Page 11 of It Happened on the Lake

“H arper!” her father yelled as the front door banged against the wall.

“In here!” Harper dropped her grandmother’s hand.

Footsteps pounded through the hallway as Bruce Reed raced into the bedroom and Harper flung herself into his arms.

Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Marcia was holding her dressing gown closed, her hair in rollers as she followed her husband inside.

“Bruce—? Oh Jesus!” She stared in horror at the woman lying in the bed.

With a gasp, she took a faltering step backward.

Turning wide eyes at her husband, she whispered, “Is she . . . ?”

“I don’t know. I think so,” Bruce said, releasing Harper and searching for a pulse at Gram’s wrist, then her neck. He shook his head.

“Lord have mercy.” Marcia stopped in the doorway and held on to the jamb as if she needed support.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Bruce said, listening at Gram’s chest for any sound of a heartbeat.

“I already called for an ambulance.” Harper could barely get the words out. Tears ran down her cheeks. Gram looked so tiny. So frail. How had she not noticed?

Faintly, but growing stronger, the wail of a siren could be heard.

“They’re coming,” Marcia said.

“You left the gate open?” Bruce asked his wife.

“Yes!” Marcia was turning toward the parlor when something in her peripheral vision seemed to catch her attention. “What in God’s name?” she whispered, gazing out the window to the lake. “Something’s going on. Bruce—”

But he wasn’t listening to his wife. His gaze moved from Gram to the empty gin bottle on the side table. His eyebrows drew together. “What happened here?”

“She . . . she wanted a drink.”

“And you gave it to her?” Marcia demanded, the siren loud now.

“She insisted.”

“But she’s . . . she was on medication! You shouldn’t have—”

Harper wasn’t listening. She was already running through the parlor as the siren’s wail reverberated through the house.

Through the foyer where the February wind was racing into the house.

Headlights bright, single red bulb flashing, siren shrieking, the ambulance streaked over the bridge.

The driver hit the brakes and cranked on the wheel, forcing the Cadillac to skid into a quick U-turn.

As the big car shuddered to a stop, both doors were flung open and two men leaped out, both volunteers for the fire department.

The driver was Beth’s dad, Tony Leonetti.

The attendant who had been in the passenger seat was Craig Alexander, who had once lived in the attic apartment over the garage with his father. Two years older than Harper. He was the boy her grandmother had accused her of being involved with. “Your grandma, right?” he asked.

“Olivia Dixon,” Mr. Leonetti said.

“Yes. In her bedroom.”

The men rushed in, Craig leading the way through the hallway to Gram’s room.

Harper followed, stopping at the doorway, her insides jelly, watching as her father stepped away from the bed and Marcia huddled near the windows. The two attendants performed a quick examination of Gram, going through much the same routine as Harper and her father had only minutes earlier.

Ashen-faced, her fingers twining in the curtain, Marcia asked, “Is she—?”

Mr. Leonetti shook his head. To Craig, he said, “Go get the stretcher.” Then, as Craig hurried out, he explained that they were taking Gram to the hospital where a doctor would make the final call.

He didn’t say the words, but they all knew it. Gram was dead.

Harper, fighting tears, wilted against the wall.

Marcia pointed past the rain-drizzled panes. “Do you know what’s going on down there?”

“It’s the Hunt boy. Chase. Gone missing,” Mr. Leonetti said. “As I understand it, the Hunts’ boat was found adrift on the lake. I was about to go out there when I got the call to come here.”

“Dear Lord,” Marcia said.

“Chase Hunt?” Dad asked, staring at Mr. Leonetti as if he’d misheard before turning to his daughter.

“Oh. No.” Marcia’s eyes widened, and she, too, stared hard at Harper.

Harper shriveled inside.

“Did you know about this?” Dad asked.

Harper squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. She felt as if she might faint.

Dad whispered, “Tell me,” as he wrapped a comforting arm over her shoulders.

Harper’s throat closed. She felt as if she were ripped in two. She couldn’t get the words out.

“Wait a minute,” Marcia said. “Are you telling me that they think Chase is—?”

“Unknown,” Mr. Leonetti cut in. “But they called in a diver.”

“A diver?” Dad said. “Harper? What’s going on?”

Harper swallowed hard and closed her eyes and had trouble breathing. “I—” She forced the words out. “I . . . I was supposed to meet him last night . . . he was supposed to come here.”

“Oh my God!” Marcia stared at Harper in horror. “You were supposed to be taking care of your grandmother. And you were meeting that boy?”

“Let her finish!” Dad ordered.

Marcia said, “She was planning to leave! And Olivia was here . . . dying?”

Dad’s arm tightened over Harper’s shoulders. “What happened?” “Nothing!” Harper choked out. “He . . . he didn’t show up.” Her voice faded, and Marcia went off.

“That’s it? End of story?” she said, her eyes narrowing. “You just what? Said your prayers and went to bed?”

“Marcia!” Dad warned.

“Well, I’m sorry, but her grandmother died on Harper’s watch! She was supposed to take care of Olivia for one night! And now she’s admitted to letting Olivia swill vodka—”

“Gin,” Harper corrected.

“Whatever! The point is that you were planning to meet up with Chase Hunt while your grandmother died right here.” She pointed emphatically to the bed. “And Chase will probably end up drowned. Two dead, because of you!”

