Page 78 of It Happened on the Lake

“I don’t know what to think. I’m trying to keep an open mind,” Rand said as he watched a sleek Porsche swing into the parking lot, its headlamps reflecting the driving rain. Seconds later, a man in rain gear climbed out and hurried toward the front door of the clubhouse.

“You probably knew better than anyone what was on Chase’s mind,” Gerald reminded Rand. “You saw him that night. The last person to see him as far as anyone knows.”

Was there an unspoken question in that statement? An innuendo? Rand ignored it and plowed on. “There are also some other things we’re looking into.”

“Such as? What? Olivia Dixon’s death?” Gerald guessed. “Because it happened on the same night? Is that what you’re thinking?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh hell no! She died because of a screwup. The granddaughter messed up her pills. But it wasn’t intentional. You’re not thinking she tried to kill Olivia.”

Did he sound unsure?

“Well, that’s one case.” Rand waited, measuring his father’s response.

“There’s more?” Gerald sucked hard on his cigarette as rain peppered the awning and splashed on the asphalt of the parking lot.

“A lot of unexplained deaths in the family.”

“The Reed family? Is that what you’re talking about?

” Gerald demanded. “Holy Kee-Rist, Rand, you know what happened! Evan got stupid, high on LSD, and decided to play Russian roulette. And as for Anna, you were there when we pulled her out of the drink. That whole family had a problem with drugs and alcohol, and they paid the price. Those cases are closed. Plain and simple.” He took a final drag, then jabbed out his cigarette in a standing ashtray near the door.

“You and Tom were the lead investigators.”

“Hell yeah, we were. We were the only investigators.”

“Chase was the victim,” Rand pointed out. “His father shouldn’t have been involved in the case.”

“The department wasn’t what it is now. It was much smaller. We made do.”

“Even so.”

Gerald glared at his son. “What the fuck is this all about, Rand? Don’t you have enough to do, trying to keep the peace? Protect and serve and all that? Why the hell are you doing this?”

Two men pushed open the door from the locker room. They were deep in conversation but glanced up. The bigger guy, in plaid pants and windbreaker, raised a hand. “See ya next week, Gerry.”

“Yeah.” Rand’s father gave a chin-up nod. “Sure.”

The other guy, skinnier and wearing rain gear, sketched a salute.

Then as the two men dashed to their cars, Gerald took hold of his son’s arm and propelled him out of earshot. He pushed him under the canopy of branches of a huge fir tree where the smell of damp earth reached his nostrils. “Why don’t you just let sleeping dogs lie?”

Rand yanked his arm from his father’s punishing grasp. “Because they’re not sleeping, Dad. Not only are they waking up, they’re fucking barking.”

“Then what? You came out here to . . . what’re you saying here, boy?

” But he’d already guessed. “That I didn’t do my job?

That Tom and I did what? Screwed up the investigations?

” His eyes thinned to slits, his face was shadowed, all blades and angles deepened by the dim light coming from a few high windows of the locker room.

“I’m saying that we’re taking another look.”

“We’re?” Gerald repeated, scrabbling in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “Who else is in on this, whatever the fuck it is?”

“My partner.”

“That little slip of a thing?” He scoffed and lit up again, shooting a geyser of smoke from the side of his mouth. “Well, good luck!” Gerald said, disbelieving. “Tom and I, we did everything by the book.”

“Did you?” Rand tossed out. “Because I’m not so sure.”

Gerald pointed to the bulge beneath Rand’s jacket. “Jesus, Rand, are you packin’? To talk to me? What the hell?”

“I talked to Mom.”

Gerald was about to take a draw on his cigarette, but he stopped for a second, just long enough to confirm Rand’s worst suspicions. “Oh, did ya?” his father said, as if it was no big deal. “How is she?”

“Clearheaded,” Rand said, watching for the telltale tic near his father’s eye, a pulsing throb that always appeared when he was agitated. So far, Gerald was calm. “She remembers. About the fact that you weren’t home when Chase went missing. That the boat was gone.”

“And—?”

No tic. “Levi told me that Tom and Chase got into it that night. Both of them tearing into each other. The fight got out of control.”

His father took another drag as a gust of cold wind swept through the branches overhead, causing them to groan and sway. “Is there a point to this?”

“Cynthia left a note for Levi.”

The tic appeared, a tiny pulse beside his father’s left eye. “Is there a point to this?”

“The note said, ‘They killed him. They killed Chase. Make him pay.’”

“Sounds like gibberish to me,” Gerald said. “Doesn’t make any sense. You know she’d lost her marbles.”

“And when did that start? With Chase’s disappearance?” Rand asked, every muscle in his body coiled. “Or with Tom’s suicide?”

“Shit, son, where are you going with all of this?” Gerald was irritated. “You’re pulling things out of thin air. You sound as batty as Cynthia was!”

“ They killed him. Make him pay. As if the others involved in Chase’s death were already gone.”

“Jesus Christ, no one knows for certain that Chase is dead! I don’t know what you’re getting at, but this—what’s happening here?—is lunacy!”

