“And vice versa.”

“I guess.” He waved a hand irritably. “She’s upset, but she won’t admit it. I heard you and your FBI agent found Mayer yesterday?”

“We did.”

Gus sighed, bending down suddenly to scoop up a shirt that had fallen off a hanger. “That can’t have been good. Finding bodies – that’s worse than teaching college freshmen, don’t you think?” Gus laid the shirt on the counter, not waiting for an answer. “I assume you’re on your way out to Beanie’s.”

Mackenzie nodded. “She’s not expecting me, though.”

“Just as well. She keeps saying she’s missed something. She’s driving herself crazy.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Yeah.” Gus softened, some of the energy going out of his irritation. “If you need to borrow my truck -”

“I rented a car at the airport.”

He grinned at her. “The world must be coming to an end.”

Having a car gave her freedom of movement, but she’d also used the drive from the airport to think. She hesitated, then said, “Gus, have you talked to Beanie about Cal?”

He blew out a breath. “Yeah. She’s not thrilled with you or me right now.”

“What would she have done if she’d been in our position?”

“I tried that one on her. Didn’t work. She went on about honesty, keeping secrets from friends. She’s just embarrassed. That rat-bastard brought those women out to the lake knowing it’d humiliate her if she found out.”

“Then there was more than one. I figured as much, but I only saw him with a dark-haired woman.”

Gus seemed uncomfortable with the entire subject. “There were at least two that I know of, probably more. I drove by one day and saw him out on the dock with a blonde – young, pretty. I was tempted to stop, but I didn’t.” He added awkwardly, “Figured it wasn’t my business.”

Mackenzie picked up a notepad from his counter and handed it to him. “Write down a description. Everything you can think of – hair, eyes, height, weight, dates. Don’t censor yourself. I’ll take it with me when I meet with Detective Mooney this afternoon.”

“All right, Deputy,” he said with a sudden flash of amusement, taking the pad. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a grudging smile. “It’s good to see you, kid. How’s the cut?”

“Healing well.”

She said goodbye and headed out, yesterday’s storms leaving the air feeling washed and clean, the mountains in sharp relief against a cloudless sky. Cold Ridge was home in a way Washington never would be, but, she thought, climbing into her rented car, why not have both?

Before she was out of range of any cell service, she checked her phone for messages. T.J. had called, asking her to get in touch with him. She dialed his number, and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey, T.J. What’s going on? Is Rook with you?”

“He’s on his way up there. Mackenzie, I’m in your guy’s condo.”

“You mean Cal?”

“No. I’m talking about your stalker-attacker. A part-time night doorman recognized him from the sketch you left. He leased a corporate condo on the floor above Cal Benton’s place.”

“Do you have a name?” T.J. didn’t hesitate. “Jesse Lambert.”

Mackenzie shook her head, as if T.J. was in the car with her. “The name doesn’t sound familiar. Not at all. Any hard evidence it’s the right guy?”

“Just kitchen knives so far. The place is pretty sterile.”

“What about Cal? Any sign of him?”

“Not yet.” T.J. paused a moment, then went on. “Rook’s on his way to New Hampshire. He’ll be at your meeting this afternoon with the investigators up there. His flight’s just a couple hours behind yours.”

“He planned this all along, didn’t he?”

“He had his ticket before I arrived with the doughnuts this morning.”

Mackenzie sighed. “The man’s relentless.”

“I’m not going there,” T.J. said with a small chuckle. “Stay safe, Mackenzie. This guy -”

“I know. It’s that hydrangea. Creepy.”

This time, T.J. didn’t laugh.

When she hung up, Mackenzie debated waiting in the local diner and watching for black sedans, but she didn’t. She wanted to see Bernadette, and, she thought, the lake, the shed, the brush where her attacker had hidden, the route he’d taken into the woods. The entire scene, with fresh eyes.

Jesse Lambert.

The name didn’t do anything for her. It was still the eyes that seemed familiar.

Thirty-Two

Bernadette unlocked the padlock on the shed door. She’d walked down here, realized she didn’t have the key, then had dragged herself back to the house to hunt it down. She knew she was more annoyed than the situation warranted, but the padlock was another reminder of what had gone on here last week, when she was in Washington, oblivious. Just as she’d been when Cal had slipped up here with his women.

She felt violated. The lake was her refuge, but she could no longer pretend she could simply dismiss what had gone on here over the past few months.

With a burst of frustrated energy, Bernadette pulled open the shed door. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d locked it. She’d never worried about burglars – there was nothing of real value inside. Occasionally, she worried about kids sneaking in and making off with the canoe or the kayaks and ending up drowned. But it wasn’t enough to make her change her habits. Kids had never been a problem on the lake.

Even Mackenzie, Bernadette thought as she wrestled the lock from the latch. She’d been spirited – a hellion, according to Gus – but normal, wandering off on her own, not so much fearless as unaware of any dangers lurking out in the woods.

Bernadette let her gaze drop to the old bloodstains on the concrete floor. If only she could go back in time and warn Kevin Stewart about his saw, tell him to inspect it for problems.

If only she could go back in time and find him herself, and keep his eleven-year-old daughter away.

But how many times had she looked at a defendant in the courtroom and known he was running a litany of if-only scenarios through his head? Not all defendants had regrets, or regrets for the right reasons, but some did.

She propped the door open with a rock she kept nearby just for that purpose. She wanted to stay focused and keep moving, hoping activity would renew her spirits. She’d slept poorly, and as much as she’d appreciated Gus’s concern for her, she couldn’t stand having anyone around her right now. It wasn’t him. It was her – her fatigue, her mounting sense of doom and depression.

Maybe she should just grab her garden tools and dig weeds for the rest of the day.

But she pictured Mackenzie fighting for her life in front of the shed. And Harris, five years ago, coming to the lake to tell Bernadette in person that he was in trouble. He’d found her in the shed, looking for her favorite kayak paddle.

This place is bad luck.

As she stood on the threshold, she realized she’d forgotten why she’d even decided to open up the shed. Not nostalgia, that was for damn sure.

I’m losing my mind.

She stepped back out into the sunlight. Ordinarily, the cool, bright morning would have had her out on the lake by now, kayaking, swimming, watching the loons, but not today.

“Hello, Judge Peacham.”

A man emerged from the tangle of brush and small trees between the shed and the lake front. Startled, Bernadette almost fell backward, but she maintained her balance and stared at the man, recognizing him – the dark hair flecked with gray, the pale gray eyes. He wore expensive hiking clothes and boots but seemed at ease in his surroundings.

He smiled at her. “Beanie – that’s what they call you up here, isn’t it?”

It took a moment for her to place where she’d seen him before and remember his name. He wasn’t from Cold Ridge. “Jesse,” she said. “Jesse Lambert, right?”

“That’s right, Judge.”

His tone was calm, controlled, but something about his manner unnerved her. She took a step back from him, but remained polite and nonconfrontational. “We met a few months ago…”