The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy) (2 page)

BOOK: The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy)
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Another mosquito lit on her forearm. “Mosquitoes probably got them,” she said, slapping it, wishing she’d worn her jacket on the trip instead of the short-sleeved linen pantsuit.

“Don’t you like it?”

“Mosquitoes the size of pigeons and a decaying old house. What’s not to like?”

“Oh.” His disappointment was evident and Lindsay’s heart melted.

“I was teasing, honey. Of course I like it. You know I’ve always wanted to live next to the water. It’ll make a great vacation home and I can’t wait.” She leaned forward to give him a kiss, but before she could touch him, a sudden gust of wind blew off the lake, swirling sand and leaves in the air. Bits of grit peppered Eric’s face. The wind rushed over the grounds, moaning as it whooshed through the house.

Just as suddenly, it died.

“What was that?” Lindsay asked, staring at the house.

Eric rubbed his eyes. “Lots of breezes from the lake. Cools things down in summer.”

“That wasn’t a breeze, that was a gale. You okay?” She brushed his lips with hers, but instead of returning the kiss, he broke contact and backed away.

“I’ll check the house,” he mumbled, avoiding her eyes. “It’s probably locked, but I’ll give it a try. Then we can go.” He cut away from her and raced across the lawn. She wished she could laugh at his hasty retreat. Instead, she nearly cried.

Was he was more upset about losing his aunt than she’d thought? After all, Frida was the last living link to his family. But no, she had noticed his withdrawal months earlier.

Even though she didn’t want to admit it, something was wrong in their marriage.

As a computer consultant to large corporations all over Southern California, he traveled two to three days a week, and his homecoming was cause for celebration. During the first few months of their marriage, she’d take time off from the art gallery she owned and they’d loved and played like newlyweds.

But that had gradually changed.

She couldn’t say exactly when it had happened, but he began volunteering for every trip that came up. And when he was home, he acted strangely … distant. He’d avoid coming to bed until she was asleep.

Was it something she’d done, or did he no longer find her attractive? He had assured her nothing was wrong, that he’d just been working too many hours. They needed the extra income, he’d said, for a down payment on a house large enough for both their children to visit. Their condo was only a one bedroom, so it sounded reasonable. But the distance between them had not improved.

Shrieking gulls caught her attention. She watched them circle over the water and dive for a meal.

The sun dipped behind the tree-lined west shore, and in the growing dusk, the sky burned a fiery red. Clouds picked up the glow, painting long crimson streaks as far as she could see. Below, their mirror images danced on the gentle swells of the water. Lindsay didn’t know if she’d ever seen anything so beautiful.

What a haven this could be
,
miles from the pressures of Eric’s work. They could rediscover each other and put the fire back into their marriage.

Lindsay pictured the house freshly painted and the grounds trimmed and neat. Finally, a true home of her own, something she had always wanted but never thought she’d have.

Growing up with a single mother who moved every couple of years, never knowing a home or family except for distant grandparents, her life had always seemed empty. When her first husband came along and professed to love her, she’d hastily married. Then, except for her son, emptiness again. And now this house and grounds. Even neglected it represented love and strong family roots.

They’d paint it white, like it used to be, with black trim around the windows, and …
used to be?
Where had that thought come from?

She must have seen photos.

A swing would be perfect, exactly right for those quiet evenings at home. She was scanning the porch for the perfect spot when suddenly, a curious sadness began, spreading into a grief so strong and heavy that her knees almost buckled under the weight. Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

Bewildered, she brushed them away and stared at the house. What would cause her to feel such sorrow? Was it because it had been a home for a family, and she was afraid she was losing hers?

Eric cut across the lawn to join her.

“Locked pretty tight,” he said, his voice breaking the spell.

With one last puzzled glance at the house, Lindsay turned to her husband. His expression somber, he crouched down to the sand, picked up a couple of small brown shells and threw them into the water. She wished he would talk to her, tell her what was troubling him.

“Honey, please talk to me, let me in—”

“I love you, you know,” he interrupted. “Just let that be enough.” Even crouching, his entire body seemed to sag, and his eyes held none of the roguish twinkle that used to be such a part of him.

Was his anguish due to some problem in their marriage he felt reluctant to discuss with her? But they’d talked openly about everything, including her anxiety-ridden childhood. Or was it something else?

Whatever it was, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt—at least until he recovered from his aunt’s passing.

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll drop it. For now.”

His relief was obvious. “Let’s check into the motel and get something to eat.”

“Eat first. I’m starved.”

Just as Eric swung around to head down the dirt road, something in an upstairs window caught her eye. A subtle outline, as if someone were watching them.

“Honey …”

He finished the turn.

“What?”

Lindsay twisted in her seat and looked back at the window. Whatever she saw was gone.

“Nothing.”

It was only the setting sun reflecting off the glass, creating distorted images that weren’t really there.

Chapter Two

Minutes later, they entered Crosby, a former iron mining town spruced up with green awnings and antique stores. Lindsay caught a glimpse of Serpent Lake between Main Street’s city blocks and thought how lucky the residents were to have a lake on one side of town and a forest on the other.

But at eight in the evening, the six-block downtown area was dark and deserted except for a convenience store with two gas pumps in front and a video rental place further down the street.

“Hope something is open,” Lindsay said, scanning the buildings. A nice dinner and a glass of wine would be heaven after an entire day of traveling.

Lights brightened the inside of one cafe, but according to the sign, it was due to close in ten minutes. Maybe they could order something and take it to the motel.