“Marcia! Enough!” Dad said, releasing Harper and taking a warning step toward his wife.

“Don’t you try to sugarcoat this, Bruce, you know that she’s been sneaking around to do God knows what—”

At that moment, Craig returned with a stretcher, and the two men hustled Gram onto it. Harper’s heart cracked. Gram looked so tiny on the stretcher, her thin hair mussed, her cheeks sunken as they hurried her out of the house and into the ambulance.

Harper stood in the slanting rain, staring at the taillights as the ambulance rolled over the bridge.

“It’s ironic,” Marcia said from the porch as she cinched the ties of her robe more tightly around her waist.

Harper didn’t see anything ironic about it, but Marcia went on to explain. “She bought that ambulance for the hospital.”

“Part of it.” Dad, drink in hand, joined his wife on the porch. “The lodge started the fund.”

“But she was the primary donor,” Marcia argued, not that Harper cared as she shivered in the rain. “Before that the town used the funeral home’s hearse. Not that long ago.”

“When Anna died,” Dad said. “After your mother . . . well, after Anna passed away, Olivia donated the rest of the funds that were needed.”

“A lot,” Marcia added. “The town couldn’t have enough bake sales and car washes and spaghetti feeds.”

At the thought of her mother, Harper felt a fresh wash of tears. “No need to discuss this now. Let’s go inside.” He took a sip from his glass.

“Whoa. What’re you doing?” Marcia demanded. “It’s barely nine in the morning.”

“Rough morning.”

“Still. No. And . . . where is Matilda?” Marcia asked, frowning. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here by now?”

Dad said, “We should call her.”

“Maybe she’s on her way.” Marcia grabbed the glass from his hand and carried it into the kitchen.

Dad ushered Harper back to the parlor, where he motioned for her to sit. “You wanna tell us what happened last night?”

Obediently, Harper dropped onto the overstuffed love seat near the console that housed the stereo and TV. Cold from the inside out, guilt digging its painful claws into her soul, she said softly, “What do you mean?”

“Let’s start with why you were planning to meet Chase when you were supposed to be taking care of your grandmother.”

Marcia had returned to the parlor and stood, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for an explanation.

“We were just going to meet. That’s all.”

“Hmmm.” Marcia tapped the window overlooking the lake with a long fingernail. “What do you know about what’s happening down there?”

“Nothing.”

“Wait a second,” her stepmother said. “You’re trying to convince us that you don’t know anything when your grandmother is dead and Chase Hunt is nowhere to be found?”

“Marcia,” Bruce said softly, “go easy. Okay? This—whatever the hell it is—is hard on all of us.”

“I know. But something’s going on down there.” Waving a finger at the window and the scene beyond, she added, “Can’t blame me for being curious.”

“We need to get to the hospital.”

“Because you think Olivia might pull through?” Marcia didn’t bother hiding her skepticism. “Bruce, it’s too late.”

“No, no. I know she’s gone.” He scratched at the stubble on his jaw.

“But we need to be there, to be certain and to make all the arrangements.” He, too, glanced out the window, then said to his wife, “Come on, we’ll get dressed and then, on the way to St. Catherine’s, Harper can tell us what’s going on.

” As he started for the door, he said to Harper, “Get your coat and come on down to the gatehouse. Oh. And leave a note for Matilda. Let her know she has the day off and she should call me. I’ll explain what happened.

” Then he snagged an umbrella from the stand near the front door and wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders.

Together they started walking quickly to the bridge, nearly stepping on Marilyn, Gram’s beloved calico, who scooted out of the way and gazed at them with wide eyes, a dead rat hanging from her mouth.

Marcia gave off a disgusted squeak accompanied by an exaggerated shudder as the cat scuttled away with her prize.

“Oh God, Bruce. Yuck! Cats with rats. Disgusting!” Marcia said, loud enough for Harper to hear.

“They have to go! Every last one of them.”

Harper shut the door and leaned against it, sadness welling within her.

The big old house seemed empty.

Without life.

Without Gram.

Without Chase.

Oh God. She was crumbling inside.

Be strong. You have to be strong .

It was almost as if Gram were talking to her, but of course, she knew better. Just as she knew it was false hope to think the old woman had survived.

The mix-up of the pills. Too much alcohol.

On your watch and definitely your fault.

Nope.

She wasn’t going to go there.

She wrote the note for Matilda.

As the grandfather clock ticked, she found her jacket and slipped it on.

But before she started for the cottage on the other side of the bridge, she glanced back at the telescope.

Unable to help herself, she took one more look across the lake.

One last time. She swept the lens slowly along the water’s edge on the far shore.

Old Man Sievers was still outside despite the drizzle, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.

Alaina Leonetti, Beth’s mother, had joined Cynthia Hunt on her dock. Smoking cigarettes, the two women were huddled together under a large umbrella. Gazes trained on the middle of the lake, they watched the police boat and all the other small craft assembled between the island and the point.

Levi was standing away from his mother with Rand, but he glanced up as if he felt the telescope being leveled at them. His eyebrows drew together as he stared at the mansion on the island. Was he searching for her? Had he seen her in the window?

Possibly.

As she focused on him, he glared straight back.

He knows you’re watching.

And he knows you lied.

She stepped back, away from the damning lens.

Because if looks could kill, she would be a dead woman right now.

Make that a dead, pregnant woman.