“Babe, I think this is the one,” Douglas said, drumming on the steering wheel of their 2015 Impala. Not the car he really wanted, as he often reminded Kallie, but the car that let them bank “house money.”
The roofline sloped, a high-pitched peak with low slung eaves; underneath, narrow rectangular windows ran across the front of the house. A flat, level driveway cut into the mound of lawn restrained by a wall of beveled stone.
Kallie admitted it checked both of her husband’s major criteria boxes. “Maybe,” she replied, as she surveyed the bland yard. Large sections of dirt swathed the retaining wall and along the house where landscaping had been removed. None of the curb appeal she’d dreamt of, but it definitely had that midcentury aesthetic while fitting Douglas’s no-flat-roof rule. As a former Minnesotan, his views on how a house weathered snow and ice were solidified in childhood. A California girl, she loved the boxy, zero roofline look, but after a couple of years in the St. Paul area, she conceded Douglas’s pragmatic point.
“Let’s walk it?” he asked.
They arrived at each potential house 20 minutes before their realtor, Hannah-Swensen-Sells-Homes, to study the property privately. As they clicked the car doors locked, Hannah’s dark blue Lexus squealed curbside.
Great, she’s early, thought Kallie.
“And she’s on time,” said Douglas, disappointed. “No putzing around today.”
“Ostergaards!” A large, vivacious woman, Hannah greeted them with arms fanning a ta-da gesture to the house. “How do ya like that?”
“Looks great, Hannah,” Douglas replied.
“So far, so good.” Kallie added a winning Malibu smile.
“Welcome to the township of Little Canada. Quaint when you drove through, ya? Plenty of parks and running spaces.”
“Jogging,” Douglas corrected.
Little Canada? Aptly named, Kallie mused. They should consider that as a rebrand for the whole state. She brightened her smile.
As they approached the front door, Hannah read from her paperwork. “Okay, this is a 1,275 square foot modern, built in 1958. Sits on the shores of Gervais Lake. Two bed, one-and-a-half bath. Property is being sold as is. Asking just under five hundred thousand. Many original details intact. Potential to shine!”
Kallie eyed the bleached redwood siding and stonework, worn but not shabby. She wondered what the catch was on its low price.
“How long has it been unoccupied?” Douglas asked.
“Nearly two years, before being listed this week.” Hannah frowned after unlocking the door. “Mired in probate, I think.”
Inside, a floating wall divided the entry from the living room, creating a hallway. The partition was an abstract design of boxy, white shelving interspersed with lemon and teal colored glass panels. Sunlight poured through the rear balcony sliding doors and projected stained-glass shadows on the colorless walls.
After an appreciative whistle, Douglas said, “I know the house isn’t named, but do we know the architect?”
“The MLS didn’t say but this is definitely of the Bauhaus School of Design.” Hannah admired the mosaic light effect. “Seems Rapson-inspired.”
Douglas nodded and Kallie noticed he was pleased by the mention of the area’s foremost modernist. They mouthed Bauhaus to each other. She turned and placed her palm on the front door, closing her eyes to feel the space without the use of sight.
“How’s the house vibe?” asked Douglas, who had stepped into the living room.
“A golden aura, not bad, welcoming—” Kallie said. “Oh, I like the openness and all the white, even the painted stonework.” She pointed to the open double-sided fireplace that straddled the living and dining space. “Right?”
“Yup, very Scandinavian.” Douglas folded his arms and planted his feet like a Viking. “And the hearth is perfect for winter hygge with my sweetheart.” He winked at Kallie, then addressed the realtor. “The chimney works?”
Chuckling, Hannah flipped open her file folder. “Ah, right. No disclosures. The seller will only consider purchase agreements from buyers willing to accept a Waiver of Disclosure. They’re certainly firm on ‘as is’ condition.”
“That’s not a good sign, hon,” said Kallie. “They’re trying to hide something.” She looked at the ceiling. “Roofing issues?” She rapped on the wall. “Asbestos? Worse?”
The house lights flickered, twice.
“Poltergeists?” Douglas joked.
Hannah ran her finger down the opened file. “Section 513.55 does not create a duty to disclose the fact that residential property was the site of a suicide, accidental death, natural death, or perceived paranormal activity.”
