RAVES FOR THE BEACH HOUSE
"SO INVITING THAT IT PRACTICALLY READS ITSELF."
—New York Times
"TAUT, SPARE PROSE…A DELICIOUS, FAST-PACED READ QUITE WORTHY OF ITS PLACE ON BESTSELLER LISTS."
—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette
"JAMES PATTERSON KNOWS HOW TO SELL THRILLS AND SUSPENSE IN CLEAR, UNWAVERING PROSE."
—People
"VASTLY ENJOYABLE."
—Publishers Weekly
"A SLICK, BREEZY TALE OF MURDER."
—Florida International Magazine
"A SLICK AND TIGHTLY CONSTRUCTED THRILLER. . . AN ENTERTAINING PAGE-TURNER."
—Roanoke Times (VA)
"A STIRRING THRILLER FILLED WITH NONSTOP ACTION. . . AN INVIGORATING TALE."
—Midwest Book Review
Please turn to the back of this book for a preview of James Patterson's new novel, The Lake House.
"A PAGE-TURNER OF THE HIGHEST ORDER…A GREAT JOB OF BUILDING SUSPENSE WHILE KEEPING THINGS MOVING….READERS [WILL BE] DEVOURING IT SO QUICKLY….There is no such animal as too much of a good time, at least where his writing is concerned."
—Bookreporter.com
"PATTERSON/DE JONGE KEEP THE PAGES TURNING…. PATTERSON FANS WON'T BE DISAPPOINTED."
—Redbank.com
"THE RAPID PACE KEEPS THE PAGES TURNING…. CONSTANT ACTION.…Looking for a quick fix to feed your suspense addiction? THE BEACH HOUSE fits the bill."
—TheBookHaven.net
PRAISE FOR THE OTHER NOVELS BY #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR JAMES PATTERSON 2ND CHANCE
"INSPIRING HEROINES… JUICY SUBPLOTS…BRISKLY PACED…Patterson chalks up another suspenseful outing for his Women's Murder Club."
—People
"PATTERSON'S BEST NOVEL IN YEARS."
—New York Post
"I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW GOOD PATTERSON IS….HE'S ALWAYS ON THE MARK."
—Larry King, USA Today
"PATTERSON'S WORDS PAINT A PICTURE SO VIVID YOU CAN ALMOST SMELL THE GUNPOWDER OR FEEL BOXER'S TERROR… .A FIRST-RATE THRILLER."
—Florida Times-Union
"PRIME PATTERSON: FIRST-RATE ENTERTAINMENT…. PATTERSON'S RICHEST, MOST ENGAGING NOVEL SINCE WHEN THE WIND BLOWS. The story ripples with twists and remarkably strong scenes….But what makes this Patterson stand out above all is the textured storytelling arising from its focus on Boxer's personal issues."
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"RE-ESTABLISHES PATTERSON AS ONE OF THE TOP MYSTERY-THRILLER WRITERS IN THE GAME TODAY. 2ND CHANCE is a first-rate thriller."
—Grand Rapids Press
"PATTERSON AT HIS BREEZY BEST."
—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
"A SOLIDLY ENGINEERED WHODUNIT. BOTTOM LINE: WORTH CHANCING."
—People
1ST TO DIE
"TERRIFIC. . . A GREAT THRILLER….What's not to love about a 'club' formed by four women to catch a psycho killing newlywed couples?"
—Providence Sunday Journal
more . . .
"I SAT DOWN WITH IT AT TEN ON A SATURDAY MORN-ING…AND REFUSED TO DO ANYTHING…UNTIL I DISCOVERED THAT ALL OF THE THINGS I FIGURED OUT EARLY WERE EITHER WRONG OR NOT QUITE WHAT I ASSUMED."
—Denver Rocky Mountain News
"PATTERSON BOILS A SCENE DOWN TO THE SINGLE, TELLING DETAIL, THE ELEMENT THAT DEFINES A CHARACTER OR MOVES A PLOT ALONG. It's what fires off the movie projector in the reader's mind."
—Michael Connelly, author of City of Bones
"THE MAN IS THE MASTER OF THIS GENRE. We fans all have one wish for him: Write even faster."
—Larry King, USA Today
"HIS CLEVER TWISTS AND AFFECTING SUBPLOTS KEEP THE PAGES FLYING."
—People (Page-Turner of the Week)
"DELIVERS A SHARP PUNCH."
—Chicago Tribune
"THAT RAPID-FIRE, IN-YOUR-FACE, YOU'D-BETTER-KEEP-READING-OR-ELSE FORMAT WILL MAKE YOU FINISH 1ST TO DIE IN ONE SITTING (barring World War III, a 9.1 earthquake or the Ebola virus)."