Inside, the smell of grease and old cigarette smoke hung in the air. Two men in jeans and baseball caps sat at the counter, talking and laughing over slices of pie. A thin, wrinkled woman occupied a booth, her short white hair spiking in all directions, a pink quilted jacket hugging her emaciated body. A radio played country music, and a blackboard listed the day’s specials. Most had been crossed out with chalk.

Eric and Lindsay took a booth by a window overlooking Main Street. A waitress about forty, in jeans and a sleeveless blouse, brought them water.
Shirley,
her nametag read. She recommended the hot beef sandwiches.

“Real mashed potatoes,” she told them, patting her elaborately fashioned French twist hairstyle. “Peeled them myself. And we have fresh apple pie. Made that, too.”

“Do we have time for all that?” Eric asked.

“Sure,” Shirley said. “I got to clean up. Besides, I wouldn’t throw you out.”

One of the men at the counter looked up. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She’s got a mean right hand.”

“You should know, George,” Shirley said.

Both men laughed.

“You folks passing through?” Shirley asked, scribbling on her order pad.

“We’re here about some property I inherited,” Eric told her.

“Really?” She arched her penciled eyebrows. “Ain’t that nice. Where at?”

“Just out of town. From my aunt, Frida Peterson.”

Everything went silent, even the conversation at the counter stopped.

The faint click of the diner’s ventilation system switching on sounded like a bass drum in the sudden silence. Cool air blew on Lindsay from above.

Shirley stopped writing. “The old Peterson place?”

“You know it?” Eric said.

“I’ve heard of it,” the waitress mumbled, glancing at the old woman.

The look they exchanged was strangely intense. The men at the counter dropped some change by their plates and left without speaking.

“Well, your dinner will be right up.” No longer smiling, Shirley passed their orders to the kitchen, then became busy wiping the counter. The old woman rose to pay her bill, all the while staring at Eric and Lindsay. She didn’t return their smiles.

“What happened?” Lindsay whispered.

Eric shrugged. “Guess it’s closing time.”

Lindsay was opening her car door when the old woman from the diner rushed over to them and grabbed her hand.

“What is it?” she asked.

The wrinkled eyes bored into her so intently that Lindsay was unable to look away. The old woman finally spoke, her dentures clicking in her thin face.

“Stay away from that house! Evil lives there.”

Chapter Three

The one-story motel sat on the northwest shore of the lake, with all the rooms facing the water. Lindsay waited while Eric checked them in.

Evil lives there
. What did that old lady mean?

Suddenly the trip caught up with her. Totally exhausted, she didn’t want to think, didn’t want to do anything but fall into bed and stretch out next to her husband’s warm body.

From several hundred feet away, an outboard motor buzzed to life, then the sound faded as the boat sped up the lake. Even from the car, Lindsay could hear the waves gently lapping the shore.

Eric pulled in front of the door at the far end of the motel.

“To escape the noise,” he said.

Lindsay glanced around the vacant lot; theirs was the only car. “What noise?”

“You never know who might check in.” He jumped out of the car, opened the motel door, and began unloading the car.

She grabbed an armful, walked through the open door—and came to an abrupt halt.

Twin beds. Two individual beds separated by a solid oak night stand holding a bible and a green ceramic lamp. Each bed was neatly made, its own little world at a distance from the other.

“Twin beds?” She dropped her handbag and overnight case on the bed closest to the wall.

Eric was already digging through his suitcase. He said nothing, just kept busy until he found his pajama bottoms and disappeared into the bathroom. Lindsay grabbed her toothbrush and was about to follow him when the bathroom door closed—nearly in her face.

Taken aback, she sat on the bed.

The bathroom door opened a short while later and Eric, clad in pajama bottoms over his briefs, exited. Lindsay was astonished. He had never worn pajamas in the entire year they’d been married.

Avoiding her eyes, he climbed into bed.

“Honey, I’m beat,” he said, busily arranging the top sheet over him, “and we have a lot to do tomorrow. Our appointment with the attorney is at nine, and we have to stop at the mortuary. I need to get some sleep.”

“Of course.” Lindsay rose to give him a quick kiss, but he clicked off his light and rolled over to face the wall.

At a total loss, Lindsay stared at his back.

Tension crackled in the air.

“Eric—” she began.

“Don’t make a big deal out of nothing. I’m tired, that’s all.”

After an hour of lying in bed staring at the ceiling, Lindsay ran water for a bath. Instead of showering in the morning, perhaps a warm soak would relax her.

She lay back in the tub, her head resting against the blue-tiled wall. She breathed deeply, trying to ease the pressure in her chest, that old tightening she’d felt growing up with a vagabond mother, the creeping fear that snaked through every nerve in her body, taking over, crushing her so she couldn’t eat or sleep. Something was threatening her marriage, and it was worse than her childhood, because this time, she had no idea what the threat was. Only that it was there, growing, just beyond her vision.

She had to get some answers, had to convince Eric to talk about the problem so they could fix it.

But was now the right time?

He must be exhausted from adjusting to the expanded territory at work, and, his aunt had just died. Though he hadn’t seen her in years, he obviously thought a great deal of her. Coming back to his childhood home must be emotional for him, a time of memories, some good, some not so good. Growing up with two maiden aunts after his father died and his mother went to work couldn’t have been easy for a young boy, and now she needed to support him in every way she could.

She’d wait until he settled his aunt’s estate, then she’d insist on some answers.

BOOK: The House on Serpent Lake (Ghost, Romance, Fantasy)
10.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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