Page 68 of It Happened on the Lake

Sniffling, she climbed out of bed and walked to the window to stare outside through the cold window panes again.

It seemed it was all she did besides sleep.

The landscape was stark, snow threatening in the heavy clouds.

In winter, after the oak and aspen trees had dropped their leaves, Harper had a bird’s-eye view of the mansion.

As a child she had watched the cars come and go through the gates and across the bridge when Gram entertained.

Now the house was dark and looming. Where once she’d thought the grand home almost a castle, now she considered it a tomb.

A week ago the world was filled with promise.

Now all she felt was doom.

She dropped down on the bed again, disturbing Bandit and hoping that somehow she could block everything out. She closed her eyes, hoping to drift off, intending to block out the world.

The doorbell chimed and the little dog leapt from the bed, yipping wildly and scratching at the door.

“You’re an idiot,” Harper scolded, reluctantly rolling off the comforter, “but join the club.” She opened the door and he streaked down the stairs, a rush of brown and black fur as she heard the door open. The dog barking a greeting and Beth’s voice insisting that she just wanted to see Harper.

“She’s not seeing anyone,” Dad said.

“Oh, let Beth try,” Marcia said, an edge to her voice. “We have to do some thing to get her out of her funk, Bruce. Beth’s her best friend.”

Dad wasn’t having it. “She said—”

“It’s okay,” Harper called from the upstairs landing and peered down to see the tops of their three heads.

Marcia in her favorite angora sweater and slacks, Beth wearing a jacket over her miniskirt, tights, and knee-high boots.

At the sound of Harper’s voice, they all looked up and Beth, not needing any more encouragement, dashed up the stairs, her ponytail wagging behind her.

“Oh my God, how are you?” she asked, wrapping her arms around Harper so fiercely they almost fell over.

“Good Lord, Harper,” Marcia said from the bottom of the stairs. “Could you at least get dressed?”

“It’s okay. Leave her be.” Dad placed an arm around his wife. “Come on, let’s finish breakfast.”

As they disappeared from view, Beth disentangled herself. “So?”

“I’m—I’m okay.”

“Are you?” Beth arched her eyebrows suspiciously. “I don’t buy it.” But she bustled Harper back into the room and shut the door behind them. “It’s been pretty crappy, hasn’t it?”

“Real crappy.”

“I know, I’ve seen everything on TV. They’ve crucified you!

” There was a scratching at the door and Beth let Bandit in.

He bounded onto the bed as Beth closed the door.

“Okay, tell me everything!” she said, but Harper held up a finger, and before she said anything else, she put an LP onto the turntable and cranked up the volume so that the songs from Beatles ’65 filled the room.

Harper aimed the speaker at the door to drown out her conversation with Beth because she figured if she could hear the conversation from downstairs in her room, then her parents could most likely hear what she said as well.

For added security she placed hard-backed copies of several Nancy Drew books over the heat vent.

“Did you see Chase’s parents on TV?” Beth asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “But I turned it off.” She couldn’t stand the news and she’d caught glimpses of Cynthia and Tom Hunt’s tortured faces as they’d been interviewed along with Levi.

The family of three had been clustered together outside their cottage, huddled in thick jackets on the porch of their home while making pleas for Chase to come home.

Cynthia had been fighting tears, Tom stiff and tight jawed, Levi appearing pale as a ghost.

Once the short interview was over, the camera had panned the lake as the news anchors at the station had catalogued the tragedies that had occurred on the somber gray waters.

“Cynthia blames you for whatever happened to Chase,” Beth admitted, plucking a burr from Bandit’s coat. “She told my mom.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Harper sat cross-legged on the bed. “And everyone thinks I poisoned Gram.” Her heart turned cold. “I would never.”

“I know.” Beth lay down beside her and they both stared up at the ceiling while the final notes of “No Reply” faded.

While music filled the small room, Beth spilled what she knew of the local gossip.

There had been some people who hypothesized that Chase and Harper had actually met, that there had been some kind of altercation, and Harper had either accidentally or intentionally driven him away.

Maybe Harper had actually even killed the Hunt boy.

