Page 106 of It Happened on the Lake

D on’t panic.

Do not panic.

It’s a dead body, yes. It’s Chase. But, for God’s sake, Harper, don’t panic! Teeth chattering, her mind racing, Harper dragged herself out of the water. Cold night air surrounded her and she was shivering, shaking all over. All she wanted to do was run as fast and as far away as possible.

But she forced herself to get her bearings.

She remembered loving him, dreaming with him, wanting him so badly she physically ached. He hadn’t loved her back, not the way she adored him, and he’d hurt her over and over again.

Because she let him.

Because she was eighteen.

Tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly dashed them away.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not for what they had and lost, but for the fact that he never got the chance to grow up, to become a man. To break her heart again.

Coughing, she dashed her tears away. She wasn’t that innocent, wide-eyed girl who would have done anything for him. Not anymore. She’d had the chance to live her life, to grow up, to become a wife and a mother.

And she had the scars to prove it.

She sat on the edge of the rotting decking in the boathouse and forced herself to stare at his skeleton. Never had she expected to find him, especially here.

How had no one known?

True, the house and island had been basically abandoned soon after he disappeared, but the smell alone would have been a dead giveaway. Unless Tom had wrapped him in the tarp with odor-suppressing chemicals and everyone had stayed away.

God, what a mess.

And what had happened to Craig?

She dragged herself to her feet and picked out the darts buried in her arm and shoulder. Damn that Craig. What a bastard. If he survived, she’d press charges against him, and if Beth didn’t like it, well, she could just lump it.

Shivering, her teeth chattering, Harper found the flashlight resting against the wall of the boathouse. She cast one last look at the lapping water and wrecked boat and, of course, the bones that had been Chase, then she left, dripping, as she made her way through the tunnel and basement.

She’d call Rand when she got upstairs.

And Levi.

They both could deal with what remained of Chase, and Rand could round up Craig.

Get the police and paramedics. Craig obviously wasn’t hurt so badly that he couldn’t swim.

Maybe he would drown. Served him right! Her cheek still stung, as did her arm and shoulder where his damned darts had found her flesh.

And he would have killed her to keep her quiet, she decided as she made her way upstairs. Well, she wasn’t going to keep quiet. Whether Craig lived, which she figured would happen, or died, which he deserved, the truth had to come out.

And Beth would hate her forever.

Well, too damned bad. A price she had to pay, she decided as she climbed to her feet and walked, dripping, through the tunnel and up the stairs to the veranda where the air was fresh.

She was cold to the bone, her hip ached, and she’d have to attend to the pinpricks where Craig’s darts had found her flesh.

Would he really have killed her?

It seemed so at the time.

He’d been like a cornered rat, ready to tear into her and damn the consequences. She tried the door, but, of course, it was locked. She had to go back the way she came as her keys were in the house.

At least now it was secure.

As she made her way into the boathouse, she cast one look into the water where she knew the remains of Chase now lay. “Rest in peace,” she said brokenly, then headed through the tunnel.

The events of the excruciating day rolled through her mind as she walked, her sodden shoes squishing with each step.

Levi had come to the house and demanded to be named as Dawn’s father. Well, that would have to be addressed, and everyone, including Joel, would have to deal.

Rand had showed up, too, telling them both about Trick Vargas and Janet Collins. Rand seemed to think Vargas and Janet’s death were all tied into what had happened to Chase, that it was all somehow connected, but Harper didn’t see how.

That was all just coincidence. Right?

Gram’s voice came to her then. From a memory in late summer when Harper was only about five or six.

“I don’t believe in coincidence, Harper girl,” she’d said as she’d watered her garden with a soft spray, then switched off the nozzle to watch a honeybee moving from one heavy rose blossom to the next, its tiny legs already covered thick with pollen.

“But I do believe in God and Jesus Christ, of course.” Her gaze had moved to a fuzzy bumblebee that was crawling on the pink petals of one of her favorite wild roses. “And I believe in karma,” she said.

“What’s karma?”

“Oh, let’s see.” Gram had looked upward, past the brim of her straw hat to the summer blue sky. “It’s tit for tat, you know, meaning if you do something good, you’ll be rewarded.”

“And if you do something bad?” Harper asked.

“Oh, you wouldn’t want to because then something bad will happen to you.”

“Because God sees it?”

“Oh yes. He’s definitely involved with karma. You can count on that, Harper girl.”

She’d turned on the water again, and Harper remembered the prism of light cast in the gentle spray, so soft it hadn’t disturbed a spider’s web, minuscule water droplets catching on the delicate threads.

Gram had added softly, “But coincidence? It just doesn’t exist.”

Now, in the tunnel, she was too cold, shaken, too damned disturbed to contemplate the existence of coincidence or anything else for that matter. Right now, she needed a stiff drink before making some important calls.

