Stranger in the Lake(30)

“Jax. What about Micah?”

But Jax has never been one for conversation, and I can tell I’ve already lost him. He takes a step backward, then another, moving in the direction he came. “I wasn’t here. You never saw me.” He turns in long strides for the stairs.

I step onto the deck, the boards icy under my bare feet. “Jax, wait.”

He’s all the way to the corner when he stops. He slaps a palm to the siding, but his body leans for the stairs. It’s like he’s literally holding himself back. Slowly, reluctantly, he looks over his shoulder.

“Do you need anything? Food, maybe, or a coat? Some warm socks?”

His beard tugs in a way that makes me wonder if he’s smiling, and I think for a second or two that he might turn back. And then what? Do I invite him in? Raid Paul’s closet while I make Chet whip him up dinner?

And then Jax makes the decision for me. He ducks his head and takes off, disappearing in one long stride around the corner. I’m turning for the door when his voice floats up from the stairs.

“Watch your back.”



14


Jax follows me around the rest of the night. Not literally, of course, but every time the house goes quiet I feel him there, whispering in my ear. Chet settles in, taking over the entire downstairs. He blares ESPN while I putter around the house, replaying every word of the conversation over and over in my head.

That’s twice now.

I wasn’t here.

You never saw me.

I gather the laundry from the hamper in the closet and carry it downstairs to the laundry room.

Watch your back, he said, one humdinger of a closer. Was it a threat? A warning? His conversation skills could use some help, but Jax certainly knows how to end with a bang.

I’m coming down the hallway when the door in front of me pops open. I shriek and lunge backward into the wall, clutching the laundry to my chest like a shield. Paul’s mother steps out of the powder room, smoothing her sweater.

“Oh, sweetie. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Diana pulls me into a perfumed hug, awkward since I’m holding the laundry. Her bony ribs press into my arms. “I said hello when I came in, but you must not have heard me over Paul’s TV.”

Paul’s TV. Paul’s house. She never passes up an opportunity to remind me.

I release from her grip, taking a step back. “If you’re looking for your son, he’s not here. He had a work thing.”

“I’m not here to see him, dear. I’m here to see you. I heard what happened. That must have been some shock, finding that poor girl. Are you okay?”

Diana’s voice is soft and soothing, every syllable rounded with a velvety mountain cadence. Not a coarse twang like mine and Chet’s. She sounds like she comes from money, and she looks it, too, in styled hair and an oversized cream sweater that hangs artfully off one shoulder. Her boots are low and Western-inspired, chunky heels and pointy toes. She looks like a million bucks.

It helps that she’s beautiful, all dark hair and ivory skin and a body she keeps lean with daily barre and Pilates. Even if she had Paul when she was a teenager, even if she slept hanging upside down by her ankles every night, there’s no way someone her age—I’ve done the math, and the woman is well into her fifties—looks that good, not without a little help. But either her surgeon is really, really good, or somewhere along the line, Diana Keller made a deal with the devil.

“I’m fine, thank you. It was sweet of you to check on me.”

This is how we always are with each other. Cautious. Polite. Full of bright smiles and friendly words we volley back and forth, more for Paul’s benefit than for ours. Honestly, I’m surprised she wasn’t here sooner.

“I’ll make us some tea and you can tell me everything. Or would you rather have something stronger? I can pop open a bottle of wine if you prefer.”

My stomach sends up a twinge of nausea. “Tea’s perfect. Thanks.”

“Sit, sit.” She waves a manicured hand at the counter stools.

Invited to sit in my own home—scratch that, Paul’s. I edge around the island and sink into a chair, watching her bang around his kitchen like she owns the place. I wonder what Micah would say if he were here. Micah sees Diana as a second mother, the kind he calls weekly and sends flowers to on birthdays and Mother’s Day. Paul says Micah spent as much time in their house as he did his own. Is Diana one of the people I’m supposed to tell “no comment”?

“So how did you hear? About the woman in the lake, I mean.” I don’t mention her name. Sienna, assuming Jax was right. I gesture to the window I just spotted him through, a sheet of solid black glass. “Who told you?”

Her hands still, and her eyes cut to mine. “Everybody. Everybody told me. People in town are losing their minds, especially the tourists. The mayor’s making the rounds, but I don’t know how he’ll be able to put out this fire. It’s all anybody can talk about.” She grabs two cups and saucers from the cabinet and a black tin from her handbag. “Peppermint okay? Miss Mary’s is the best.”

I smile, trying not to be offended she brought her own tea. “Peppermint’s fine.”

For the millionth time today, I wish Paul were here. Diana is a lot to handle on an ordinary day, and after the stress of this one, I’m not sure I can sit across from her and pretend my nerves aren’t jangling. Too many lies to keep track of, too much bad blood boiling between us, and Paul not here to act as a buffer.