Then, after somehow hiding the body so that no one could find it, Harper had set his boat adrift before canoeing across the lake to coerce Levi into helping her and establishing her alibi.

And did anyone think that a girl who was capable of poisoning her own grandmother wouldn’t go so far as to kill a boy who had been seeing other girls?

It was far-fetched. How could anyone have managed all that?

As for Cynthia Hunt, who knew what she really thought?

But she hated Harper and somehow, no matter what happened, Harper Reed was to blame.

At least that’s what she’d confided to Beth’s mother, Alaina.

Cynthia had observed Chase with some of the girls who lived down the street and she was certain Chase had “outgrown” Harper.

“Mrs. Hunt really believes I would do anything to hurt him?”

“I don’t know,” Beth said, over the music. “She never said that directly. At least I don’t think so?”

“Did you hear anything else? What about Levi?”

“I—I don’t know. I think just basically that you came to the house and the two of you went looking for Chase. Something like that. Is that what happened?”

Harper nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the headboard.

“What about Rand, does he know anything?” But she had little hope. She and Levi had spoken with him that night.

Beth told her what she’d heard, putting together bits and pieces of what her parents and the Hunts had confided in each other.

The long and the short of it was that Rand Watkins had given the police a statement to the effect that he’d met with Chase up at the river earlier in the evening and that Chase admitted to Rand that he had intended to break up with Harper or marry her.

“Marry me or break up with me?” Harper said, disbelieving.

“The way Rand told it was that Chase had been confused that night. Maybe drunk, too. Rand admitted to having a beer or two. Anyway, Chase was real clear that he wasn’t going to get drafted and end up in Vietnam even though he’d flunked out of school.”

Harper felt miserable.

“It’s all so crazy,” Beth said as the next track on the album started and John Lennon began singing “I’m a Loser.” A fitting song considering Harper’s mood. “I mean who could think of you as someone who could . . . well, you know . . .”

“Everyone.” At least that’s the way it felt. It wasn’t as if she were as pure as the driven snow by any means, but she certainly wasn’t capable of any of the things people were saying.

“Did you see the news?” Beth asked tentatively.

“Yeah. Dad tried to keep me from watching it, but I’ve got Evan’s TV, so I turned it on.”

It had been bad. One clever reporter had gotten Cynthia to admit on camera that she believed Olivia Dixon wouldn’t have died if not for her neglectful, selfish granddaughter.

Cynthia had also pointed out that with her brother and mother dead, Harper was set up to inherit all of the Dixon estate as she was the only living heir.

“You think that’s a coincidence?” she’d asked the reporter.

“And even if she didn’t do it on purpose, she planned to leave that night to meet my son.

Harper Reed admitted as much. So she would leave her own feeble grandmother alone when she was supposed to be caring for her.

Tell me, what kind of person would do that? ”

“She hates me,” Harper said miserably.

“Who?”

“Chase’s mom.”

“Oh no, she’s just upset. You can understand—”

“She hates me,” Harper said and sat up against the headboards, pushing her pillow to the side.

“She tried to get Chase to break up with me.” It was all coming back to her, how much Cynthia was against their relationship.

“She thought I would hold Chase back, that he wouldn’t finish college and I would ruin his life! ”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know. We were coming out of the police station, my dad and me, and they were going in and Cynthia stopped and accused me of killing Gram. She said that with my mother and brother gone, the only thing that stood in my way of inheriting everything was my grandmother.” Tears began running down Harper’s face as she recalled Cynthia’s twisted, hate-filled face, her husband trying to usher her up the steps to the front doors of the station in the rain.

But Cynthia had stopped and spewed her vile accusations, letting her umbrella get caught in the wind as she’d turned and yelled at Harper.

A reporter had been at the station at the time and snapped a picture of Cynthia’s tortured face and Harper’s stunned reaction.

A second after the picture was taken, Cynthia spat, missing her target, as Dad had quickly shuttled Harper to their car.

Beth said, “So you’ve talked to the police?”

“What do you think?”

“Okay. Dumb question.”

“The cops have questioned me three times. Once with my dad and twice with an attorney. And that doesn’t count the first night, when they came to the house.”

“Do they think—?”