The boathouse consisted of two buildings joined by a dock. One section was where motorboats or other craft could be moored. The other building looked like a large storage area. I tried the metal handle on the storage facility door, and groaned in disappointment when I realized it was locked.
An impulse struck me. I bent and picked up a corner of the mat in front of the door. The material crumbled to dust in my hand, but I still glimpsed what I wanted before the disintegrating mat flopped back into place.
“Well done,” Valeria said when I held up a tarnished key.
The key took some fiddling before it finally released the lock. I walked into the boathouse first, peering into the shadows. There was only one little window at back of the building. It was covered with dust, making visibility poor. A musty scent suggested no one had been inside here for years. I fumbled for a light. I finally found a switch, and the room was illuminated.
“Excellent,” Valeria breathed out.
I counted five kayaks mounted on one wall. In a large wooden box I could see partially deflated rafts and inner tubes. Dozens of paddles were propped up in the corner. On another wall, four mountain bikes hung from racks. What appeared to be two jet skis sat in the middle of the room, covered with gray tarps.
Valeria passed me and lifted the cover on one WaveRunner, then another. “These are in great shape,” she said, smiling over at me. Something caught her attention on the wall directly next to me. “And look.”
Hanging on the wall next to me, a modular storage system contained several wetsuits, boots, and fins. Inside a nearby closed cabinet, we found tanks, hoses, buoyancy compensators, regulators, flashlights… everything needed for a dive, and then some. I’d already
told Valeria I’d learned to dive while I was in college, and she was apparently an expert. We felt like we’d hit the mother lode.
“We should try to go out sometime soon,” I said excitedly, lifting one of the wetsuits off the wall. “I’ve heard diving in Tahoe is amazing.”
“You’re going to love it.”
I sniffed at the wetsuit and winced at the musty smell. “These are still in pretty good condition, but the neoprene is a little dry.”
“I’ll come down after I start work, inspect the equipment, and get everything into good working order,” Valeria said, closing the dive supply cabinet with a bang. “I mean… if that’s okay with you and Evan.”
“It’s fine by me. There’s some great stuff in here. I’m surprised Evan never told me about all the equipment. It’d be nice to inventory it all,” I said, looking around the facility thoughtfully. “Clean things up, put a couple kayaks closer to the beach for easy access, throw away stuff that can’t be used anymore.” I reached for another wetsuit. “For the time being though, I’m taking all of these in to wash them.”
There were five suits hanging there, two small ones and three large. I thought the larger ones had probably once belonged to Evan. Or Noah? I knew who had probably worn the smaller ones, but I didn’t dwell on it. The discovery of the treasure trove inside the boathouse, in addition to Valeria’s enthusiasm and warmth, had me energized. Plus, my sleep for the past few nights had been deep and dreamless. It felt unusually easy to be optimistic. It felt good to effortlessly push aside thoughts of Elizabeth.
Maybe I owed Evan an apology about his idea to hire Valeria. She seemed to be having a positive effect already.
“When do you think you might start work, then?” I asked Valeria as we left the boathouse, our arms loaded up with wetsuits and boots.
“I can start tomorrow, if you guys want me to.”
“That’d be great. I’d really like to get begin sorting that out,” I said, nodding back at the storage facility as we made our way along the shoreline. “We could do it together, maybe after—”
I broke off at the abrupt sound of glass shattering. It was immediately followed by an animal-like growl, the sound making my skin tighten and prickle.
Valeria and I both froze in place and looked upward, to where the sounds had originated. We stared up at the South Twin’s turret. From an upper window protruded a fist and forearm, both scarlet with blood.
Someone—a woman, I thought—shouted out in surprised anguish. I saw the outline of a man’s upper body in the broken window, and then there was a fluttering of movement behind him.
I had the fragmented, irrational thought that whomever the hand belonged to had made such a fist of rage, it’d squeezed the blood right out of him.
In one fluid, swift movement, the glistening, red arm slid back into the room.
I ran into Evan’s office, Valeria trailing after me. He and Wes were talking in the sitting area of his office.
“Evan,” I gasped when he looked around with a startled expression. “Someone… a man… punched through a window at the South Twin. There was blood. I didn’t know if I should call 911 or not? There was someone else there with him, helping—”
Wes stood. “Go ahead and call 911,” he said to Evan. “I’m sure his nurse has already called, but it won’t hurt to call twice. I’ll head over there. He’s still my patient.”
“Evan? What does he mean? Who’s still his patient?” I asked.
“Let me call 911 first,” Evan said quietly.
Valeria and I exchanged an uneasy glance while Evan made the call. I wondered if she was thinking she’d taken on too much with her new job, given everything that had happened already. And today had just been the interview.