“Seriously?” Kallie leaned in to glance at the paperwork. “A horrendous crime could have happened here? Or it’s built over a graveyard and spirits will terrorize us forever? All without so much as a boo from the seller?”
“Interesting.” Douglas frowned.
Hannah nodded. “Bit of a weird exclusion. Although, in terms of house bargains, most people aren’t scared off even when it’s haunted.”
The lights flickered again.
“Well, it is an older home.” Hannah offered as way of explanation.
“Yes, bound to be some faulty wiring.” Kallie rapped on the wall again. Nothing. She sighed, knowing that intermittent problems were more difficult than consistent ones.
“Shall we see more?” Hannah smiled, leading them through to the dining and kitchen combination fortified with original honey maple cabinetry. A mid-century style built-in sideboard matched the dining set. The saucer-inspired pendant lights and boomerang design wall clock said atomic-age time warp to Kallie. Douglas hooted.
“Ya hey, a period kitchen.” Hannah cleared her throat. “Now, this is probably why the house is priced so low. But imagine the breakfast bar gone. Maybe, the whole space gutted, with an island instead—” Hannah broke off when she noticed their expressions.
Kallie touched a mod glassed cabinet that echoed the colors from the living room. “Gutted? And lose these details?”
Douglas slipped into a chair and rubbed the top of the solid maple dining table. “Do you know how much this custom furniture costs?”
“It stays, right?” Kallie rested a hand on her husband’s shoulder.
Hannah checked the paperwork. “Ah, you betcha—as is—including furniture and miscellaneous effects.”
“A deal.” Douglas locked eyes with Kallie.
“But hon, we don’t even know the state of the plumbing yet,” she teased. At that, came the distinct clank of a pipe from the lower level.
Despite the home’s unexplained noises, Douglas and Kallie continued their tour. The bedrooms proved to be 1950s standard, rust-stained bathrooms begged for remodeling, and half of the crank windows required work.
“Okay, there’s been a few misses but the best kind of surprise awaits down in the basement,” Hannah promised.
Against the expected wood paneled walls, a Naugahyde-tufted cocktail bar curved seductively. The goldenrod-colored bar was flanked with plastic molded stools, and atop rested a complete Starburst glassware set. “‘As is’…and miscellanea…” Kallie said, glee transparent in her voice.
Douglas lifted an empty decanter, shook it, and in his best Mad Men imitation, barked. “Why is this empty?”
Leaning on the counter, Kallie grinned, then made a face at the mirrored wet bar area built into an alcove behind it. “Oh, hello, the cast of Dynasty called and they want their set back.” Everyone laughed. “Still, it has potential,” Kallie eyed the opposite wall of sliding glass doors.
Beyond the stellar walkout basement, they stood on a generous patio and enjoyed a mesmerizing view of the lake, soft-lit in the falling evening. When Douglas whispered Shangri-la, Kallie knew his search was over, but she couldn’t shake an uneasiness about the place.
Hannah sensed her hesitation. “A first home is a huge decision. Just keep in mind how much this meets that perfect home description you gave me last year. And understand you’re not the only one—it won’t be on the market long.”
“It’s our second home purchase,” said Kallie, annoyed that Hannah continued to ignore life experiences beyond the Minnesota border. “I just wish we knew more about the house and the people who lived here.”
The sound of a door slamming echoed down the stairwell.
“Ah, must be the next showing.” Hannah shrugged. Yet, there were no responses to her repeated calls of hello, and when they locked up and left, it was apparent there had been no one else in the house.
Several weeks later, without entanglements from either sellers or buyers, the Ostergaards became owners of their perfect Minnesota midcentury home. Nearly perfect. They made compromises on renovation plans from the first day forward. Bathroom upgrades were deferred for window repairs, and patio refinishing was postponed in the face of gutter replacements. Despite mounting costs, Douglas remained certain they’d gotten a bargain. For her part, Kallie considered her initial wariness as clichéd cold feet.
Positive attitudes aside, problems with the house’s possessed lights continued. They flickered without logical explanation, usually while Douglas and Kallie discussed their expectant baby, or other intimacies. The Ostergaards hired several electrical handymen who fiddled with the fuse box but offered no solutions other than tear it out. No other solutions, that is, until Douglas’s boss recommended a semi-retired electrician—of the singular name Schmidt— who offered a free look-see.
