Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Do you know where you’re going?” I had to ask. I didn’t think Forrest had been here since he was thirteen.
“Mostly,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “There’s only one way around the lake. I just have to follow it until I find the right house number.”
The somber look had left his eyes. A thread of energy ran through him, charging up with every turn around the shoreline. I didn’t have to wonder if he truly recognized our surroundings.
I fell quiet, watching out the window. Based on the houses we passed, I thought Forrest was right about security. The cottages I saw weren’t tiny or shabby, but they weren’t the kind of mini-mansions I’d expect to be wired the way Heartstone Manor was. These places probably had basic out-of-the-box security systems, if anything. I’d be able to spot any sensors on the windows, and maybe they wouldn’t have bothered with the boathouse.
I’d find out soon enough. My palms tingled with anticipation. What kind of code would it be this time? What kind of clue? And where would it take us when we found it?
Chapter Eleven
STERLING
Forrest slowed as we rounded a bend, almost coming to a stop before making a right into the gravel drive of a small cottage. White siding. Green trim. Green window boxes overflowing with flowers, the lake sparkling beyond the house. At its edge stood a matching white and green boathouse.
Forrest stopped the car, staring at what had been his family’s lake house, his face blank, eyes shuttered. The moment stretched. I had to fight the urge to ask what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He had to feel something, being back in a place he’d shared with his father, but he didn’t give a hint of what was going on in his head. Then, he abruptly put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Is this the wrong place?”
“No,” he said, “this is it, but we can’t park in front of the house.”
“Why not?” I asked, impatient to find a way into that boathouse.
“Think for a second, Sterling,” Forrest said, his eyes glued to the right side of the road as we crawled forward. “Whoever is watering those window boxes isn’t just coming up on the weekend. It’s too hot this time of year. Someone is watering them every day. Maybe they ran into town for groceries. Maybe they’re out visiting friends. But they will come back, and we don’t want them to find our car there.”
“I didn’t think about that,” I admitted, annoyed at myself. I was so focused on getting to the next clue, I was forgetting the most basic thing—the people who lived there.
Forrest pulled the car off the side of the road into some bushes. As we moved, the hood of the car pushed aside the greenery. I realized that we were on a driveway of sorts, but one that clearly hadn’t been used in a very long time. Branches slid back into place behind us. When Forrest stopped, we were surrounded by the woods. It was a short trip through the trees and a quick dash across the lawn of the cottage next door to get to the boathouse. There was still no car in the driveway.
“Come on,” I said, “let’s go before somebody gets home. It might take us a while to search.”
I dashed across the short expanse of lawn between the edge of the woods and the boathouse, hand closing over the knob, only to come up short as it refused to turn. Locked. Of course, it was locked. I stepped back, looking for a fake rock with a hidden key. I checked a few, all the real thing. I felt above the door frame for a spare key. Nothing.
I moved to the closest window and peered inside. A pontoon boat rocked gently in the U-shaped dock. The interior was neat as a pin; life preservers hung on the wall, and towels folded on a bench. What I didn’t see were window or door sensors. If they had an alarm on the lake house, they hadn’t bothered to extend it over here. Just as the thought solidified in my head, I heard a thunk and turned to see Forrest pushing open the door.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I broke the lock,” he admitted, looking a little sheepish. His eyes scanned the inside of the boathouse. “Cleaner than when we lived here,” he commented.
“Does it look familiar?” I asked. “Did they change anything?”
Forrest let out a long breath. “It looks exactly the same. Some of those cabinets might be new.” His voice trailed off as he studied the wall on the opposite side of the boat. “I think we had cabinets there, but I don’t remember so many.”
He crossed the boathouse, opening the first cabinet he came to. I followed suit, and together, we searched for something, anything that might connect to Alan Buckley’s clue. I found fishing lures and old bottles of sunscreen, but nothing that looked like it could be a clue.