and flung them toward me. I hurriedly backed up my car to avoid a collision of car grill and gate rods, then pulled forward. Steuben waved to me, and I waved back before I took control of the wheel and steered away from that inviting ditch.
I drove my stylish 1980s era two-door down the road and found the fork in the road. In front of me was a small park with green grass and a communal dock jutting out into the lake. There was a large, white beach that sloped into the crystal-clear waters. A narrow, gravel road led down to the water where boats could be launched from their trailers, and a sign that read only small engines were allowed on the lake. Ducks swam in the manicured weeds and a floater floated in the center of the blue water. Squirrels scampered through the green grass. I was surprised there weren't any no-squirrels-allowed signs.
I turned the car down the right lane and entered a showcase of cabins that would have looked shabby only among European castles. There were decks the size of my apartment and ponds connected to the lake that you could hide a hippo beneath the surface. Some cabins were covert enough to have only two stories, but a few went all-out with three. The only reason none of them had a basement was the lake would have constantly flooded it. They were spaced fifty yards apart, but between them were parks of green grass and thick, tall trees.
The road led in a circle around the circular lake and past the fancy houses to the far side of the lake. I watched for the brown cabin with the brown roof, but there was one problem; most of the cabins had brown roofs and siding. They wanted to blend the mansions in with the environment, but it was like slapping paint on a squirrel and calling it an alpaca. My only hope was the cars in the gravel driveways. My cabin wouldn't be occupied unless a hobo managed to break in and make himself at home.
I found a cabin with the requirements nearly opposite the entrance. The cabin was only a square, single story structure, but the grounds were green with grass and the driveway was well-maintained. I parked my car and stepped out. The scent of pine trees and clean water wafted into my nose, and I took a deep breath. I choked and spat out the fly I inhaled. Ah, wilderness.
I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and made it to the simple, covered wraparound porch before one of the natives approached from the woods. She was a middle-aged woman in a dress so white it would have blended in with a snowstorm. Her fingers were covered in jewels and her wrist with golden bracelets that shimmered with all the precious gems stuck in them. I was nearly blinded by the dazzling light which made me unable to flee into the cabin.
"Hello there! I don't think I know your face," the woman called out.
I shielded my eyes from her shining jewelery and blinked. "And I don't think I can see yours," I murmured.
"What was that?" she asked me as she came up to me.
"I don't think you'd know mine," I rephrased. I held out my hand. "My name is Grace Stevens. I'm Mr. Trimble's secretary."
The woman smiled and eagerly shook my hand. "Mr. Trimble told us to expect you. I hope Steuben wasn't too much of a bother. His heart's in the right place, but sometimes his mind isn't with him."
"I got in fine," I told her.
The woman gasped and her hand flew to her face. "But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself. My name is Mrs. Olivia De Fray, wife to Henry De Fray, the clothes industrialist. I'm the greeting committee for the lake owners."
"Um, nice to meet you," I replied. I had no idea who her husband or she was, but through her clothing and diamonds she told the world they were rich or in debt.
"We've been told you've taken the cabin for a few weeks, and just at the right time. We're having our annual fireworks and picnic in a few days, and everyone in the cabins is invited."
"Um, I don't know. I just got here and I'll-"
"Oh, but you can't say no. Everyone will be there, and I'm sure
I drove my stylish 1980s era two-door down the road and found the fork in the road. In front of me was a small park with green grass and a communal dock jutting out into the lake. There was a large, white beach that sloped into the crystal-clear waters. A narrow, gravel road led down to the water where boats could be launched from their trailers, and a sign that read only small engines were allowed on the lake. Ducks swam in the manicured weeds and a floater floated in the center of the blue water. Squirrels scampered through the green grass. I was surprised there weren't any no-squirrels-allowed signs.
I turned the car down the right lane and entered a showcase of cabins that would have looked shabby only among European castles. There were decks the size of my apartment and ponds connected to the lake that you could hide a hippo beneath the surface. Some cabins were covert enough to have only two stories, but a few went all-out with three. The only reason none of them had a basement was the lake would have constantly flooded it. They were spaced fifty yards apart, but between them were parks of green grass and thick, tall trees.
The road led in a circle around the circular lake and past the fancy houses to the far side of the lake. I watched for the brown cabin with the brown roof, but there was one problem; most of the cabins had brown roofs and siding. They wanted to blend the mansions in with the environment, but it was like slapping paint on a squirrel and calling it an alpaca. My only hope was the cars in the gravel driveways. My cabin wouldn't be occupied unless a hobo managed to break in and make himself at home.
I found a cabin with the requirements nearly opposite the entrance. The cabin was only a square, single story structure, but the grounds were green with grass and the driveway was well-maintained. I parked my car and stepped out. The scent of pine trees and clean water wafted into my nose, and I took a deep breath. I choked and spat out the fly I inhaled. Ah, wilderness.
I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and made it to the simple, covered wraparound porch before one of the natives approached from the woods. She was a middle-aged woman in a dress so white it would have blended in with a snowstorm. Her fingers were covered in jewels and her wrist with golden bracelets that shimmered with all the precious gems stuck in them. I was nearly blinded by the dazzling light which made me unable to flee into the cabin.
"Hello there! I don't think I know your face," the woman called out.
I shielded my eyes from her shining jewelery and blinked. "And I don't think I can see yours," I murmured.
"What was that?" she asked me as she came up to me.
"I don't think you'd know mine," I rephrased. I held out my hand. "My name is Grace Stevens. I'm Mr. Trimble's secretary."
The woman smiled and eagerly shook my hand. "Mr. Trimble told us to expect you. I hope Steuben wasn't too much of a bother. His heart's in the right place, but sometimes his mind isn't with him."
"I got in fine," I told her.
The woman gasped and her hand flew to her face. "But where are my manners? I haven't introduced myself. My name is Mrs. Olivia De Fray, wife to Henry De Fray, the clothes industrialist. I'm the greeting committee for the lake owners."
"Um, nice to meet you," I replied. I had no idea who her husband or she was, but through her clothing and diamonds she told the world they were rich or in debt.
"We've been told you've taken the cabin for a few weeks, and just at the right time. We're having our annual fireworks and picnic in a few days, and everyone in the cabins is invited."
"Um, I don't know. I just got here and I'll-"
"Oh, but you can't say no. Everyone will be there, and I'm sure
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