jewels on a necklace. Lights were on in some of the houses already, and if Adam were just idling along instead of racing like a nutcase, she knew she’d be able to hear people laughing on patios and around the small fires burning in the outdoor hearths.
Someday she wanted to live in one of these big lakefront houses; the only question was which one, since every one of them always looked even more beautiful to her than the last.
Adam took a sweeping turn along the shore, then abruptly decelerated the engine. The boat instantly dropped back, its own wake quickly overtaking it and threatening to swamp it.
“Adam!” Cherie cried as the wake splashed on her back. “What are you doing?” He turned off the running lights. Cherie braced herself, ready to push his hand away the moment he tried to touch her. A boat ride was one thing, but if he thought she was going to—
“Look!” Adam whispered, his voice breaking her thought as he pointed toward the shore.
“At what?” Cherie asked, her voice dropping to match his.
“Pinecrest,” Adam whispered. “Look. Someone’s living there.”
Sure enough, lights were on all over the big house, which had been dark for so many years Cherie could barely remember when it was anything but a dark silhouette against the night sky. Tonight, though, it glowed beautifully in the twilight.
As Adam idled the boat up to the Pinecrest dock, Cherie reached out and grabbed one of the cleats. Adam turned off the motor. “I heard that someone rented it for the summer,” she whispered. “But I didn’t know they were already here.”
“Want to go see if we can look in the windows?”
Cherie glared at him in the fast-fading light. “You mean like be a Peeping Tom? You’re weird, Adam!”
Ignoring her words, he stood up on the seat of the boat and peered up the front lawn toward the big house, and suddenly Cherie understood. “Is that why we came out here? So you could spy on these people?”
“You don’t have to spy,” said a voice from the shadows by the boathouse. “Just come to the door and knock.”
Nearly losing his balance at the unexpected sound, Adam sat heavily back down, rocking the boat violently.
“Hi,” Cherie said. “We didn’t mean anything.” She glanced at Adam. “At least
I
didn’t.”
A boy about her own age emerged from the shadows and walked down the dock, a spark plug in one hand, a greasy rag in the other.
“I’m Eric Brewster,” the boy said.
“Hi. I’m Cherie Stevens. This is Adam Mosler.”
“I already know him,” Adam said. “His dog shits all over town.”
Cherie turned and stared at Adam. “Excuse me?”
“It was only once,” Eric explained. “And I picked it up. With my handkerchief. Your friend didn’t think I’d come back if I went for one of those plastic bags.”
Cherie gasped. “So you used your
handkerchief
?”
Eric shrugged, doing his best to act if it had been no big deal. “Well, it was either that or have your friend and his buddies take a swing at me. And handkerchiefs don’t cost much.”
Abruptly, Adam twisted the key in the ignition, and the outboard roared back to life.
“Hey,” Cherie said, raising her voice over the rumble of the engine. “Doesn’t Kent Newell stay out here somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Eric said. “Next door.”
“Fuckin’ coneheads,” Adam muttered.
“Coneheads?” Eric repeated, finally shifting his gaze from Cherie to Adam.
“It’s stupid,” Cherie said. “Because you’re in The Pines, you know? Pinecones? Coneheads? And it’s from some old movie they did a hundred years ago.” She turned her head to stare directly at Adam. “It’s stupid.”
Adam, his jaw tightening, said nothing. He put the motor in gear, but Cherie tightened her grip on the cleat that was bolted to the dock. “Do you know about the dances at the pavilion on Friday nights?” she asked.
Eric nodded. “Kent and Tad told me.”
“They start next week,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see
Someday she wanted to live in one of these big lakefront houses; the only question was which one, since every one of them always looked even more beautiful to her than the last.
Adam took a sweeping turn along the shore, then abruptly decelerated the engine. The boat instantly dropped back, its own wake quickly overtaking it and threatening to swamp it.
“Adam!” Cherie cried as the wake splashed on her back. “What are you doing?” He turned off the running lights. Cherie braced herself, ready to push his hand away the moment he tried to touch her. A boat ride was one thing, but if he thought she was going to—
“Look!” Adam whispered, his voice breaking her thought as he pointed toward the shore.
“At what?” Cherie asked, her voice dropping to match his.
“Pinecrest,” Adam whispered. “Look. Someone’s living there.”
Sure enough, lights were on all over the big house, which had been dark for so many years Cherie could barely remember when it was anything but a dark silhouette against the night sky. Tonight, though, it glowed beautifully in the twilight.
As Adam idled the boat up to the Pinecrest dock, Cherie reached out and grabbed one of the cleats. Adam turned off the motor. “I heard that someone rented it for the summer,” she whispered. “But I didn’t know they were already here.”
“Want to go see if we can look in the windows?”
Cherie glared at him in the fast-fading light. “You mean like be a Peeping Tom? You’re weird, Adam!”
Ignoring her words, he stood up on the seat of the boat and peered up the front lawn toward the big house, and suddenly Cherie understood. “Is that why we came out here? So you could spy on these people?”
“You don’t have to spy,” said a voice from the shadows by the boathouse. “Just come to the door and knock.”
Nearly losing his balance at the unexpected sound, Adam sat heavily back down, rocking the boat violently.
“Hi,” Cherie said. “We didn’t mean anything.” She glanced at Adam. “At least
I
didn’t.”
A boy about her own age emerged from the shadows and walked down the dock, a spark plug in one hand, a greasy rag in the other.
“I’m Eric Brewster,” the boy said.
“Hi. I’m Cherie Stevens. This is Adam Mosler.”
“I already know him,” Adam said. “His dog shits all over town.”
Cherie turned and stared at Adam. “Excuse me?”
“It was only once,” Eric explained. “And I picked it up. With my handkerchief. Your friend didn’t think I’d come back if I went for one of those plastic bags.”
Cherie gasped. “So you used your
handkerchief
?”
Eric shrugged, doing his best to act if it had been no big deal. “Well, it was either that or have your friend and his buddies take a swing at me. And handkerchiefs don’t cost much.”
Abruptly, Adam twisted the key in the ignition, and the outboard roared back to life.
“Hey,” Cherie said, raising her voice over the rumble of the engine. “Doesn’t Kent Newell stay out here somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Eric said. “Next door.”
“Fuckin’ coneheads,” Adam muttered.
“Coneheads?” Eric repeated, finally shifting his gaze from Cherie to Adam.
“It’s stupid,” Cherie said. “Because you’re in The Pines, you know? Pinecones? Coneheads? And it’s from some old movie they did a hundred years ago.” She turned her head to stare directly at Adam. “It’s stupid.”
Adam, his jaw tightening, said nothing. He put the motor in gear, but Cherie tightened her grip on the cleat that was bolted to the dock. “Do you know about the dances at the pavilion on Friday nights?” she asked.
Eric nodded. “Kent and Tad told me.”
“They start next week,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see
Similar Books
