All the color leached out of Kipp’s brown face. “Gods. We went swimming last night. Dane and his missus were bitching about us using that general shower area off the kitchen, so we all went down to the lake to rinse off and cool off. We could have—”
“Not likely,” Grimshaw said. “I went swimming here too. Julian Farrow and I saw something out there—just a glimpse—but there was no indication we would be attacked.” A sudden thought made his heart give one hard bump. “Except we were out here swimming when Vicki DeVine was still in charge of The Jumble.”
He shook his head. Vicki was an important factor but not the only factor. “There hasn’t been a lot of downtime since I got here, but I did take a quick look at the reports that were filed at the station. An attack like this would have been reported. If nothing else, there would be a missing persons report or a copy of a DLU form. But people go fishing on the lake all the time. They swim at the public beach. If this had happened before, Ineke Xavier wouldn’t have proposed bringing her guests here for beach parties.”
Activity behind him. Angry voices.
Marmaduke Swinn and Tony Amorella were squaring off with some of Bristol’s CIU team, while Vaughn, Darren, and Yorick Dane were yelling and creating . . . a distraction.
Grimshaw looked around. “Where are Reynolds and Hammorson?” They could be at the main house. The CIU team could be taking statements. Or they could be . . .
A motor turned over, a sound coming from the other side of the dock.
Crap!
Grimshaw ran for the dock. “Reynolds! You can’t put a motor in this lake!”
“The police aren’t doing anything, so we’ll handle this,” Vaughn said, stepping in front of Grimshaw, getting in the way of him stopping those fools before someone—something—noticed them. “Going to make some chum.”
Hammorson backed away from the dock, then headed for the middle of the lake, motor roaring. Reynolds stood braced against the windscreen, a shotgun aimed at the water, ready to shoot anything that surfaced in response to the sound of the motor.
The boat roared out of sight, heading toward the northern end of the lake, then came roaring back before Hammorson began driving in a big circle that could be seen from Silence Lodge as well as The Jumble’s beach.
Circling. Circling, circling, circling.
Even before Hammorson started shouting, started fighting to move the boat out of the circling water, Grimshaw knew the circles made by the boat’s motor had changed into a whirlpool. Was it his imagination, or was he seeing the shape of a steed emerging from the foaming water, racing and carrying the water with it? Carrying the boat with it?
The boat was below the lip now. How soon before it flipped? Could Reynolds and Hammorson survive long enough to reach the surface, or would they be carried down to the bottom of the lake?
She rose without warning from the heart of the whirlpool, a giant female shape made of water. Her hands closed on the bottom of the boat and lifted it as her straight arms rose toward the sky. Her head. Her shoulders. Her torso. As her hips rose above the surface, she arched and dove back into the lake.
Reynolds and Hammorson screamed as they tumbled out of the boat and hit the water moments before she slammed the boat on top of them, her dive taking everything down with her.
The water circled, circled, circled, but it was residual motion. The whirlpool, like the female, had vanished.
The boat suddenly reappeared close to the dock, a projectile thrown by a giant hand. It struck the pickup truck still attached to the boat trailer, smashing through the cab and the windshield.
While Yorick Dane and his friends stood frozen in shock, Grimshaw ran to the end of the dock and searched the choppy water for any sign of the men.
“Do you see Reynolds?” Swinn shouted, pulling up at the land end of the dock. “Do you see him?”
The bottom of the lake had been churned up, turning the usually clear water cloudy. He couldn’t see anything.
Then Grimshaw spotted something orange moving toward the dock, something under the surface, barely visible. A life vest? Reynolds had been wearing one.
The wooden ladder attached to the dock didn’t look new, but he went down anyway, testing each step until his ankles were in the water.
“Check the boathouse for a gaff or fishing net,” he called to Hargreaves and Kipp. Praying the ladder would hold his weight, he held on with one hand and squatted until his ass was almost touching the water. He stretched his other arm as far as he could, his heart pounding as his hand went under the water, as his fingers scrabbled to grab hold of what he could almost reach.
Hands with webbed fingers and needlelike nails closed over the sides of the vest and lifted it a little higher, a little closer. Close enough for his fingers to grab the strap.
“Thanks,” he breathed.
The hands disappeared. Feet pounded on the dock and Kipp flopped on his belly before reaching to help pull up whatever Grimshaw had found.
Thanks, he’d said.
Nobody felt thankful when they hauled the life vest up to the dock and found Reynolds’s severed arm and the shotgun secured to it.
Grimshaw shot up the ladder and kept going until he stood several feet from the dock and the water and whatever lived there. He bent over and braced his hands on his knees.
Hargreaves hurried to reach him. “Wayne, are you all right?”
He wasn’t a coward. He’d seen plenty of grisly things during his years on the force. But remembering the bite marks on Hershel’s body and what body parts he’d been dangling too close to the water a minute ago made him queasy. He hadn’t seen the face or the mouth, but he’d seen the curved nails at the ends of those webbed fingers.
“That vest didn’t float up by chance.” He spoke quietly enough that only Hargreaves would hear him. “They’re still out there, watching.”
“Guess we’re not putting divers in that water,” Hargreaves said.
“Not today.”
If Hargreaves was smart, today would turn into never.
Grimshaw straightened. “I have to close the public beach.”
“Gods, yes.” Hargreaves pulled his car keys out of his trousers pocket. “Take my car. I’ll be here a while.”
“I’ll call Osgood to help me clear the beach and keep it closed.”
He ran from the beach to the main house, then to the bridle path and game trail until he reached the road and the cars parked on the shoulder. A couple of the Crowgard followed him to the road. He didn’t know if they were just curious or keeping tabs on him. At least he hadn’t heard any of those unnerving whispers.
He still checked the front and back seats of the cruiser, then locked the doors as soon as he got in. He sagged in the seat for a minute. He gave himself that much time to wonder if the rest of the Finger Lakes held these kinds of secrets. Then he called Ineke Xavier and asked her to fetch his spare pair of shoes and give them to Osgood. Finally he called Osgood and gave the orders to meet him at Lake Silence’s public beach.
Starting the cruiser, he touched the medal under his shirt and offered up a brief prayer to Mikhos before he put the vehicle in gear and drove to the beach.
CHAPTER 67
Vicki