Act of Evil by Ron Chudley Page B

confidence—Trent had been up and down several times over the years. Undoubtedly a whiz-kid, he had trouble staying focused and was easily bored, the final problem being that, though an astute market analyst, he had trouble taking his own advice. His present predicament was the result of just that.
    So why had she committed herself to such a man? He had come by chance into her restaurant, a charming but obviously adrift guy, and he’d returned again and again, chatting her up until finally she agreed to go out with him. A year later, she’d come to believe she’d found someone just one small misstep from extraordinary. If he’d just sort himself out and try to be a bit more mature, she was sure that the rare soul she sensed beneath the slightly wacky exterior would one day emerge in triumph.
    Or was she just a sentimental fool?
    Whatever! She loved the man, which was all that mattered. As for the drive to Shawnigan he’d sprung on her, after the bustle of work she found it soothing. Fifteen minutes from Duncan, she left the Island Highway at the south end of tiny Dougan Lake, heading in the direction of Shawnigan Village. The road was dark and winding but still quite busy. The blinding lights of oncoming cars began to give her a headache. Traffic started to pile up behind, and at one point a giant pickup overtook her with a roar. By the time she reached the village, she was feeling exhausted and somewhat less benign toward the instigator of this late-night odyssey.
    The last couple of kilometres around the lake, though even more winding, were less busy. Stephanie reached the familiar entrance to Lake Haven and turned down the drive with relief. The light was on in the lower courtyard, Terry’s Bathgate’s convertible parked off to the left near the rear entrance to the house. Stephanie turned her VW in the opposite direction, on a track that led through the trees to a cabin. Outside there was just room for two vehicles. Trent’s battered Landrover was parked there, and Stephanie edged in beside it. The only way out was to reverse all the way back to the courtyard—but she wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
    The porch light was off, making the normally cheery guest cabin look a little mysterious. It was built of logs, with a steep-pitched, shake roof. There were windows to right and left of the front door, one side being the kitchen-living room, the other the bedroom. The bedroom curtains were closed, as—surprisingly—were the drapes to the living room. No light showed behind either, which was odd; Trent usually kept the place bright and cheerful. Stephanie gave a small toot on the horn to announce her arrival, gathered up her handbag, and moved to the front door.
    It was locked.
    That was odd. She’d never known Trent to lock his door. Stephanie gave it a sharp rap. “Trent!” she called. “Honey?”
    No answer. From the lakeside a couple of houses away came a girlish shriek and the sound of high-pitched laughter. A voice cried. “Hey—no way—too fucking cold! ” The sound of a splash was followed by more laughter.
    Stephanie knocked more loudly. “Trent—it’s me—open up!”
    Silence—then the sound of footsteps. Finally, Trent’s voice, muffled and low. “Are you alone?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said, are you alone ?”
    His voice actually sounded nervous, which was absurd. “Of course I’m alone. What else, you nut? Open the damn door.”
    Lights came on in the living room. There was the sound of a key turning, then the door opened. Trent stood there, a dark figure silhouetted by the glow beyond. Stephanie couldn’t see his face, but his stance told her that she hadn’t mistaken the voice tone. Something was wrong. “Trent—what’s the matter?”
    â€œShhh!” he whispered urgently. “Get in!”
    She did as requested and Trent quickly closed and locked