Fresh in the door, Schmidt pointed to the first consternation—a two-slotted electrical outlet. “Should be three-prong plugs. Means it’s all original.” He looked at the ceiling and eyed down the walls as if he had x-ray vision. Then, opening the electrical panel door, he winced. “Yeah, no. Got to replace that fuse box with circuit breakers.” Slim and slightly bent, Schmidt climbed through the small pockets of attic before reporting, “Yep…also got mid-century aluminum wiring. No fixing that. Needs to be replaced.”
“All new wiring, too?” Douglas cringed.
“All new.” Schmidt left them with a written estimate, adding, “Saw mice scat up there. Best be rid of them quick.”
After setting mouse traps, Douglas stared at the estimate again, wishing one of the zeros had dropped away. “Kallie, maybe we wait on this electrical work. See if I get an end-of-the-year bonus.”
“That’s seven months away,” she cried, unconsciously rubbing her abdomen. “I don’t want to supervise renovations when I’m ready to drop.”
The lights flickered and switched off.
Kallie growled. “And do you know how difficult it is to cook in the dark? Or how often I’ve rearranged my schedule to prep meals during daylight?”
“My being a lousy cook day or night, I’d say it’s always difficult. But we’ve had some amazing hot dishes lately, babe. I do appreciate the effort.”
She scooped a casserole pan from the counter but stopped shy of placing it in the oven. “Great, Douglas, now the range is out. Unbelievable.”
With a glance at the retro appliance, he muttered, “And it’s probably a custom-size.” He made the cha-ching sound of a cash register. “I’m starting to feel this Bauhaus will bury us.” On his way to inspect the problem, he stopped and pulled the refrigerator handle. The kitchen illuminated. “At least, the fridge is still running.”
“Well, maybe we could roll it into the dining room for some romantic lighting as we eat cold leftovers.” She threw down her mitts.
Early the next morning, Kallie awoke with an idea and turned to her half-asleep husband spooned against her. “Hon, what if we find out the architect and they’re famous? Would that increase the value of the home? Would it qualify for special funding?”
Douglas rubbed his drowsy eyes and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know, but if the value goes up then we could pursue an equity loan.” He leaned over for a first kiss. “You’re brilliant as well as beautiful.”
By breakfast, Douglas had begun researching. “No such data via the county’s property lookup—it’s thin on information.” He flashed his iPhone. “But under the library services section, there’s a research center that houses tons of archived materials—” He read from the screen, “Including building permits issued by Ramsey County from 1883 to 1975.” He glanced at her. “It’s on-site only, though. No inter-webbing databases.”
“In St. Paul?”
“Yup. Are you up for the drive?”
She noticed he was already copying the address into a text. “Absolutely. I’m pregnant, hon, not an invalid. And I’m meeting your mom for lunch, which makes it an easy afternoon activity.”
Douglas unloaded the groceries and surprised his wife with a quart of her favorite Grand Ole Creamery flavor. “Butter Brickle, for my one and only.”
Kallie grabbed the tub and a spoon.
“How did it go with the historical research?” he asked.
“No luck. The house’s original permits were filed by a construction company and the subsequent permits by the owners: Harold and Tally Perrault.”
“Tally?”
“Yes. Unusual, isn’t it?” She began eating out of the carton. “Maybe more unusual than Kallie. Tally—Kallie. It can’t be a coincidence, Douglas.”
He removed his tie and popped open a beer. “What do you mean? What else could it be?”
“Fate? An omen?” She licked another spoonful of ice cream. “Umm. Omen, but good or bad?”
“Babe.”
“Then I searched all records for Harold and Tally Perrault at this address. And, wow, loads of hits. I’m going back tomorrow,” Kallie said. “Too much to read at one time.”
Douglas took a slow swig. “But if the architect’s name wasn’t on the records, we already have the information we wanted. Or lack of information, I should say.”
“Yes, but there were so many newspaper and magazine articles. I mean, something like the society pages might reveal the name, if they hosted a party, or whatnot. Didn’t they do those things back in the fifties? Announce fussy cocktail parties. Charity events.”
“Well, as long as I don’t have to start wearing a tux for dinner.”
Umm, no, actually, lose that suit and check the mousetraps.”
Douglas raised his bottle in salute.
