Page 262 of It Happened on the Lake

“You’re certifiable,” Harper charged, trying to think of a way to get away from her, some avenue of escape. But the gun. In the semidarkness she saw the kitchen knives in a block on the counter. Butcher’s knives. Chef’s knives. A meat cleaver. They were dull with age but the best and only weapons available. And less than a foot away. She had to keep Marcia talking, stave off her inevitably pulling the trigger.

“Who promised you the island?” Harper asked, attempting to keep the conversation going, inching closer to the stove and the knife block. But she already knew the answer to her question, and it made her stomach churn.

“Who do you think?”

“Dad?” Harper whispered.

She was closer to the knife block now, mere inches away from reaching the cleaver.

“Of course your father,” Marcia said as if it were obvious. “But he lied. What a do-nothing! I had to be the one who took care of Anna. He wouldn’t do it.”

Harper remembered the night her mother died, how she’d been sick and loaded with cough syrup and how she’d tried to meet Beth but was too woozy. She’d seen her mother on the dock and some dark figure with her, but all the time she’d thought she’d been hallucinating.

“Your father didn’t have the balls. All he could do was dope you up so we could be together, but he screwed that up, too! Useless, useless man.”

She was shaking her head, caught up in her own perceived misery.

Harper’s fingers touched the block. “Dad wanted Mom dead?” She couldn’t believe it.

Keep her talking. Just keep her talking.

“Well, no. But divorce wasn’t an option, now, was it? If he divorced her, he would end up with nothing.” Oddly, Marcia seemed to be enjoying letting go of her secrets by bragging about her plan. She went on. “Oh, I suggested she might have an accident, but he never caught on. Thought I was joking. Laughed off the idea. He had no idea what really happened that night. He just pumped you up with codeine and stood her up so we could get together. He thought her despondency had driven her to killing herself.”

“And you let him think that.”

The depth of Marcia’s depravity was unfathomable. Harper’s stomach turned sour.

“And Mom didn’t OD and end her life. You ended it for her.”

“Again, a few extra pills with her booze. Believe me, it didn’t take much. She was well on her way.”

The demon Harper had thought she’d seen and was told was part of her hallucinations was her stepmother. “You were there. I saw you.” Oh. Dear. God. Marcia was evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.

“And everyone thought you were hallucinating from the fever and the cough medicine.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? They had to be out of the way,” Marcia said, as if Harper were thick. “For the damned inheritance laws. He promised me this island. Promised me! Once Anna was gone, he said you and Evan would inherit and that we could live here!” She gestured widely with her free hand. “In this house.”

“But Gram lived here,” Harper said, disbelieving, shifting her body slightly closer to the knife block.

“She was old. God, that stroke should have taken her out. That would have been perfect. And your dad, he was patient. So damned patient, content to stay in that broken-down cottage while the years were ticking away.” She let out a sigh. “So I helped her along. I really had no choice. And you, so anxious to leave and meet Chase, took the fall. How perfect was that?”

“You poisoned Gram?” Harper whispered, horrified.

“Just added a few more pills to those in her tea. She was complaining about it anyway, and you’d thankfully screwed up the medication when you spilled those pills, so it all worked out.”

“But Gram—”

“She didn’t know what hit her.”

“You’re a monster,” Harper bit out, remembering the wet boots in the hallway under the coat rack. They had been her father’s boots, but Marcia had worn them, just in case any suspicion was cast on someone other than Harper.

“As I think I told you, she was old,” Marcia said.

“And you let me think all these years—let the whole world think—that I did it?” Harper asked, her fingers inching toward the blades buried in the block, her eyes trained on the gun still pointed in her direction. “And you want me to believe Dad didn’t know?”

Marcia snorted. “I don’t care what you think. But the truth is, Bruce never suspected a thing. That’s the thing about your father, Harper. So trusting. So naive.” Marcia was proud of herself and went on. “That worked out well, I think.”