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effectively humiliated me? The dogs and I were making all sorts of crazy noises as we tried to keep the rain out of our eyes and noses. It was most uncomfortable, but also hilarious and weirdly invigorating.
    By the time we got to the top the dogs were tired and thirsty. I had to knock at the glass doors; luckily Camilla was right there.
    “Oh, you poor dear. I’ve been watching for you. Here—the nice towel is for you. These old ones are for the dogs. I’ll get to work on them.” She began to massage Rochester and Heathcliff, those big babies, who leaned on her and snuffled and closed their eyes under her ministrations.
    I dried as well as I could and left my wet shoes at her doorway. “I don’t think I’m dripping any sand,” I told her. “Let me run upstairs and get cleaned up.”
    “Did you have a nice visit, Lena? Before the storm?”
    “Yes,” I said. “It was actually quite enjoyable.”
    *   *   *
    I RETURNED TO my room, where Lestrade had not only awakened, but had polished off the food in his bowl and was now taking a bath on the windowsill.
    “Hey, buddy,” I said. “I need a shower and some clean clothes.” I went into the bathroom and disrobed, then hung my wet clothes on a towel bar above a heating vent. I’d have to ask Camilla how to do laundry. Outside more thunder clapped—two large and scary ones, then a smaller, more distant one. I tried not to jump every time I heard the noise.
    I treated myself to my first shower in Graham House. The water pipes made odd noises, but the water was warmand rejuvenating, and there was a delicious-smelling body wash in the bathtub that seemed to have a French name. “Classy,” I said to no one.
    I emerged ten minutes later feeling great. “Lestrade, I am experiencing a certain euphoria.” He gave me a sleepy glance. He didn’t seem angry or agitated. Perhaps Lestrade was one of those cats who just went with the flow of things. I strode across the room and spent a moment petting his silky ears, enjoying his soft fur. Lestrade turned on the outboard motor that was his purr, and I laughed. “I guess you forgive me, huh? You seemed pretty nervous in the car.”
    He turned away from me and looked out the window, where the raindrops on the pane were providing him with quite a show. The rain had lessened a bit, but it was still coming down. I looked out and realized that my room offered not just a view of the lake, but of Camilla’s backyard and red staircase, all the way to the sand below, where I saw something familiar and yet jarringly out of place.
    “What the heck . . . ?” I asked Lestrade, leaning closer and squinting down at the beach. My eyes were probably deceiving me. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check.
    I left Lestrade to contemplate the raindrops, and I jogged down the stairs.
    I walked into Camilla’s lounge and looked around. She wasn’t there. I turned to scan her wall of books, then heard something behind me. I twirled to find Camilla there, holding two canning jars. She had a disconcerting habit of appearing without making a sound.
    “Camilla,” I said. “Do you have pair of binoculars?”
    She didn’t look surprised that I had asked. “Oh, I’m sure I do. I know once I lent them to Bob Dawkins and hishorrible son, and they might still be out on the porch near the woodpile. Bob and his son deliver my wood and do odd jobs for me.”
    “And what makes the son so horrible?” I asked, smiling.
    She did look surprised at that. “Hm? Oh, I don’t know, really. That’s just what everyone calls him—Bob’s horrible son. It suits him.”
    “Okay—uh, I guess I’ll check by the woodpile.”
    I went out onto her porch, and there was in fact a giant pair of binoculars sitting on the outer window ledge; I paused to wonder what Bob and his son needed them for. Then I grabbed them, protected from the rain by a large awning, and jogged down the hallway. I went to the back patio doors and out onto the grass behind Camilla’s