Kallie sat on the balcony watching the evening sun’s golden hue shimmer Gervais Lake’s surface. Drowning. The word repeated in her tired mind and tugged her spirit out of sorts. Why did Douglas have to be late tonight when she needed to talk? She heard the front door closing and she turned to look at the entry. No one. How could he move that fast?
“Douglas?” she called. The slam of another door resounded further inside the house. “Hello? I’m out here.” The deck lights snapped on, but as Kallie peered into the empty house, her husband wasn’t standing by the switch. Panic fluttered through her, increasing as she sensed footsteps and by the time Douglas appeared around the side of the house, a scream had formed in her throat.
It came out as startled relief. “Oh Douglas, thank god.”
He climbed the steps. “Babe, what are you doing out here? Why did you chain the door? You okay?”
“Chain?” She glanced at the entry door. “That’s odd.” She pointed to an outside light. “Douglas, are these lights on a timer?”
He smirked. “Timer? No, nothing tech like that—this house is entombed in the nineteen fifties.”
Beyond the rational in her mind, she sensed a shadow, an intangible connection across the years. It created a disquiet that prickled down her spine.
At her lack of response, Douglas cajoled. “‘Vintage’ as realtors say.” He sat beside her, facing the lake. “And, just what we wanted.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “Unsolved mystery and all.”
“Excuse me?” He loosened his tie.
“Tally drowned.” She gestured to the lake. “Six months after she and Harold moved in, he reported that she went swimming one evening and vanished.”
“What? Was she swimming alone at night?”
“By herself, but not at night—before dinner—even though it was nearly midnight before Harold called police.”
“Sounds sketchy.” He whistled, low and slow. The cry of a solitary loon echoed from the lake.
“Wonder what he was doing?”
“Eating dinner. Waiting. So he said.”
“While she was out there alone, drowning? He must have been drunk.” He uncuffed his shirt.
“Which is what I’d like to be.” His light-hearted tone fell flat.
He reached his arm around Kallie and pulled her into a hug. She sighed.
“I’m sorry to hear about Tally’s tragic end. And for the sadness this brought you.” He kissed her. “So here’s some better news, I negotiated with Schmidt today—I’ll do the demo myself to save money. He was going to hire his grandson for the heavy lifting and wire pulling.”
“That’s great, hon.” She whispered, half-smiling.
The loon cried again. “I can’t take your mind off this, can I,” he said.
“You know, restless spirits never leave me be.” Before standing to go inside, she looked him in the eyes, adding, “They scoured the lake. Tally’s body was never found.”
The next evening, Douglas discovered Kallie sitting on the living room floor, angling a smudge stick over a lit candle on the coffee table. The paper-wrapped stick burned for a few seconds before she blew on the flame, turning its end to an orange ember. As smoke rose, she dropped it into an iridescent surfaced shell. He smiled, recognizing the items as a housewarming gift from Kallie’s parents, who owned a shop specializing in crystals and spell-crafting. Douglas stood watching Kallie’s movements, intrigued. Using a delicate white silk folding fan, she guided the smoke toward the opened balcony doors.
After an exchange of greetings, she launched in. “Her family questioned the drowning report from the beginning, insisting that Tally was a good swimmer and would not be in the lake alone. Based on a recent interview with Tally’s brother, they still question it. And they’re right, nothing Harold said adds up.”
“You went to the archives again?”
“I had to—something terrible happened. I feel it,” she admitted while fanning the smoke. “Harold was investigated for decades, but he sold the house in the eighties and moved out of state, which made it more difficult for investigators.” She paused, smoothing back her hair with her wrist, trying not to get ashes in it. “Tally is trying to tell us.”
Douglas coughed. “Tally?” He shook his head. “You’re telling me you think the house is…haunted, or something? Look, I can believe anything but that, babe—flaky wiring, magnetic fields…”
“It’s not just the lights, Douglas, there’s door-slamming again.” The look she leveled at him challenged. “Explain that because it’s not just my imagination. And it’s not a coincidence that I share a similar name with the dead woman.” She turned back to her work. “Fate led me here.”
A loud firecracker-like pop came from the basement as the power blew. Kallie shook with the noise and dropped the fan.
“Another fuse,” he said. “See, just electrical trouble.”
He crossed the room. “Kallie, don’t make yourself sick with worry.” He caressed her shoulder. “It’s not good for the baby. It’s not good for us.” Douglas kissed her free hand. “Finish the cleansing and come find me. I’ll be wrestling the electrical box.”
