Page 7 of Jack

“Funny. How about some people just don’t think every truth needs to be told.”

Harper braked as she hit the outskirts of Duck Lake where the road veered north, toward the lakeside homes.

Here, the forest had thickened, created a whimsical corridor of wintry pine laden with heavy snow. Banks of white piled either side of the road, and as she drove along the shoreline, the scantily clad trees revealed stately homes, most of them standing on the foundations of former cabins and cottages, the getaways of the wealthy from Minneapolis, only an hour to the east.

“Listen,” Clarice said now, maybe realizing defeat. “I know that if anyone can do this, it’s you. You have good instincts, you’re intuitive, and I’ve never met anyone more tenacious. If you want something, you get it.”

Well, not always . . .

“Just don’t get sued.”

“Thanks for that. But yes, we don’t need any high drama. Boo’s had enough scandal. This will be a quiet, poignant piece.”

“Perfect. By the way, is your friend Penelope going to be there? After the ratings on her murder podcast about the attempt on Mike Grizz’s life, I wouldn’t mind talking to her?—”

“I promise to give her your info.”

“I lovePenny for Your Thoughts. Do you think she’s going to solve the latest case?”

Harper caught a view of 458 Whispering Pines Drive, the 1960s cottage painted a fresh yellow, probably her mother’s last-summer project. Smoke curled from the stone chimney along the backside of the house.

Beyond the house, the lake stretched out in a pristine, beautiful blanket of white. Of course, near the Duck Lake landing in the distance, the shapes of icehouses created a small city.

But here, near the northern end of the lake, it was all lazy forest, towering birch creaking in the wind, fires in the hearth, and the sense of escape.

If, she supposed, one didn’t look up shore at the King’s Inn.

Escapemight be overstated.

“I’m a listener, just like you,” Harper said as she turned into the long drive. “Penny keeps her investigations pretty close. But she’s always wanted to work a cold case, so I think she’s really loving it. And maybe finding closure after Bryce’s death.”

“So sad. How’s her sister?”

“I don’t know. Listen, watch for my email.”

“Have fun dancing at the wedding.”

“Oh, I hope not. I don’t dance.”

“Everybody dances, Harper.”

“Not this girl.” She’d learnedthatlesson.

Clarice clicked off, laughing.

Harper sat in the cleared driveway in front of the cottage, next to her mother’s green Subaru, her gaze on the cleared path to the house, then on the trail into the forest, still an opening in the trees, between the King’s Inn and the 458 cottage.

She played with her bracelet, running the charm over the chain. Okay. She could do this.

Harper turned off the car, then wrapped her scarf around her neck, grabbed her gloves, and got out.

The wind sheared off the lake and stole her breath, pinched her nose. Who got married in Minnesota in January?Crazy.

But Boo always did like to push the edge. And maybe, with Oaken’s recording and touring schedule, this was the only time they could squeeze in the nuptials.

Harper took a breath, then tromped to the lavender entry door.

Funny that her mother hadn’t repainted it when she’d made over the house. She knocked, then realized that might be silly and pushed open the door. “Mom? It’s me!”

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