LITMIR.BIZ

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      Nina smiled. “As if. But thanks.”

      We placed the yeast dough we’d made into our proofing cabinet and set the temperature and humidity to allow the dough to rise perfectly overnight.

      Nina walked home with Dep and me. Dep wore a halter and leash and was good at keeping the pace—her pace. Falling leaves tempted her to practice her hunting skills, which weren’t very good at the best of times. She did catch one leaf. After it landed.

      We all trotted up the stairs to the porch of Dep’s and my sweet yellow brick Victorian cottage. Just inside the front door, I took off the wiggly cat’s halter and leash, gave her a quick hug, and set her down on the pine planks of the living room floor. She scampered toward the back of the house where she could, if she wanted, find her food, water, toys, and litter tray. Or she could relax on a wide, cushioned windowsill above a radiator cover in the sunroom and watch squirrels bury acorns.

      I locked the house, and Nina and I headed to the driveway. Pointing at the kayak on top of my car, she teased, “You know that the reds of your kayak and your car clash?”

      “Yes, and that a kayak on the roof of a fast car makes it look like a slow car. And act more like one, too.”

      “You’re never going to drive top speed, anyway.”

      I backed carefully out of the driveway. “Don’t count on it.”

      “Are you expecting a flood? Or were you planning to paddle to this guy’s cottage?”

      I pulled out onto the street. “Good idea. I’ve never gone kayaking on Lake Fleekom. You can balance on the back of the boat with your feet in the water.” More seriously, I added, “I’ve been keeping my kayak on top of the car since midsummer, when I bought it. That way, I can race off for some last-minute kayaking whenever I want to.”

      She eyed me slyly. “With your handsome detective.”

      “Or by myself. And Brent is not mine. I’ll probably get him to help me put the kayak away for the winter, though. He said I could store it in his garage.” Someday, I hoped to have a garage built beside my own house. “That would be better than trying to heave it over the wall around my yard.”

      “You could open a gate.”

      “There aren’t any. I have to go through the house to get from the front yard to the back. It’s inconvenient, but nicely safe for both Dep and me.” I turned onto the main road and told Nina that Rich wanted her to pay attention to his cottage’s interior to figure out if any of her paintings would go with the new décor we would plan for his cottage.

      “How high are the ceilings?”

      “I don’t know, but he said that your painting in Deputy Donut is too big for his cottage but might fit in his house.”

      “The one in Deputy Donut is one of my smaller ones. I don’t know if I could paint a canvas that didn’t require a ladder to reach the top. And I’m saving for an even taller ladder.”

      She read Rich’s instructions aloud. I turned off the main road and drove down a hill. Lake Fleekom, shimmering in the early evening haze and mostly surrounded by trees, was below us. Even if Rich hadn’t said that his house was the first one we would come to on this road, I probably would have guessed that the imposing two-story stone mini-château with lots of roof angles and chimneys was his.

      Nina leaned forward. “That house probably has a few rooms with nice, high ceilings. Look how tall the windows are.”

      Sturdy stone posts supported a wrought-iron fence. Ornate gates at both ends of the circular driveway were closed. They were also almost useless—anyone could drive around the ends of the fence, which didn’t extend far beyond the gates. A white party tent was set up near the back of one side of the house, but the grounds sloped down toward the lake, and I could see only the two top peaks of the tent.

      But I wasn’t going to Rich’s home until morning. Tonight, we were exploring his cottage.

      Nina read aloud, “ ‘Turn right.’ ” She laughed. “Good call. That’s the only direction you can go.”

      I had expected the road to divide into two branches in front of Rich’s place, with one branch going left around the lake, and the other going right, but there were only woods to the left. We passed another house, a timber frame one with no fencing in front, and then the road curved left. Not far beyond that, we entered thick woods with boulders approximately the size of commercial fridges and freezers.

      Imitating Rich’s boisterous voice and attitude, Nina read, “ ‘At this point, you have to slow down. The pavement ends and the county doesn’t keep the road perfectly maintained.’ ”

      We bumped along a gravel road for a half mile before we came to a clearing beside the lake. I read the sign aloud, LAKE FLEEKOM COUNTY PARK. About two dozen cars might fit in the small park’s gravel lot. In a grassy area, an open pavilion featured a stone fireplace and sheltered about ten picnic tables and benches. An old-fashioned water pump was nearby, and I caught a glimpse of outhouses tucked near trees surrounding the lawn. Pointing at the gently sloping sand beach, I said with satisfaction, “There’s a place to launch my kayak.”

      Nina offered, “I’ll wait in the picnic shelter.”

      With pretend reluctance, I agreed to drive the rest of the way to Rich’s cottage. It couldn’t have been far. From what I’d seen, Lake Fleekom was big enough for a kayaker to enjoy exploring, especially if the kayaker liked to nose around every cove, but it wasn’t huge. We passed what appeared to be someone’s driveway, two ruts with grass between them that disappeared into the woods between the road and the lake. More woods formed a canopy over the road. Rich’s cottage was nestled in the forest on the lake side of the road.

      The cottage was cute, if a little unexpected, with its white siding, blue shutters, and dormers in the pitched roof. Nina laughed. “We should have guessed it would be a Cape Cod. Unless there’s no second floor and those dormers are the fake kind perched on the roof above a cathedral ceiling, the walls can’t possibly be tall enough for my paintings.”

      “Let’s go see. He told me the key is for the back door.” I pointed toward a charming flagstone path that wound between tall pines toward the right side of the cottage. Unlike the grounds of Rich’s house, which almost shouted “estate home,” this property was like other northern recreational properties with pines, poplars, and white-barked birches that would provide a shady haven on warm days. The air smelled fresh and crisp. Crows cawed and blue jays scolded. At the rear of the cottage and beyond a treed and rocky slope, the lake reflected the pale tangerine sky. I could barely make out the gleaming party tent on the far shore. Closer, a grayish aluminum canoe was upside down on a weathered wooden dock.

      A large screened porch spanned half the back of the cottage. The door to the porch was unlocked. We stepped into a summer retreat where four dining chairs surrounded a table and comfy lawn chairs invited guests to relax.

      Nina ran her hand down the side of a glass-fronted wooden cabinet next to the door leading into the cottage. “Look. A custom-made cabinet containing handcrafted canoe paddles.” The name ROYALSON had been wood-burned into the shaft of each paddle.

      Agreeing that the cabinet and paddles were beautiful, I fit the key into the lock. After jiggling the key and shoving at the door’s upper corner, we managed to enter the kitchen. The cottage had that smoky, damp-linoleum smell of closed-up cottages with wood-burning fireplaces. Except for a couple of holes punched or kicked into walls—possibly the damage that Rich had accused Derek of doing—the interior appeared to be well maintained.

      Nina burst out laughing. “If Richmond P. Royalson the Third wants Wisconsinites to feel at home renting here, he should consider decorating with the Packers’ green, gold, and white, not the red, white, and blue of the New England Patriots.”

      She took a notebook out of her shoulder bag and started a list. The kitchen was serviceable, but we both would have preferred hardwood or tile to the worn Patriots-red linoleum

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