Page 263 of It Happened on the Lake

And then, as her fingers brushed the knife block, Harper understood. Her father, not blood and not loved by her grandmother, would not get any of the Dixon estate. But his kids through Anna would inherit. If Anna was dead, leaving Bruce free to marry Marcia, they would have control of the fortune until Harper turned of age.

Harper thought she might be sick as she followed the natural trail in her mind. If Bruce and Marcia were married, and his children with Anna died . . . “You killed them all,” she accused, her heart thundering in her chest as the depth of Marcia’s depravity became evident. “Even Evan. He didn’t commit suicide. You were there! I heard you.”

Memories of that hot summer night when Chase had professed his love and given her the diamond necklace tore through her. Evan. In the tram. Blue eyes staring upward and fixed. Blood everywhere.

“He drew the short straw. Both of you had to die, so I chose. He lost.”

Her stomach curdled.

“You’re evil.”

“Oh, hurt me some more. Funny coming from you when you got yourself pregnant and tricked another man into marrying you.”

“I didn’t trick Joel, and getting married isn’t the same as murder.”

“I suppose not. But did you know how greedy he was? That he was planning to go to the lawyer and demand part of the inheritance? He’d even called your father. Then Lou Arista. So, I knew he had to go.”

“Had to go.”

“Oh, didn’t you know? He’s dead. Took a leap off a tall building in Portland. Just recently. As if he deserved any of this.” She let out a huff of disgust. “He had his sights on the fortune before he met you.”

“Joel? You killed him, too.” How far did this woman’s venality stretch?

“Vargas took care of him,” she said off-handedly, and let out a sigh. “But he was supposed to get to Dawn. Offer her drugs laced with something or other! Now I’ll have to come up with Plan B.”

“You cold, calculating bitch!” Bile rose in her throat. “You killed them all to get all this?” She motioned grandly as if to include the whole house and island, but as she did, she stretched, her hand touching the meat cleaver.

“Bingo! Give the girl a prize!” Marcia said without a grain of humor. “So you are a smart girl after all,” Marcia scoffed. “But not smart enough not to get knocked up and ruin everything.”

“Ruin everything?” Harper repeated. “Because Dawn got in your way?” Sick inside that her precious daughter was considered a stumbling block. It was all so twisted and dark.

“But you can’t fire a gun and kill me. Everything has to look like an accident.”

“You should have died when you fell through those stairs in Bend last summer!” Marcia charged.

“You did that?” Harper said, remembering how Joel had sworn they’d been repaired. “How sick are you?” She’d heard enough. She had to get away. Who knew what Marcia was capable of? And that was when she realized that Marcia was wearing gloves, so that the fingerprints on Gramps’s pistol belonged to Harper. The last person to have handled the gun.

But she would have to get close to make it look like suicide. Or . . . she could say she walked in on the battle between Craig and Harper . . . either way, Harper had to get out. Now!

She gripped the cleaver.

“Uh-uh-uh!” Marcia chided. “Dumb move, smart girl.”

Harper yanked the cleaver from the block.

Marcia fired.

Bang!

The bullet sizzled through the kitchen.

Glasses piled in the sink shattered.

Harper hurled the cleaver, and it spun wildly, whizzing end over end.

Marcia moved, but the cleaver nicked her shoulder. She cried out in pain. “You bitch!”

She fired again.

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