Page 17 of It Happened on the Lake

She rapped her knuckles on the table. “You give me a good run for my money in cards.” Then she caught Harper’s gaze. “Well, usually.” She cast Harper a knowing look. “When you’re not distracted.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh, bull!” Gram pushed away from the table. “Go ahead, keep your secrets,” she said, muttering under her breath as she spun the chair and rolled into the bedroom, the only one on the main floor. “Don’t forget to leave the nightlights on in the parlor.”

“I won’t.”

It was nearly midnight.

Chase would be coming.

Nervously Harper hurried into the kitchen, pushing through the swinging doors, then found the pills that Matilda had measured into two ramekins that were used to bake crème brûlée at Christmastime. One was clearly marked “evening,” the other “morning.” Easy enough. Harper ignited a burner on the oversized stove and heated water for Gram’s chamomile tea. Matilda had it all set up.

With one eye on the clock, Harper impatiently waited for the water to heat. God, it was dark outside. Maybe Chase was already on his way. She hoped so. She had to talk to him. Tonight. It couldn’t wait any longer.

The teakettle began to whistle, steam erupting from its spout. Good. Swiftly, she poured water into the waiting cup where Matilda had left tea in an infuser. Immediately the sweet scent of chamomile drifted upward.

Balancing the teacup in one hand and the ramekin of pills in the other, she backed through the swinging doors to the dining room. And tripped over a cat. “Shit!” Harper tried to catch herself and failed. The cup and saucer toppled, sloshing scalding water over her wrist before smashing into the floor. Pills scattered across the wood. A second cat scrambled out from under the table. “Shit, shit, shit!”

She tried like crazy to collect all the pills. God, how many were there? Seven? Eight? More? She scraped them up, as many as she could locate, even using Gramps’s old weak-beamed flashlight to check under the buffet, chairs, and bar. She came up with eight, all covered in dust and cat hair, some wet from the tea.

Now what?

She hurried into the kitchen, heated more water, found the broom and mop, and while waiting for the water to get to temperature, she picked up the shards of the cup, mopped the floor, and swept it as best she could.

She heard the clock strike midnight.

Oh God.

She was out of time.

She was supposed to meet Chase. Right now!

She knew the other pills were locked in some cabinet that only Matilda and Gram knew about, and she didn’t have a key, nor did she have time to explain to Gram about what had happened.

Quickly, she washed off the pills, feeling some of the tablets beginning to disintegrate, then dumped them all into the hot water. She swirled the infuser with its already-soggy tea inside it around in the cup and walked into Gram’s room where that awful Diablo was waiting, seated at a chair at Gram’s secretary-type desk and glaring at her with his hateful gold eyes. “Shoo,” Harper said, sick of the felines, especially this long-tailed devil of a cat.

“Are you talking to me?” Gram, devoid of makeup, rolled out of the washroom where she’d brushed her teeth, something she still insisted upon doing by herself. She also managed to wrap a netting over her head to keep her short curls in place before her next visit to the hairdresser. As Harper helped her into bed, she complained, “Getting old isn’t for sissies.”

“So then, you’re okay?” Harper said. “Because you’re not a sissy.”

“You always were a sassy one.” But Gram managed a smile before, propped up on fluffy pillows, she reached for her cup. “Where are my pills?”

“I, um, I goofed. Added them to the tea.”

“What?”

“I tripped, spilled everything including your medication, so I washed off all the pills and put them into the cup with the tea. Because they were disintegrating.”

“Oh . . . my.” Gram blinked. Hesitated. “All of them?”

“Yes.” Harper sat on the edge of the bed and bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Gram. I broke one of your cups.”

The old woman sighed and shook her head. For a second Harper thought she was going to be scolded, but instead Gram said, “Accidents happen. That’s life.” She lifted the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. “Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that’s bitter!” Sucking in her breath on a whistle, she shook her head. “Though I guess I’ve tasted worse. That’s the same thing I said about whiskey when your grandpa introduced me to it.” Her eyes brightened. “Oooh.” She sucked in a delighted breath. “Now, there’s a thought. Be a dear and bring in the bottle—not the whiskey, though, get the gin. You know where it is?”

Of course she did. Harper was familiar with gin, and as a teen had tasted it on more than one occasion. From the very bottle Gram was requesting. “You sure?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

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