The House Across the Lake(40)

At least the no-nonsense part meets my expectations.

Wilma’s demeanor is softer to Boone, but only by a degree. She manages a quick hug before spotting the liquor cabinet two rooms away.

“You okay with that around?” she asks him.

“I’m fine, Wilma.”

“You sure?”

“Certain.”

“I believe you,” Wilma says. “But you better call me if you so much as think of touching one of those bottles.”

In that moment, I get a glimpse of their relationship. Former colleagues, most likely, who know each other’s strengths and weaknesses. He’s an alcoholic. She’s support. And I’m just the bad influence thrown into the mix because of something suspicious taking place on the other side of the lake.

“Show me the house,” Wilma says.

Boone and I lead her to the porch, where she stands at the railing and takes in the dark sky and even darker lake with curious appraisal. Directly across from us, the Royce house has lights on in the kitchen and master bedroom, but from this distance and without the binoculars, it’s impossible to pinpoint Tom’s location inside.

Wilma gestures to the house and says, “That’s where your friend lives?”

“Yes,” I say. “Tom and Katherine Royce.”

“I know who the Royces are,” Wilma says. “Just like I know who you are.”

From her tone, I gather Wilma’s seen the terrible-but-true tabloid headlines about me. It’s also clear she disapproves.

“Tell me why you think Mrs. Royce is in danger.”

I pause, unsure just where to begin, even though I should have known the question was coming. Of course a police detective is going to ask me why I think my neighbor did something to his missing wife. I become aware of Wilma Anson’s stare. Annoyance clouds her features, and I worry she’ll just up and leave if I don’t say something in the next two seconds.

“We heard a scream this morning,” Boone says, coming to my rescue. “A woman’s scream. It came from their side of the lake.”

“And I saw things,” I add. “Worrisome things.”

“At their house?”

“Yes.”

“How often are you there?”

“I haven’t been inside since they bought the place.”

Wilma turns back to the lake. Squinting, she says, “You noticed worrisome things all the way from over here?”

I nod to the binoculars sitting on the table between the rocking chairs, like they have been for days. Wilma, looking back and forth between me and the table, says, “I see. May I borrow these?”

“Knock yourself out.”

The detective lifts the binoculars to her eyes, fiddles with the focus, scans the lake’s opposite shore. When she lowers the binoculars, it’s to give me a stern look.

“There are laws against spying on people, you know.”

“I wasn’t spying,” I say. “I was observing. Casually.”

“Right,” Wilma says, not even bothering to pretend she thinks I’m telling the truth. “How well do each of you know them?”

“Not well,” Boone says. “I met them a couple of times out and about on the lake.”

“I only met Tom Royce twice,” I say. “But Katherine and I have crossed paths a few times. She’s been over here twice, and we talked after I saved her from drowning in the lake.”

I know it’s wrong, but I’m pleased that last part of my sentence seems to surprise the otherwise unflappable Wilma Anson. “When was this?” she says.

“Day before yesterday,” I say, although it feels longer than that. Time seems to have stretched since I returned to the lake, fueled by drunken days and endless, sleepless nights.

“This incident in the lake—do you have any reason to believe her husband had something to do with it?”

“None. Katherine told me she was swimming, the water was too cold, and she cramped up.”

“When you talked to her, did Katherine ever give any indication she thought her husband was trying to do her harm? Did she say she was scared?”

“She hinted that she was unhappy.”

Wilma stops me with a raised hand. “That’s different than fear.”

“She also told me there were financial issues. She said she pays for everything and that Tom would never agree to a divorce because he needed her money too much. She told me he’d probably kill her before letting her leave.”

“Do you think she was being serious?” Wilma asks.

“Not really. At the time, I thought it was a joke.”

“Would you joke about a thing like that?”

“No,” Boone says.

“Yes,” I say.

Wilma brings the binoculars to her eyes again, and I can tell she’s zeroed in on the lit windows of the Royce house. “Have you seen anything suspicious inside? You know, while casually observing?”

“I saw them fighting. Late last night. He grabbed her by the arm and she hit him.”

“Then maybe it’s for the best that they’re currently apart,” Wilma says.

“I agree,” I say. “But the big question is where Katherine went. Her husband says she’s back at their apartment. I called a friend in the city, who went there and checked. The doorman said she hasn’t been there for days. One of them is lying, and I don’t think it’s the doorman.”