Page 19 of It Happened on the Lake

“Okay.” She sat on one side of the small table, he on the other, as the officer closed the door behind her.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee or a soda or . . . ?”

“Let’s just get on with this.”

“Okay.” He pulled his recorder from his pocket and straightened the legal pad on the desk. “I want to ask you about last night.”

Her lips tightened, and her good eye glared at him. “Fire away.”

“I’m going to tape this.”

She nodded as he hit the Record button. The little red lights started blinking as he made mention of his name and rank, the date, time, and that he was interviewing Harper Reed Prescott. Then he got down to it.

“You know that Cynthia Hunt died?”

“What?” A hand flew to her mouth. “No . . . what? Are you . . . no! When? Holy God. I—I—” She caught herself and took a long, audible breath. “I thought she was going to be sent to a burn unit at a Portland hospital.”

“She was. Didn’t happen.”

“No,” Harper whispered. She held up a hand, as if to push back on any other question he might have.

For a minute she gathered herself. When she looked up at him again, all of the anger and fire he’d witnessed in her gaze earlier had diminished, replaced by confusion.

“I didn’t . . . I mean I knew she was bad, but I thought she was going to pull through. ” She was obviously stunned.

“They think she had a massive heart attack,” he explained. “Just before she was transferred.”

“At St. Catherine’s? But I was there . .

.” Harper let out a long, tremulous sigh and glanced up at the window mounted high overhead where the gray sky was visible.

“Sorry . . . I just didn’t know. I mean, I knew she was in bad shape and that she might not make it, but .

. . it’s still a shock.” Then she cleared her throat.

“Oh. Dear. God. Is—is Levi okay?” Her eyes shone with restrained tears, but she blinked them away.

“Don’t know.”

She looked at her hands and seemed to gather herself before whispering, “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Maybe.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” she said, then seemed to give herself a mental shake. “So. You wanted to know what happened last night?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay. I came back to the house on the island, had driven all the way from Santa Rosa. Long trip. I was about to unpack when I looked out the window to the lake and saw the burning boat.”

“And then?”

“And then . . . God, I just reacted.” She told him about calling 9-1-1 before diving into the lake, swimming, and finding Cynthia Hunt tossing all kinds of things into the water as the craft was on fire.

About how she’d gotten hurt from slipping on the wet stone steps on the island and from some flying shrapnel, courtesy of a raving Cynthia.

“Did she say anything to you?” he asked.

“Oh yeah.” She bit the edge of her lip, as if she wasn’t sure exactly what to confide and then added, “Out of the blue, while she was on fire, she saw me, recognized me, and started throwing things at me and screaming that I was to blame for Chase’s death.

Yelled out that I’d killed him, if you can believe that.

” Harper paused and shook her head. “I didn’t even know that he was dead. I thought he was still missing.”

“He is.”

“But why would she . . . ?”

“Who knows? Officially he’s still a missing person.”

“But unofficially?”

“What do you think?”

She lifted a shoulder and frowned. “I’ve been gone a long time, but I thought someone would have let me know if his bod—if he’d been located.”

“It would have been big news around here.” He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. “Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone else in the lake?”

“No. Not until other boats started showing up.”

“No one was in the boat with her?”

Staring at him as if he were mad, she said, “I just told you. No. She was alone.”

“Did you see her pour gasoline or any other kind of fuel on the boat?”

“No.”

“Did you see her light a match or use a lighter to—”

“No!” Her temper flared in her eyes. “I told you everything I saw, everything I did, everything that happened, okay? Look, Rand—er, Detective—I don’t know anything else.

Why am I down here anyway? Am I under some kind of suspicion?

Because that’s just ludicrous! I tried to help a woman in distress, and I didn’t know it was Cynthia Hunt when I saw the boat, okay?

Not at first. I just reacted to try and save her.

And it looks like I did a damned piss-poor job of it, doesn’t it?

” She was upset, angry now, her pale face suddenly flushing.

“Wait a minute. Are you accusing me of something here?” she asked in disbelief.

“No, just getting the facts.”

But she was undeterred. “Do I need to call my attorney? Do you think—what? That I killed Cynthia Hunt?”

“This isn’t a homicide investigation,” he said. “You’re not under suspicion.”

“Oh, good.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “What a relief. Because for a second or two, I thought you were going to say that me trying to save Cynthia somehow contributed to her death.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You’re sure?” she demanded. “Because this is feeling a lot more like an interrogation than an interview.” Her gaze found his and held. “And it’s not like I haven’t been here before,” she said, her lips flat. “The only difference is that the last detective wasn’t someone who used to be my friend.”

If that was supposed to sting, it didn’t. Because she was pushing it. They’d never been friends.

“So,” she said, her spine stiffening a bit. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”

“And what’s that?” he asked, not following.

“If I know what happened to Chase. Well, crap, Rand—er, Detective—I don’t. I wish to high heaven that I did! That question has haunted me for twenty years.”

“That’s not what you’re here for.”

“No?” she said, on her feet. “Well, since I am here, maybe I should ask you the same question. What happened to Chase? You were his best friend. You saw him that night. For God’s sake, why didn’t he show up and meet me like he promised?

” She was leaning over the table now, her bruised face only inches from his. “What do you know about that night?”

“What?”

“You and he—you knew everything about each other,” she accused. “What did he tell you?” Her blue eyes were focused on him, her sharp gaze penetrating, as if she could see deep into his soul. Which was ridiculous.

“I don’t know anything,” he lied, refusing to flinch and irritated that she’d turned the interview around, so that she was asking the questions he didn’t want to answer.

Angrily, she hit the Stop button on the recorder.

The blinking red light died.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” he protested, shocked.

“So arrest me.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

Her pale face was suddenly flushed. “You’re a liar, Rand,” she accused.

“You know more about what happened to Chase. You have to! You and he were thick as thieves. We both know he would have done almost anything to avoid being drafted. He would have told you if he was planning to go to Canada or whatever. You probably knew if he had other girls that he was seeing. You were on your way to Vietnam and there was a chance you’d never see each other again, so he would’ve confided in you. ”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t think so,” she countered, then added, “and I think this interview is over. If you need to ‘talk’ to me again, I’ll want my lawyer present.”

“Jesus, Harper, you can’t just—”

“Watch me.” She threw on her coat, scooped up her purse, and swept out the door, nearly running into the desk officer who was about to enter.

The officer inquired, “Is there a problem?”

“Ask him!” Harper jerked her chin at Rand before breezing past the shorter woman.

“What the hell?” Tanaka asked. “Should I stop her?”

“No. Don’t.” Rand waved a dismissive arm. “Let her go.”

“What was that all about?”

“The past,” he said and glanced at her. Then picking up his recorder and notepad, asked, “Isn’t it always?”

“If you say so.” Tanaka seemed a little baffled as she watched Harper leave, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, hard and fast over the sounds of muted conversations and ringing phones.

“Trust me,” he reiterated as he slid his recorder into his jacket pocket. “It’s always about the past.”