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what Evan had said was a terrific thing. The truth was, he couldn’t deny a surge of sadness and even a bit of anger at Evan for everything that was going to be lost once the construction crews came in and started altering the landscape.
    It was foolish, he knew, to feel so protective about a place he hadn’t bothered to visit in the last thirty-five years. If it meant so much to him, why hadn’t he come out here to have a look around? It wasn’t all that far from Westbrook—a day trip, easily.
    Regardless, his childhood memories were so tied up with this lake and the camp and the land around it that he was convinced what Evan was planning wasn’t such a good idea.
    “ You ought to think about investing out here,” Evan shouted.
    He had to say it twice before Jeff made out what he said, but Jeff just smiled and shrugged.
    Here comes the sales pitch already …
    He had seen it coming.
    Living in Portland and working in real estate, he had knew all about Willow Creek’s plans for the Lake Onwego area. He had also seen on the news that some of the locals and some environmentalists weren’t so enamored with the plans. Since the project had first been announced three years ago, it had gotten tangled up in court with assorted land disputes. For the last year or so, there had been several instances of vandalism where the Willow Creek offices had been broken into and ransacked. Last spring, someone had tried to burn down the main office building, and many of the signs advertising the project in the area had been defaced with paint-ball shots and, in a few cases, shotgun blasts.
    “ Be a nice way to ensure you have a good retirement,” Evan shouted, but Jeff shrugged again, pretending he couldn’t hear him.
    He turned and stared out over the churning gray water. Just like when he was a kid, it seemed to take forever to get to the island, and the closer they got, the more anticipation built up inside him. The pines were darkening, casting long shadows across the water now that the sun had dropped behind the mountains. The strip of sandy beach in front of the dining hall and what used to be the swimming area—
    Where Jimmy drowned … was murdered!
    — showed up like a white slash against the dark backdrop. Thirty or so feet up from the beach was the dining hall. When he saw it, Jeff couldn’t ignore the cold lump that formed in his throat.
    “ Amazing, huh?” Evan called out as he cut the engine and brought the boat around so he was heading into the small cove where the swimming docks used to be.
    Once they were out of the direct wind, Jeff tilted his head back and inhaled the aroma of the pines. The smell instantly brought back another rush of memories. It was all too easy to imagine he was a kid again who was arriving for a two-week stay at the camp. If it had been a little warmer and if there had been leaves on the trees, the illusion would have been complete.
    But there was something else hanging in the air.
    Something unsettling … maybe even menacing.
    Jeff had no idea how he knew it was there, but he sensed a palpable presence hovering close to him in the gathering gloom. His eyes widened as they darted back and forth, scanning the cleared areas where the other buildings—the cabins and tent platforms and the old meeting hall—used to be. But his eyes were continually drawn back to the woods where deeper shadows lurked. The feeling of a presence lurking in the woods was overpowering.
    Jeff’s reverie was broken when the front door of the dining hall swung open, and three figures came out onto the porch and then started down the short flight of steps leading to the beach. Jeff raised his right arm in greeting, and the three men, now on the beach, waved back to him. He knew they were Tyler Smith, Fred Bowen, and Mike Logan, but in the deepening gloom, he had no idea who was who.
    “ Ahoy there, captain,” a thin, dark-haired man who looked trim and physically fit called out.
    Evan cut the engine, and the