Some of her anger was dissipating, though, and she hoped to high heaven that Craig didn’t die. Then she’d be a murderer. Even if she’d shot in self-defense.

As she reached the main floor, she went straight to the bar and poured herself a double shot of Scotch. Then she tossed the drink back, feeling the warmth hit her throat before settling in her stomach.

She let out a slow breath and went into the kitchen. She was still quivering from the cold, but her teeth had stopped chattering so she could make those phone calls. Then she would take a hot shower and find clean, warm pajamas and . . .

Did she hear something?

A soft scrape?

Did she feel a slight stirring in the house?

She paused to listen, then heard nothing. Her nerves were jangled, getting the better of her. Of course. That was it. Nothing more.

The nightmare was over.

Finally.

No longer would she have to fear finding any more dolls with cryptic messages or dead cats hiding in the shadows.

That was something to be thankful for. But then there was Jinx . . . Her heart twisted painfully as she thought she might never find out what had happened to him, that quite possibly his nine lives had finally run out.

She walked into the hallway and again thought she heard something.

A footfall?

No way.

She was imagining it, her anxiety getting the better of her.

She stood, listening, ears straining, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary and she saw no one.

In the bath downstairs she kicked off her shoes, toweled her hair, and caught her image in the mirror.

“Still bad,” she told her reflection. Though the red marks from her stitches had faded significantly and the bruising on her face was almost invisible, she now sported a welt on her cheek left from the dart. Worse and larger than a bee sting.

As she examined the mark, she remembered once telling her grandmother that she hated bees while Gram was applying a baking soda paste to the back of her knee where a hornet had nailed her.

“Oh no, dear,” Gram had said in this very room. “All of God’s creatures have a purpose.”

Red-faced and crying, all of five, Harper had stomped her foot. “Not bees, Gram. Not that stupid black bee!”

“Oh, sweetheart, even hornets can be good and have a purpose. Just trust in God.” Then she’d folded Harper into her arms, the smell of cigarette smoke and perfume heavy. “God has a plan always,” Gram said, kissing the top of Harper’s head. “And sometimes He asks us to help implement it.”

“He even has a plan for hornets?” Harper had said, sniffling and disbelieving.

“Oh yes, Harper girl. Especially for hornets.” Olivia had held her granddaughter at arm’s length and winked at her.

“Now, come along, I do believe I have some of that pineapple sherbet your mother likes so much in the freezer. Matilda bought some sugar cones last week, so I think I can rummage up a scoop of sherbet with your name on it!” She’d touched Harper on the tip of her nose with one finger.

“Boop,” she’d said, smiling and bustling Harper toward the kitchen. “Let’s go see.”

That was a long time ago , Harper thought as she walked barefoot into the kitchen to make the call.

Why the hell was she thinking of her grandmother now, when her whole life was falling apart?

Still freezing, she considered another drink but dismissed it. Later , she told herself. First the phone calls that had to be made. Then out of her wet clothes, through a hot shower—or maybe a bath.

She didn’t bother with the lights as she listened to the two messages left on the phone’s recorder.

The first, of course, was from Rhonda Simms giving her “one last chance” to weigh in on the next article about the island and Lake Twilight.

“Oh, give it a rest,” she said, erasing the call.

Then she hit the Play button again, and this time Dawn’s voice was audible.

“Hey Mom, call me. I’m okay.” Her voice trembled a little and there was a pause, then she cleared her throat.

“Really, I’m fine. But I did run into some trouble. ”

What trouble? she thought, her heart in her throat.

“A guy attacked me tonight. But like I said, I’m okay,” she repeated, either to assure Harper, who was now definitely not okay, or herself. “The police said his name is Larry Smith or Tristan Vargas or something. He’s got lots of names—”

Harper stood frozen to the spot.

“—Anyway, he’s in the hospital, and he’s supposed to be okay. Eventually. And the other guy—”

“Other guy?” Harper whispered out loud.

“—that Levi Hunt? He came down here to see me, I guess, and he’s hurt pretty bad. He was there. I don’t know why, but I think he saved my life.” Her voice had gone to a whisper, then she added, “Look, Mom, I know he’s my uncle. Okay? You don’t have to lie about it. I figured that out already.”

Levi was there? Saved Dawn’s life? Once more, tears formed behind her eyes and she felt weak inside, had to lean against the counter.

“But he keeps saying he is my dad,” Dawn said. “Weird, huh? Like I said, he’s kinda messed up. So, call me on my pager and I’ll call you back. I’m at Valley General. The doctor wants to keep me overnight for observation or whatever. But I’m okay. Really, Mom, don’t freak out. Okay?”

As if she wouldn’t. Someone had attacked Dawn? Tonight?

“Oh God,” she whispered. Could this night get any worse?

Just then a floorboard creaked behind her.

She looked over her shoulder and found Marcia standing in the archway leading to the foyer. In her hand, pointed straight at Harper, was the missing pearl-handled pistol.