Cradle Lake by Ronald Malfi Page B

her.”
    â€œHow’d he do it?” Alan said, the words nearly sticking to his throat.
    â€œPut the barrel of a pump-action Winchester to the center of Sophie’s forehead and spread her brains along the front hallway of their home. She’d come from visiting her sister in West Virginia and had just walked through the door to find him standing there with his scattergun. One single trigger pull and Owen was a widower. Then he dragged her body down the hall and up the stairs into the bedroom. A few nights later, over some beers at The Moxie, Sheriff Landry said there was a glistening path of blood trailing through the house and up the stairs that reminded him of those red carpets they roll out for movie stars on their way to the big premiere.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œOwen hoists her onto their bed and crawls in next to her. Then he pumps another shell into the chamber and sticks the barrel of the shotgun under his own chin. Sheriff Landry said Owen had taken off his shoes and socks andhad his big toe stuck in the trigger guard when they found him, so that’s probably how he managed to fire the shot.”
    Hank leaned over and snatched another beer. Passively he stared at the label and didn’t open the bottle. “Of course, neighbors heard the shots and the police were called. It was without a doubt the messiest crime scene old Hearn Landry and his two bumbling deputies had ever come across. Landry said it looked like someone had smeared cherry pie all over the bedroom wall. And it only got worse two days later when the firehouse kid never showed up for his shift. Again, Sheriff Landry went out on the hunt and found the kid in his kitchen, blown to bits by the same gun.”
    Alan ran a shaking hand through his hair. His ulcer was bucking in his stomach like an angry bronco. Either the beer or Hank’s story—or the combination of the two—had agitated it.
    â€œKolpeck was the medical examiner. He did the autopsies on all three bodies. Sophie Moreland was forty-eight or so when she died. Kolpeck said he couldn’t believe it. He said she was as fit and youthful as someone half that age.” Hank cranked the cap off his beer and took a swig.
    While Alan wasn’t paying attention, they’d finished the entire six-pack and, judging by the repositioning of the moon in the night sky, had been out here talking in the yard for quite some time.
    â€œSo you see, the lake is not something to be used carelessly. It takes just as much as it gives. There is a price to pay, and there have been those who have paid dearly. You and your wife are young and healthy. There’s no need to go down the wrong path, so to speak.” The timbre of Hank’svoice lowered. “My suggestion is to stay away from the lake.”
    A light came on at the far end of the house: the bedroom window.
    â€œYou said at first you assumed Sophie had found the lake from hiking through the woods,” Alan said, turning back to Hank. “But you don’t think that now, do you?”
    Hank sighed and seemed to genuinely consider the question. When he spoke, his voice was lower. “I honestly don’t know. Maybe they
did
accidentally stumble upon it while out walking through the woods, maybe looking for a good spot to have a picnic.”
    Alan could tell Hank was only talking in half-truths now. “No,” he said. “You don’t believe that.”
    Hank chuckled and rubbed his bad knee. “Let’s just say I’ve come to believe in a lot of things, all right? Things about man … and things about nature. Maybe sometimes nature has a way of intervening. Maybe that lake wanted the Morelands to find it because just like it
gives
it also needs to
take.”
    â€œYou’re telling me the lake … what? Called out to them? Summoned them?”
    â€œI don’t know what I’m saying.”
    â€œThis is getting harder and harder to swallow.