—Denver Rocky Mountain News
"JAMES PATTERSON WRITES HIS THRILLERS AS IF HE WERE BUILDING ROLLER COASTERS."
—Associated Press
"[A] NEAT TRICK OF AN ENDING."
—Janet Maslin, New York Times
"A SLICK, TAUT THRILLER….Patterson keeps the pace moving at top speed. 1ST TO DIE is a darn good book."
—Orlando Sentinel
ALONG CAME A SPIDER
"JAMES PATTERSON DOES EVERYTHING BUT STICK OUR FINGER IN A LIGHT SOCKET TO GIVE US A BUZZ."
—New York Times
"WHEN IT COMES TO CONSTRUCTING A HARROWING PLOT, AUTHOR JAMES PATTERSON CAN TURN A SCREW ALL RIGHT. James Patterson is to suspense what Danielle Steel is to romance."
—New York Daily News
KISS THE GIRLS
"TOUGH TO PUT DOWN....TICKS LIKE A TIME BOMB, ALWAYS FULL OF THREAT AND TENSION."
—Los Angeles Times
"AS GOOD AS A THRILLER CAN GET....WITH KISS THE GIRLS, PATTERSON JOINS THE ELITE COMPANY OF THOMAS HARRIS AND JOHN SANFORD."
—San Francisco Examiner
more . . .
JACK & JILL
"FORTUNATELY PATTERSON HAS BROUGHT BACK HOMICIDE DETECTIVE ALEX CROSS. . . . He's the kind of multilayered character that makes any plot twist seem believable."
—People
"QUICK AND SCARY."
"Captivating. . . . A fast-paced thriller full of surprising but realistic plot twists. . . . CROSS IS ONE OF THE BEST AND MOST LIKABLE CHARACTERS IN THE MODERN THRILLER GENRE."
—San Francisco Examiner
CAT & MOUSE
"FAST PACED…THE PROTOTYPE THRILLER FOR TODAY."
—San Diego Union-Tribune
"A RIDE ON A ROLLER COASTER WHOSE BRAKES HAVE GONE OUT."
—Chicago Tribune
POP GOES THE WEASEL
"CROSS IS ONE OF THE BEST PROTAGONISTS OF THE MODERN THRILLER GENRE, AND ONE OF THE MOST LIKABLE."
—San Francisco Examiner
"FAST AND FURIOUS....IN THE PATTERSON PANTHEON OF VILLAINS, SHAFER IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE WORST."
—Chicago Tribune
ROSES ARE RED
"PATTERSON KNOWS WHERE OUR DEEPEST FEARS ARE BURIED….THERE'S NO STOPPING HIS IMAGINATION."
—New York Times Book Review
"THRILLING…SWIFT…A PAGE-TURNER."
—People
"IT STARTS OUT, BANG!…PATTERSON HAS GOT THE MATERIAL DEAD ON."
—Baltimore Sun
"PATTERSON MASTERMINDS ANOTHER THRILLER…. Once again, we're left to wonder, how does this man continue to write gripping tales that keep us turning pages into the wee hours of the night until the book is finished, and we're disappointed there isn't more to read?"
—Oakland Press
ALSO BY JAMES PATTERSON
The Thomas Berryman Number
Season of the Machete
See How They Run
The Midnight Club
Along Came a Spider
Kiss the Girls
Hide & Seek
Jack & Jill
Miracle on the 17th Green
(with Peter de Jonge)
Cat & Mouse
When the Wind Blows
Pop Goes the Weasel
Black Friday
Cradle and All
Roses Are Red
1ST to Die
Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas
Violets Are Blue
2ND Chance
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property
and reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 2002 by Suejack, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
The “Warner Books” name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
Cover design by Mario Pulice
Cover illustration by Debra Lil based on a photograph by
Peter Turner / Image Bank
Warner Books, Inc.
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Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
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First eBook Edition: June 2002
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Table of Contents
Prologue PETER RABBIT
1
2
3
Part One THE SUMMER ASSOCIATE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part Two THE MURDER INVESTIGATION
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Part Three THE INQUEST
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Part Four THE GRADUATE
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Part Five THE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
EPILOGUE
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
THE LAKE HOUSE
PROLOGUE RESURRECTION
PART ONE CHILD CUSTODY
For Pete & Chuck
— P. de J.
For Jack, the big boy
— J. P.
Prologue
PETER RABBIT
1
IT'S LIKE DANCING SITTING DOWN. Squeeze — tap — release — twist. Left hand — right foot — left hand — right hand.
Everything unfolds in perfect sequence and rhythm, and every time I twist back the heated, gummy, rubber-covered throttle, the brand-new, barely broke in, 628-pound, 130-horsepower BMW K1200 motorcycle leaps forward like a thoroughbred under the whip.
