Page 98 of The House Across the Lake

“What about the lighter?”

I gulped, uneasy. “What about it?”

“Did you find it?”

“Yes.”

With that one word, I started to prepare for what would surely be the worst night of my life. I handed Len the lighter and asked if he could start the fire while I went upstairs to change clothes. In the bedroom, I shoved the licenses in the back of a dresser drawer before slipping into a pair of jeans and a floral blouse Len always said made me look extra sexy. In the bathroom, I grabbed several tablets of the antihistamine he used to ward off allergies. In the kitchen, I dropped one of them into a glass of wine and took it outside to Len. My goal was twofold—get him relaxed enough to confess while also keeping him drunk and drugged enough so that he wouldn’t become violent or dangerous.

Len drank the wine quickly. When he was finished, I brought the glass inside, added another antihistamine, filled it up.

Then I did it a third time.

For the rest of the night, I smiled and chatted and laughed and sighed contentedly and pretended to be perfectly happy.

It was the greatest performance I ever gave.

“Let’s go out on the water,” I said as midnight drew near.

“In the boat?” Len said, his voice already a slurred murmur. The pills were working.

“Yes, in the boat.”

He stood, swayed, dropped like a sack back into his chair. “Whoa. I’m really tired.”

“You’re just drunk,” I said.

“Which is why I don’t want to take the boat out.”

“But the water’s calm and the moon is so bright.” I leaned in close, pressing my breasts against him and bringing my lips to his ear. “It’ll be romantic.”

Len’s expression brightened the way it always did when he thought he was about to get laid. Seeing it then made me wonder if he looked exactly like this while he killed Megan, Toni, and Sue Ellen. That horrible thought stuck with me as I led him into the boat.

“No motor?” he said when I pushed off from the dock.

“I don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

I rowed to the center of the lake and dropped the anchor into the water. By this time, Len was as high as the moon.

Now was the time.

“I found them,” I said. “The driver’s licenses in your tackle box. The locks of hair. I found it all.”

Len made a little noise. A low half chuckle of realization. “Oh,” he said.

“You killed those women, didn’t you?”

Len said nothing.

“Answer me. Tell me you killed them.”

“What are you going to do if I say yes?”

“Call the police,” I said. “Then I’m going to make sure you go to jail and never, ever get out.”

Len suddenly began to cry. Not out of guilt or remorse. These were selfish tears, bursting forth because he’d been caught and now had to face his punishment. Bawling like a child, he leaned toward me, arms outstretched, as if seeking comfort.

“Please don’t tell on me, Cee,” he said. “Please. I couldn’t control myself. I tried. I really did. But I’ll be better. I swear.”

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