For the first time since moving to Little Canada, Kallie wasn’t home when Douglas arrived at suppertime. He checked the house, closets and all. “Somewhat irrational,” he told himself, yet he walked the shoreline hoping she hadn’t slipped into the waters to commune with Tally Perrault. With no sign of her, he reluctantly waited inside, turning the TV to a baseball game for distraction.
Ten minutes later, she appeared, bursting through the entryway like a sitcom star.
“Kallie, I texted a half dozen times and I even called.” Douglas’s raised voice did not reflect his relief.
“Sorry, I was in the drive-thru.” She tossed him a couple of grease-soaked paper bags, including his favorite, deep-fried cheese curds. “But I did text back about running late.”
Discarding his phone, he smiled and said, “Can’t believe you bought these. I thought you called them cheddar turds?”
“Knew you’d be watching the Twins, so, crap food seemed the choice.” Even with her joking manner, Kallie didn’t smile.
“Well, we can’t all be Dodgers fans,” he said, popping a couple of curds into his mouth.
She sat on the sofa across from him. “Douglas.”
He muted the game.
“Tally was on her high school swim team. A damn good swimmer too. I saw in the yearbook, she ribboned at state finals.”
His calm face changed to concern. “Wait, you’ve been going through the woman’s yearbooks?”
“They’re archives; not like it’s her personal effects.” She scoffed. “Listen to me. The family was right, there’s no way that Tally drowned on her own accord. Harold murdered her. I know he did. And without a body, and with his fleeing, the case went cold.”
“Okay, now, you’re obsessing,” he sputtered the words between chews.
“Not obsessed, focused. This is serious, Douglas. And Tally needs us to do something.”
“Serious? Should we call the cops?” He gestured picking up a telephone receiver. “Hello, my pregnant wife’s nerves have been overwrought by our house, so can you come out and check on a 60-year-old murder case?”
“This is NOT because I’m pregnant!” She swatted at the bag in his hand and fried curds dotted the floor.
The room went black. An unreasoning anger seemed to creep about them, invisible yet palpable. They sat in the darkened space, not speaking. Kallie started to cry.
Douglas hung his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”
Kallie huffed out of the room, only to return a moment later. “Murder? Aha, you DO think she was murdered!”
He threw his hands up. “I don’t know what to think.”
The lights snapped on.
With a sigh, he nodded. “I do know I’m heading to the basement to take apart that drop ceiling and expose this wiring.”
When he returned upstairs, Kallie had already tucked in, resting with the latest copy of Parenting. He showered and rolled into bed. “Since the basement will be gutted for Schmidt anyways, I’m thinking about going ahead with removing that gold veined bar mirror.”
Kallie set aside her magazine. “It would be nice to tackle one of our original wishlist projects, but so many plans have changed, Douglas.” She rubbed her belly.
“The nursery is next,” he assured her.
“I wouldn’t be sad to see that mirrored horror gone.” She slid next to him. “I wonder if we could install a slightly larger sink, both for your swanky bar and for future craft projects.”
“A little art station for our little tyke,” he said sleepily, eyes shut.
Kallie planted a kiss on his cheek.
Before Douglas left for work the next morning, he paused at the threshold. “Babe, I promise to spend the weekend busting my ass on these projects. Promise me that you will not spend the day on the Perraults.”
Kallie shrugged. “The research center is closed to the public on Fridays.”
“Oh, great.” He smiled at the ease of the response. “Why not do something fun? Go look at paint samples for the nursery room. Or, go with my mom to Neiman Marcus and start a shower list.”
She nodded. “Or maybe I’ll take a swim.”
His smile fell.
As promised, on Saturday, Douglas rose before Kallie to get an early go in the basement. The Naugahyde cocktail bar had wheels and he pushed it to the opposite paneled wall. He surveyed the mirrored alcove. Plenty to keep them busy and to distract Kallie until Monday, when he was sure she’d be back on her case. “Damn Perraults.” He admired the bar’s gold tufting before covering it with a drop cloth. “Interesting taste, though.”
While he gathered tools and tarps, he heard her footsteps overhead. Bounding upstairs for breakfast, he was surprised to find the main level quiet and Kallie still asleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, hesitating with his thoughts, then he gently woke her.
