Page 41 of It Happened on the Lake

“I heard that!” Marcia’s voice preceded her quick steps as she clicked into the room. “I’m doing no such thing.” Her narrow face was devoid of makeup for once and visibly etched in concern. Wearing a mock-turtleneck sweater tucked into belted jeans, she walked to her husband’s bedside. “It’s not your time!”

“Is that what God told you?” he asked.

“It’s what I’m telling you. Don’t you think for one second you can die on me yet!”

“Just joking,” her father said and chuckled.

Marcia shook her head and said to Harper, “I guess he’s feeling better.”

“Good.”

“And you?” She eyed her stepdaughter up and down. “Shouldn’t you be resting? Oh, dear. You look . . .”

“Bad, I know.”

“I was going to say tired.”

“I just wanted to check in on Dad.”

“I see that, but I thought you’d been admitted, that you were injured.” She motioned to the bandage on Harper’s chin.

“I’m fine, just a little beat-up.”

“I’ll say.” She frowned as she noted the bruises on Harper’s face.

“You should see the other guy,” Harper said, but the joke fell flat.

“And are you healed from the last time?” she asked, referring to Harper’s previous hospital bout, one she didn’t want to think about, the one for which she still blamed her ex.

“I think so, it’s been a while.”

“I remember. Good Lord, you scared us half to death with that fall!”

Absently Harper rubbed her hip where the scars from her surgery still bothered her every once in a while.

“You were in the hospital for what—a week?”

“Nearly,” Harper admitted, then lied, “But I’m good now.” Her broken ribs had healed as well as her punctured lung, but she had shattered her pelvis in the fall and her hip still gave her trouble when she overdid it.

“If you say so.” Marcia didn’t seem convinced as she waggled her fingers at Harper’s clothes as if noticing them for the first time. “Dear God, what’re you wearing?”

“Scrubs. Compliments of the hospital. Everything I wore here is wet.”

“Seriously?” Marcia frowned. “Well, I guess . . . but I could have brought you something or . . .” Marcia started to say, then waved away whatever other thought had crossed her mind. “What in the world happened last night? We’re just hearing bits and pieces here, that Cynthia Hunt was on her boat and it caught fire. Or something?”

“Or something.” With a glance at her father, who was watching from the bed, Harper sketched out the events of the previous night.

“How horrid,” Marcia whispered and made the sign of the cross over her chest. “I mean . . . My God.” She shuddered.

Her father’s expression had hardened. “It’s too bad, but it was bound to happen. As I said, Cynthia’s been you know . . .” With one finger, he made a whirling motion near his head.

“Crazy,” Harper said.

“Bruce!” Marcia shook her head, permed blond hair brushing her shoulders. “That’s not true. She was a fine, good Christian woman who raised those two hellions the best she could and—”

“Oh, come on, Cindy’s a nut case. You and I both know it.” Bruce’s gaze landed on his wife as if he hoped to shut her up.

“I know no such thing,” Marcia argued. “It was just, you know, losing Chase that was difficult for her. And then Tom. That fishing accident that made her a widow. On the damned lake, no less! It was just too much for her.”

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