Green Lake by S.K. Epperson Read Free Book Online Page B

a graveyard at night.
    A trip around the entire cemetery turned up no evidence of digging, and Madeleine puckered her brow as she scoured the surrounding area. It was nothing but a cemetery full of very old bones and lots of weathered stones.
    “But what a strange place to find a cemetery,” she said aloud as she looked in the direction of the lake. From what she understood, the lake had been constructed sometime in the mid to late forties. Most every readable stone was much older, so all of the people buried in the ground beneath her had probably lived, farmed and died on land now covered by the waters of the lake.
    She heaved a sigh and then sucked in her stomach to slip through the gate again. At the cabin she gathered up the kittens and put them inside before reaching for the keys to the truck and her purse.
    As she drove by the dam site she saw what looked like a hundred people milling around the area. She and her truck were scrutinized by several sheriffs’ deputies, which caused Madeleine to blink and hurry on. She saw Renard's truck, but he was nowhere in sight. There were television remote vans from every local affiliate squeezed into the area, and people walked around trailing wires and fighting the sudden breeze that had kicked up earlier. The place was a circus.
    She drove down the road to Green Lake and was disgusted to find nothing even resembling a litter box at either of the two small grocers' establishments. She was cheerfully given directions to Fayville, and told to try Rob's IGA. Madeleine made the drive to Fayville and took advantage of the larger store to buy a newspaper, which she missed reading. She wondered if Renard had access to one and decided to ask him the next time she saw him. It would be no trouble for him to bring it home with him. He could leave it on his porch for her.
    She poked through the store as long as she could and then left to poke through the town, larger than Green Lake, but still no bigger than a pothole in the road. She stopped at a place that called itself a crafts shop and got out to look at what other bored, lonely women did with their time. She was awed by the time consuming work that had obviously gone into each item, needlepoint, crocheted doilies, quilts, teddy bears, bunnies, wood projects, silk and dried flower arrangements and she shook her head knowing she could never do anything similar.
    Little had changed really, since the Victorian era, she found herself thinking. Women still concerned themselves with beautifying their surroundings, while men concerned themselves with staying unconcerned.
    She left the crafts shop and climbed into her truck to return to the reservoir. The circus at the dam site was still in progress, with dozens of onlookers come now to stand around and talk about what the television people looked like in person. How much taller this one was, or how much thinner, and how bad their skin looked up close without all that makeup.
    Renard's truck was gone, with an official-looking sedan in its place. Madeleine kept her foot firmly on the accelerator as she passed, and found herself hoping the little girl was all right. The odds were not good, she knew, and the more time that passed, the worse the odds became.
    She closed her eyes briefly and felt her stomach roll at the sudden image of Sherman Tanner, standing on a dock somewhere and eagerly scanning the lake's surface for a small, floating body.
    Ugh.
    To punctuate the thought, the truck she was driving suddenly sputtered and died, leaving her staring incredulously at the dash and fighting to get the thing over to the side of the bridge. She tried the starter again and again, looking at the gas gauge, the oil light, and temperature gauge, but still the truck wouldn't start.
    “Dammit,” she swore as she threw open the door and slammed her way out of the truck. She walked to the front and raised the hood, not knowing what she was doing, but thinking someone would stop once they saw it.
    Someone did