Thirty-six

The two of us leaped to our feet and dashed toward the lake. We splashed into the water, headed for Cooper.

John threw his arms around Cooper’s chest and tried to help him to shore. I saw the problem immediately. Cooper wasn’t drowning. He had grabbed hold of a waterlogged branch and refused to release it.

“He’s dragging a branch,” I yelled over the sound of thrashing water.

“Cooper, drop it!” John shouted.

But Cooper was stubborn. He’d found that branch and didn’t intend to let go of his prize.

I did my best to grasp it. When I pulled, whatever it had been stuck on finally gave way.

Cooper jerked it away from me, and I fell backward into the water. I scrambled to my feet.

Trixie continued to bark.

John struggled toward the shore holding Cooper, who still clenched the large branch in his mouth. As soon as they were in shallow water, John let go and Cooper bounded out, dragging the surprisingly large tree branch. A rag hung off it.

John waded in my direction. “Are you okay?”

By that time, Oma, Gustav, Macon, Zelda, and half a dozen other guests had heard the commotion and waited for us on the shore.

“I’m fine. I’m just glad Cooper is okay.” Weighed down by wet jeans, I trudged toward Cooper, who still held on to his branch, even though Trixie tugged at it. Gingersnap joined in the fun.

John reached toward me for my hand. We were both drenched.

A lone person on the shore stepped away from everyone else and walked over to the dogs. He ignored their playful growling and lifted the fabric off the branch.

As we drew closer, I realized it was Dave, and he was looking straight at me.

“Hi!” In spite of my wet clothes, I was eager to be off the hook. “John has some news.”

Dave held up the cloth in gloved hands. “Does this look familiar?”

I walked up to him to examine it. What I had thought was a rag turned out to be a whitish denim jacket. Probably formerly white, before it spent time in the lake. In the moonlight, I couldn’t make out too much more, except that it had stains on it and it looked an awful lot like my jacket.

“That is not mine.” Blood pounded in my ears so loud that I was afraid everyone could hear it. I hadn’t been able to put my hands on my white denim jacket a couple of hours ago, but I hadn’t taken the time to look for it carefully. Surely I had left it in the office or in the private kitchen.

“How can you tell?” asked Dave.

I desperately wanted to say the cut or the buttons weren’t the same. But they were. “Mine wasn’t stained. And I’m sure it’s not in the lake.”

Dave nodded. “That’s a relief. Let’s go up to the inn and have a look at your jacket.”

We started up the hill to the inn.

It wasn’t cold out. And the lake water had been a pleasant temperature, but I shivered as though a cold wind had blown through. What if I couldn’t find my jacket? What if Hank’s killer had disposed of the white jacket he wore in the lake and it wound up near the inn? How could I prove it wasn’t mine?

I could hear Zelda, Macon, and Laura assuring John that they would pack up the picnic items.

John caught up to me. “Are you all right? I can stick around.”

It was kind of him to offer. But there wasn’t a thing he could do to help, and he was as wet as I was. “Go on home and change into dry clothes. I’m sure everything will be fine here.” I said it with fake confidence. I wasn’t sure at all.

As we walked toward the inn, I hoped the jacket in the lake was the wrong size. It was fairly unlikely that it would be too small for me. But maybe it was very large. I could hope! Would Dave even allow me to try it on when it dried? I didn’t think so. Certainly not if he thought it could be tied to Hank’s death.

I headed straight for Oma’s office. Dave followed me with the jacket.

I offered him a white trash bag for it, but he hesitated before placing the jacket in it.

“Something wrong?”

“Plastic isn’t good for preserving evidence.”

I wanted to say, You could leave it outside, but it might sound sassy, and that was something I couldn’t afford at the moment. I simply pointed out, “It’s dripping.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice. Hurry up. Where’s your jacket?”

I wondered if any old white jacket would satisfy him. I glanced around the office and poked my head in the closet. My hands trembled, and I was so nervous that I could barely focus. I took a deep breath and went through the hangers one by one. It wasn’t there.

I debated telling him the truth—that I couldn’t find it. But that would be like admitting that the jacket in the lake was mine. If I said that, would he have enough evidence to put me in jail? To charge me with the murder?

I was panicking. I needed to calm down and think logically. Taking another deep breath, I turned around. “It must be upstairs in my apartment.”

Dave didn’t smile. He didn’t nod. He wore a stony expression that made my panic level rise even more. I wanted to reason with him. To tell him again that the jacket wasn’t mine, and that I hadn’t been there, and I had nothing to do with Hank’s murder. Yet somehow it seemed if I said it all again, I would be pleading with him and admitting that the jacket he held belonged to me.

We walked up the stairs and through the second-floor hallway to the grand staircase. One more floor and we were at my door. I unlocked it and fled to my closet.

The jacket had to be there somewhere. It had to! I wished I were a more organized person who kept everything in very precise order. I wasn’t a mess, but I did toss clothes on chairs sometimes. And I didn’t always run up to my apartment to put away a jacket. It wasn’t at all unusual for me to leave it in the private kitchen or the lobby.

Before I opened my walk-in closet door, I paused. What was I so afraid of? If I didn’t find the jacket, it didn’t mean I had killed Hank. It only meant I couldn’t put my hands on my jacket. Nothing more.

“Got it?” Dave yelled.

Anxiety ratcheted up inside me again. I opened the door and surveyed the contents for anything white. White shirts and blouses, white sneakers, white purse, white tops. No sign of a white jacket. This wasn’t working. I started at one end and was flipping through hangers when Dave spoke behind me.

“Holly, what’s this?”

I looked over my shoulder. He held the blue scarf adorned with paw prints that the cats had shredded. “It’s a scarf. Twinkletoes and another cat were playing with it one night. It must belong to a guest.”

He held out the new one.

“I bought a replacement. No one has claimed the scarf yet, but someone will notice it missing when they’re packing to check out. They’re very popular. I was lucky to get the last one the store had.”

“I gather you bought it at Petunia, since their logo is on this bag?”

“Yes. Why all the questions? It’s just a scarf.”

Dave ran a rough hand over his eyes before he answered. “The coroner found tiny blue and white fibers on Randall’s neck.”