And another snapshot of overpriced Long Island real estate blurs by.
It's Thursday night, Memorial Day weekend, fifteen minutes from the start of the first party in what promises to be another glorious season in the Hamptons.
And not just any party. The party. The intimate $200,000 get-together thrown every year by Barry Neubauer and his wife, Campion, at their $40 million beach house in Amagansett.
And I'm late.
I toe it down to fourth gear, yank the throttle back again, and now I'm really flying. Parting traffic on Route 27 like Moses on a Beemer.
My knees are pressed tight against the sleek, midnight blue gas tank, my head tucked so low out of the wind that it's almost between them.
It's a good thing this little ten-mile stretch between Montauk and Amagansett is as straight and flat as a drag strip, because by the time I pass those tourist clip joints — Cyril's, the Clam Bar, and LUNCH — the needle's pointing at ninety.
It's also a good thing I used to be in the same home-room as Billy Belnap. As the most belligerent juvenile delinquent at East Hampton High, Billy was a lock to end up on the payroll of the East Hampton Police Department. Even though I can't see him, I know he's there, tucked behind the bushes in his blue-and-white squad car, trolling for speeders and polishing off a bag of Dressen's doughnuts.
I flick him my brights as I rip by.
2
YOU WOULDN'T THINK a motorcycle is a place for quiet reflection. And as a rule, I don't go in for much of it anyway, preferring to leave the navel gazing for big brother Jack, the Ivy League law student. But lately I've been dredging up something different every time I get on the bike. Maybe it's the fact that on a motorcycle, it's just you and your head.
Or maybe it's got nothing to do with the bike, and I'm just getting old.
I'm sorry to have to confess, I turned twenty-one yesterday.
Whatever the reason, I'm slaloming through bloated SUVs at ninety miles per hour and I start to think about growing up out here, about being a townie in one of the richest zip codes on earth.
A mile away on the Bluff, I can already see the party lights of the Neubauer compound beaming into the perfect East End night, and I experience that juiced-up feeling of anticipation I always get at the beginning of another Hamptons summer.
The air itself, carrying a salty whiff of high tide and sweet hyacinth, is ripe with possibility. A sentry in a white suit gives me a toothy grin and waves me through the cast-iron gates.
I wish I could tell you that the whole place is kind of tacky and crass and overreaching, but in fact it's quite understated.
Every once in a while, the rich will confuse you that way. It's the kind of parcel that, as real estate brokers put it, comes on the market every couple of decades — twelve beautifully landscaped acres full of hedges and hidden gardens sloping to a pristine, white sand beach.
At the end of the white-pebble driveway is a 14,000-square-foot shingled mansion with ocean views from every room except, of course, the wine cellar.
Tonight's party is relatively small — fewer than 180 people — but everyone who matters this season is here. It's themed around Neubauer's just-announced $1.4 billion takeover of Swedish toymaker Bjorn Boontaag. That's why the party's on Thursday this year, and only the Neubauers could get away with it.
Walking among the cuddly stuffed lions and tigers that Bjorn Boontaag sells by the hundreds of thousands are a gross of the most ferocious cats in the real-life jungle: rainmakers, raiders, hedge-fund hogs, and the last of the IPO Internet billionaires, most of whom are young enough to be some CEO's third wife. I note the Secret Service men wandering the grounds with bulging blazers and earphones, and I figure there must also be a handful of senators. And scattered like party favors are the hottest one-name fashion designers, rappers, and NBA all-stars the professional party consultant could rustle up.
But don't be too jealous. I'm not on the guest list, either.
I'm here to park cars.
3
I'VE BEEN WORKING at the Beach House since I was thirteen, mostly odd jobs, but parking cars is the easiest gig of all. Just one little flurry at the beginning and end. Nothing but downtime in between.
I'm a little late, so I jump off my bike and get to work. In twenty minutes I fill an out-of-the-way field with four neat rows of $80,000 European sedans. They glisten in the silvery moonlight like metallic plants. A bumper crop.
A parking high point is when a burgundy Bentley the size of a yacht stops at my feet and my favorite New York Knickerbocker, Latrell Sprewell, climbs out, presses a twenty in my palm, and says, "Be gentle, my brother."
The rush over, I get myself a Heinie and a plateful of appetizers, and sit down on the grass beside the driveway. This is the life. I'm savoring my sushi and cheese puffs when a black-jacketed waiter I've never seen before hustles up. With a wink, wink, nod, nod kind of smile, he stuffs a scrap of rose-colored stationery in my shirt pocket.
It must have been pickled in perfume. A pungent cloud hits my nostrils when I unfold it. Shalimar, if I'm not mistaken.