“Is it?” Rand asked, his insides churning, the truth slicing through him like a machete.

“How about this, Dad? How about Chase and his old man have it out and Tom, he decides he can’t have a kid who’s a draft dodger, the golden boy tarnished beyond repair?

” Rand was watching his father. Gerald was tense, the tic full blown now, his lips thin, his jaw tight, his cigarette forgotten and burning in his hand.

Somewhere nearby a crow cawed and flapped noisily. Rand kept his eyes trained on his father.

“You think Tom and I—we killed Chase, is that what you’re getting at, boy?” His face was getting redder, his tic really going to town.

“Why don’t you just tell me what happened that night.

Right here and now!” Rand jabbed at the ground, furious.

How many times had his father alluded to the fact that Rand might know more about what had happened to Chase when all along, it had been the other way around? “What the hell happened to Chase?”

Gerald didn’t answer.

“Dad? It’s time. What the fuck happened?”

“Shit if I know!” Gerald exploded, then took a long drag on his smoke, the ash falling off as he did. “It was so damned long ago.”

But like yesterday.

“You weren’t where you said you were. Mom knows. You were in the boat that night, not home. What the hell were you doing?”

Finally, he flicked his cigarette onto the ground where it sizzled out with the rain. He closed his eyes and let out his breath slowly, smoke seeping from his nostrils and mouth. “I’m gonna need an attorney.”

“I’m your son. Chase’s friend. Just tell me.”

“You’re a cop now, boy. So was I. And a good one.

I know the routine. If you want to do this, then run me in and let me have my goddamned attorney.

” He drilled his son with disappointed, accusing eyes, then said, “And for the record, I didn’t kill Chase.

Of course I didn’t. What the fuck are you thinking?

We’re done here!” He started walking away.

Rand grabbed the crook of his elbow and spun him around. “No, Dad, we’re not done! Not by a long shot!”

Gerald’s muscles tensed.

His fist clenched.

He hauled back.

Swung fast.

Feinting, Rand caught his father’s wrist. With all his strength, he twisted up and backward, forcing Gerald’s arm behind his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Gerald cocked his free arm ready to strike, but Rand increased the pressure on his father’s wrist.

Gerald landed hard on his knees. “Jesus! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said through teeth gritted in pain.

“Getting the truth.”

“You’ll be up on charges!”

Rand jerked his father’s arm hard. He didn’t care about any of the ramifications and deep down, there was satisfaction seeing his old man squirming on his knees, getting his khakis wet.

How many times had Gerald Watkins taken a belt to him when he was just a kid?

He gave the arm another yank, stretching tendons to the breaking point.

Gerald yowled.

Rand demanded, “Tell me what the fuck happened that night.”

“I told you.”

Another jerk, and this time he thought he heard something pop in his father’s shoulder.

“Stop! Shit!” Gerald ordered.

“You tell me, right here and now, what the fuck happened to Chase,” Rand ordered. “You know, damn it, and you covered it up for twenty damned years.”

His father’s face was turning white, pain etched in the lines near his mouth.

“And you kept insinuating I knew what happened,” Rand charged. “When all along it was you!”

His father looked up at him and closed his eyes for what seemed an eternity, inwardly wrestling with his need for secrecy and the fact that his son was about to literally wring the truth from him.

“What the fuck happened?” Rand demanded.

Nothing.

“Twenty years is a damn long time to carry that secret. A burden. Give it up, Dad. Tell me, or I swear, I’ll run you into the station, you know, the one that still has your picture on the wall?”

Something inside of Gerald Watkins broke.

Rand could feel it, the tension leaving Gerald’s taut body, his pale face going slack.

Voices could be heard from inside the building, deep, raucous laughter exploded. “Fine,” his father said, breathing hard. “But not here.” His gaze found Rand’s, eyes pleading. “This is . . . where I hang out. My friends are here.”

“Then right now. At the house. You ride with me.”

“My car is here.”

“I’ll bring you back.”

His father gave a short nod, and Rand let go, Gerald standing and rubbing his arm. “You about popped my arm out of its socket.”

“I think you’ll be okay. Work it out.”

His father glanced up sharply, remembering the words he’d always told his son when Rand had complained of an injury.

“Let’s go. My Jeep’s over here.” Rand started walking to the parking lot.

“I’ll drive myself,” his father insisted. “What do you think I’m going to do? Run away? Fuck that.” He scrabbled into his pocket for his crumpled pack of Marlboros.

“I’ll follow you.”

Rand warned, “Don’t fuck with me.”

“I said I’ll follow you!” Gerald said in another burst of anger.

Rand decided to trust him. For now. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he jogged through the rain to his Cherokee and slid inside. As he started his Jeep, he knew he was stepping through a door that could never be closed again.

Well, so be it.

He shoved the gearshift into drive. As he pulled out of the parking space, Rand caught sight of his father, his features distorted through the rain-spackled windshield.

He wondered if he’d ever really known the man who had sired him.

No.

Not at all.

But he was about to find out.