Still Lake. Anne Stuart

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СКАЧАТЬ how determinedly obnoxious she was. Reality must be so much worse.

      But the town of Colby had gotten over it, and it no longer mattered that one of the girls had been found down by the lake, the other two close by, or that all three girls had helped out Peggy Niles at the inn. Doc had even suggested, with ghoulish humor, that Sophie could capitalize on the inn’s morbid history and advertise it as haunted.

      She could never do that, not in such a small town. And Doc Henley hadn’t been serious. He was the essence of a kindly, old-fashioned GP—he’d brought half the town, including the three murdered girls, into the world, and he’d pronounced a goodly number of them dead when their time had come.

      Sophie sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs, resting her feet against a large boulder as she looked out over the stillness. Waiting for that elusive sense of peace to envelop her.

      Something wasn’t right.

      She heard the car on the graveled driveway, so attuned to the sounds of Vermont that she even recognized the irregular rhythm of Marge Averill’s aging Saab. She waved a lazy hand, not bothering to rise. Marge was middle-aged, friendly, with a ruthless streak beneath her sturdy exterior, and she’d been particularly solicitous to Sophie since she’d sold her the old Niles farm and its various decrepit outbuildings, probably because, Sophie suspected, she’d paid too much.

      “Glorious morning!” she greeted Sophie, striding toward the edge of the lake with her usual determination. “How’s your mother doing?”

      “Fine,” Sophie said. This was one of the real estate agent’s busiest times of year, and she wasn’t the sort who came calling if she didn’t have a damned good reason. “What brings you out here?”

      “You’re not going to like it,” Marge said flatly, throwing herself down on another chair and shoving her gray hair away from her flushed face.

      Sophie groaned. “What did Marty do this time?”

      “Absolutely nothing, as far as I know,” Marge said, momentarily distracted. “No, it’s something I did, I’m afraid. I rented out the Whitten place.”

      Sophie swiveled around, squinting in the bright sunlight across the shallow cove. That’s what was different. The old house was no longer deserted. The shutters were open, and so was the front door, even though there wasn’t a vehicle or a person in sight.

      “Damn,” she said.

      “You can’t blame me. We haven’t had any interest in the place for half a dozen years, and then suddenly the lawyers handling the estate call to tell me they’ve rented the place out from under me, and he might be wanting to buy. I couldn’t very well come back with a higher offer from you without talking to you, and there was no keeping the guy from showing up.”

      “I’m not in any position to buy it right now and you know it,” Sophie said. The third muffin was sitting like a rock in the pit of her stomach. “Everything I have is tied up in Stonegate Farm.”

      “Look, chances are this deal will fall through. No one has stayed on at the Whitten house for more than a few weeks, and there’s no reason this man will be any different. Just be patient. He’ll hear about the murders and get spooked.”

      “I didn’t,” Sophie said.

      “And we both know that women are much tougher than men,” Marge replied. She squinted into the bright sunlight toward the old house. “Look at it this way—you can’t even see the Whitten house unless you’re down here by the lake. And besides, he’s not bad-looking, to put it mildly. We don’t get that many single men around here over the age of thirty.”

      Sophie followed her gaze. In the dazzling sunlight she could now see someone moving around at the side of the old house, but he was too far away to get a good look. Besides, he was the enemy. She wanted the Whitten house, almost more than she’d wanted Stonegate Farm. It was part of her plan, to turn the north end of Still Lake into a serene little enclave that would soothe the body and soul. She didn’t want strangers around, getting in the way of her plans. She most particularly didn’t want ostensibly good-looking male strangers, not when she had a vulnerable younger sister around.

      She turned back, frowning. “Who is he?”

      “He says his name is John Smith, believe it or not. Someone thought he might be a computer nerd, planning on setting up business around here. Someone else thought he might be some kind of financial consultant. That should last about six months, max. No one can make a living around here unless they’re independently wealthy.”

      “I’m planning to.”

      “That’s different,” Marge said blithely. “You and I live off the tourist industry. We’ll make out just fine. Now, if Mr. Smith were a carpenter or a plumber it would be a different matter. Not that we haven’t got more than our share of carpenters around here. Anyway, I wanted to warn you in case you decided to go wandering around the place. He’s got a year’s lease with an option to buy, but I bet he’ll be out once the snow flies. Or once he hears about the murders.”

      He’d disappeared behind the old house, leaving Sophie to look after him thoughtfully. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe he already knows.”

      “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Sophie shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems funny he’d rent at this end of the lake, when you’ve told me there are several places open around the south end, including some places that haven’t been abandoned for years. Why would someone want to come to a decrepit old cottage, sight unseen?”

      “Beats me. I just take the rent check,” Marge said. She rose, brushing a stray leaf off her twill pants. “Tell you what, maybe I’ll do a little investigating. He’s too young for me, but I never let a little thing like a decade or two stand in my way, and I’m getting tired of sleeping alone. Unless you’re interested.”

      “No,” Sophie said flatly.

      “You haven’t even had a good look at him.”

      “Not interested. I’m having a hard enough time keeping my own life under control—I don’t need complications and neither does Marty.”

      She didn’t miss Marge’s brief expression of sheer frustration. Marge had made no secret of the fact that she didn’t approve of Marty or the way Sophie treated her.

      “Marty can take care of herself if you’d just let her,” Marge said.

      “She’s done a piss-poor job of it so far.” She waited for Marge to tell her she’d done a piss-poor job, as well, but Marge said nothing. She knew she didn’t have to.

      “I gotta get back to work,” Marge said, pushing herself off the bench. “Doc said he might come by later. Bet he’s curious about your neighbor, even if you aren’t.”

      Sophie smiled reluctantly. “Doc’s an old gossip and we both know it. If the man has any secrets, Doc will ferret them out.”

      Marge cast a final, longing look toward the old cottage. “He’s a fine figure of a man, I’ll say that much,” she said, smacking her lips. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

      “Short of evicting him, I don’t think so.”

      “Just СКАЧАТЬ