She noticed dust clinging to his shirt. “Oh, you’ve started already.”
“Prep work’s done,” he answered. “How about some French toast?”
“I’m up for that,” she said, tossing aside the bedspread.
“You weren’t—”
“What?”
He had stepped into the doorway. “Never mind. It’ll be ready in 10.”
Kallie hadn’t been in the basement since her husband began renovating and she thought it looked as messy as assumed. Douglas had numbered and stacked the ceiling tiles in a corner and the skeletal metal grid hung empty, exposing wiring nests and antiquated pipes. The space in between carried promise, though. She wondered if they could raise the ceiling height but brought her attention back to task.
“Even with goggles on, please stand by the far wall,” he said pointing to the corner with the stacked tile. He was poised beside the mirrored sink area with a sledgehammer in hand. Kallie almost laughed at his alien-like appearance—welder’s helmet and all.
She moved but halted his first swing. “Wait.”
“You want to keep it now?”
“No.” She shivered. Why was it so cold down here? “I’m still worried about the possibility of bad luck.”
“Kallie, I’m already shielding my reflection by wearing this tinted visor —what else do you want?”
“Maybe we can reconsider burying the broken pieces?”
“Done—I’ll bury the shards. In the trash can.” He raised the hammer again. “Don’t watch if it’s too stressful.”
On impact, the mirror tiles cracked but held tight to the wall adhesive. Douglas began pounding in smaller sections and removed pieces with his gloved hands. It was slow work.
Kallie approached. “How can I help?”
Douglas paused. “Yeah, this is going to take a while. Why don’t you grab the extra pair of leather gloves from the garage? And maybe some iced tea?”
Since she felt queasy, Kallie was happy to spend a little time in the kitchen getting refreshments. She sipped ginger ale and ate a few graham crackers before returning.
“Found any hidden treasure?” She placed a loaded tray on the covered bar.
The overhead fluorescents buzzed and flickered out, leaving only the sunlight that streamed in through the sliding glass doors.
“Not yet.” He grimaced. Wielding a putty knife, he shoved the blade behind a tile and pulled it away. “They’re coming free without using a solvent—eco-friendly as promised.” He threw another chunk onto the pile of wallboard and mirror atop a floor tarp.
Kallie caressed her abdomen. “Excellent.” Douglas crossed the room for a drink, and she moved closer to his handiwork. “Huh, I expected paneling behind the mirror, not wallboard. This means the wet bar was a later addition?”
“Sure does. And making it harder to remove.” He drained the tea glass. “Hey, once this alcove’s gone, what do you say we open this wall, all the way under the stairwell?”
They contemplated the expanded gain, nodding to each other. One fluorescent fixture hummed itself back on. “Do it, hon, while you have the power,” she laughed.
Douglas hunched into his best He-Man pose, adding a howl. The sound of a second voice seemed to join him with a moan.
“What was that?” Kallie held her breath and listened.
Looking at the opened ceiling, he shrugged. “A weird echo?”
When the mirror shards were pried away, Douglas took a sledgehammer to the sink, which proved to be the easiest removal, taking a section of wall with it, exposing wood paneling. He ran a hand across the damage. “This was original.”
“We’re going to paint it anyway,” Kallie shrugged.
He groaned. “Well, it probably means there’s duct or plumbing in here.”
“But it’s worth a try, right?”
He removed nails to pry off the wood panel and once gone he peered into the dark opening. “We’re in luck, babe, looks clear.” He pointed to the toolbox near her feet. “Flashlight?”
She reached and handed him an Everbright.
Just as Douglas flooded the gap with brightness, all the lights came on. “Tally…” He gasped.
“Um, you mean Kallie…”
He stared back at her with a ghost-pale face. “No, and—”
She shuddered with a sudden chill, followed by a burn across her neck that tingled as she leaned forward to see, radiant under the glare, the skeletal remains of two humans. One dreaded, the other unexpected, and infant-sized.
The shadow lifted, and like a pluck of a string, Kallie felt the intangible connection gone. She winced with a brief spasm in her gut, then staggered outside into the warmer air to find a sky the brightest blue she’d ever seen in Minnesota, marred only with a few wisps of cloud. Not to be outshone, the lake sparkled like a gem.
Behind her, Douglas made the phone call.
