenty-plus hours a week.

I’ve made it. Those show-offs who have twice as many hours will balk and turn their nose up at me, but then if I spend the rest of my life at the place, I’ll be able to be just as uppity to someone else someday.

Not that I would. I don’t have it in me. But I do have it in me to wear that badge with pride.

Randall would have taken me to dinner to celebrate if he were still alive.

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