All Night Long

date.”
    “What did her parents do?”
    “Her mother, Elizabeth, painted, although I don’t think she ever made any money off her art. Her father, Hugh Stenson, was the chief of police here in Dunsley.”
    “A job that probably didn’t provide for unlimited teenage wardrobes, new cars and ski trips.”
    “You got that right.” Maxine scowled at the empty platter on the coffee service table.
    “You didn’t pu ut any doughnuts for the guests.”
    “I threw the last batch away yesterday It was either that or weld them together to make a new ancho or the boat. Besides, there’s only one guest at the moment, and something tells me she isn’t going to get excited about doughnuts, at least not the kind the Dunsley Market sells.”
    “It’s the principle of the thing. Luckily I picked up a fresh package this morning.”
    Maxine took a box out of the paper sack, ripped it open and began arranging doughnuts on a plastic tray. “It looks inviting to have a few pastries and some freshly brewed coffee available in the mornings. All of the better-class hotels and inns do it.”
    “I like to think that the Sunrise on the Lake Lodge is in a class by itself,” Luke said.
    “Tell me the rest of the Stenson story.”
    “Well, as I was saying, for whatever reason, the summer Pamela Webb turned sixteen, she decided to make Irene her best friend.” Maxine tipped her head slightly to the side, looking thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe Pamela liked the contrast she and Irene made. She probably figured that havin uiet, unfashionable little Irene in her orbit made her look even more glittery and exciting. At any rate,
    for about three months they were inseparable. No one understood why Irene’s folks allowed her to associate with Pamela, though.”
    “Pamela was held to be a bad influence, I take it?”
    Maxine grimaced. “Worst possible influence. Lot of busy-bodies took it upon themselves to warn Mr.
    and Mrs. Stenson that if they didn’t keep Irene away from Pamela, she would come to a bad end. It was widely predicted hereabouts that sooner or later sweet little Irene Stenson would fall victim to the evil forces of sex, drugs and rock and roll.”
    “Ah, the innocent pleasures of youth.”
    “Yep, the good old days,” Maxine agreed. “But for some reason, which no one in town could understand, the Stensons didn’t seem to object to the friendship between the two girls. Maybe they liked the idea of Irene hanging out with the daughter of a U.S. senator, although I never thought the Stensons were impressed by that kind of thing.”
    Luke studied the view of Cabin Number Five through the trees. Most of the lights had been left burning all night. The last time he had checked, sometime after four in the morning, the glow in the bedroom had diminished to a dim, silvery blue. He had concluded that Irene had finally gone to sleep with a night-light in that room.
    “Go on with the story,” he said. It was going to be bad, he thought. He could feel it in his bones.
    “One night Hugh Stenson shot his wife to death in the kitchen of their home. Then he turned the gun on himself.”
    “Damn.” He’d known it would be rough, he reminded himself. “What about Irene?”
    “She was out with Pamela Webb that night. When she got home she found the bodies.” Maxine paused. “She was only fifteen years old, and she was alone when she walked into the house. Still gives me the creeps just thinking about it after all this time.”
    He said nothing.
    “It was incredibly tragic. Really shook up the community. Later there were rumors that Elizabeth Stenson had been having an affair with someone in Dunsley and that Hugh went crazy mad when he found out.”
    “Crazy mad?”
    Maxine nodded somberly. “There was also a lot of talk about how Hugh had seen some heavy combat during his time in the Marines and that he suffered from that post-trauma thing.”
    “Post-traumatic stress disorder.”
    “That’s it.”
    He looked at Cabin Number Five again and saw Irene coming through the trees toward the lobby. She was dressed much as she had been yesterday, in a pair of sleek black trousers and a black pullover. The long black trench coat was unfastened. The hem swirled around the tops of her gleaming black leather boots.
    The family history certainly explained the shadows and secrets he had seen in those amazing eyes, he thought.
    “Wow.” Maxine peered through the window at Irene. “Is that Irene?”
    “That’s