The Deepest Water by Kate Wilhelm

too intense, their sympathy too hard to cope with now. And it was too hard on them, too, she added to herself, justifying not going up to see them. They were both eighty and had lost their best friend. It was too hard on all of them.
    It was obvious that Caldwell had seen all he wanted to see of the boat shed; now he led the way to the carport where the van, a pickup truck, and a two-year-old Taurus were parked. There was enough graveled space to turn, to maneuver a boat to the ramp, release it, and then go park. The three dogs trotted with them to the van.
    “In, Spook,” Abby said, opening the back door. The dog jumped in instantly, then sat down on the back seat.
    “Mind if I drive?” Caldwell asked.
    She shrugged and handed him the keys, walked around and got in the passenger seat.
    “One more thing I’d like to do before we call it a day,” he said, starting the engine. “I’d like to have a look at that trail.”
    He drove out the driveway and turned toward the state park, driving very slowly, examining the woods on both sides. Before they reached the entrance to the park, he pulled over to the side of the road.
    “Who’d see a car stopped about here late at night?”
    She looked at him in surprise. They weren’t hidden by trees or bushes or anything else. “Whoever came along,” she said.
    “It’s one or one-thirty in the morning,” he said. “Who’d be coming along?”
    “Maybe a late arrival. Or someone from one of the cottages getting in late. I don’t know.”
    “Let’s get out and walk a couple of minutes.”
    Resignedly she got out. “Stay, Spook.” She opened her window a few inches and closed the door. “The trail?”
    “You can get to it from here, can’t you?”
    She nodded.
    “Not at the deep part yet, are we?”
    “No. We’re still west of it.” They couldn’t see the water from here, but she knew exactly where they were. She led the way across the road; then weaving in and out around trees, they came to the trail and stopped. “This is it.”
    Caldwell grunted and she wondered what he had expected: a neatly-groomed, bark-mulch trail with rails and signposts? She turned and began to follow the trail until the water came into view. Now they could see the cabin; they were about six feet above the lake, but the trail was not straight for more than a few feet at any place. It wound among the trees, around boulders, skirted the lake, then back into the woods once more. And it was rough with roots and rocks.
    “Imagine doing this at one or one-thirty in the night,” she said sharply. “I’m telling you the idea is insane.”
    “Hold up,” he said. “If you used a flashlight, who would notice?”
    “No one,” she had to admit. The camp sites were too far away, in deep woods, and no one in the cottages had a view of the finger at this point. “But when you get near the water, if anyone on shore happened to look, you’d stand out showing even a candle up here.”
    “Who’d be up looking at one or one-thirty in the morning?”
    She shrugged helplessly, and started to walk again. Now he had someone lugging a canoe or small boat and holding a flashlight at the same time. He called a stop again in just a minute; they were at the place where the roots afforded access to the water, only three feet down from here. She watched him examine the rough ground, the tree, the roots. He didn’t touch anything, and didn’t get close to the roots, but looked them over carefully.
    Then he said, “Onward.”
    She knew they would not get much farther before Sal and Bear would set up a clamor, but silently she led the way. The trail took a sharp turn toward the road, then angled back toward the lake, and Sal and Bear began to bark, and came leaping through the forest toward them. She called their names, and they stopped, not wagging their tails, just watching.
    “Coop’s property,” she said.
    “Would they cross over his line, come after anyone on this side of it?”
    “No. He