Page 53 of It Happened on the Lake

If that was supposed to sting, it didn’t. Because she was pushing it. They’d never been friends.

“So,” she said, her spine stiffening a bit. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to know?”

“And what’s that?” he asked, not following.

“If I know what happened to Chase. Well, crap, Rand—er, Detective—I don’t. I wish to high heaven that I did! That question has haunted me for twenty years.”

“That’s not what you’re here for.”

“No?” she said, on her feet. “Well, since I am here, maybe I should ask you the same question. What happened to Chase? You were his best friend. You saw him that night. For God’s sake, why didn’t he show up and meet me like he promised?” She was leaning over the table now, her bruised face only inches from his. “What do you know about that night?”

“What?”

“You and he—you knew everything about each other,” she accused. “What did he tell you?” Her blue eyes were focused on him, her sharp gaze penetrating, as if she could see deep into his soul. Which was ridiculous.

“I don’t know anything,” he lied, refusing to flinch and irritated that she’d turned the interview around, so that she was asking the questions he didn’t want to answer.

Angrily, she hit the Stop button on the recorder.

The blinking red light died.

“Hey, you can’t do that!” he protested, shocked.

“So arrest me.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

Her pale face was suddenly flushed. “You’re a liar, Rand,” she accused. “You know more about what happened to Chase. You have to! You and he were thick as thieves. We both know he would have done almost anything to avoid being drafted. He would have told you if he was planning to go to Canada or whatever. You probably knew if he had other girls that he was seeing. You were on your way to Vietnam and there was a chance you’d never see each other again, so he would’ve confided in you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I don’t think so,” she countered, then added, “and I think this interview is over. If you need to ‘talk’ to me again, I’ll want my lawyer present.”

“Jesus, Harper, you can’t just—”

“Watch me.” She threw on her coat, scooped up her purse, and swept out the door, nearly running into the desk officer who was about to enter.

The officer inquired, “Is there a problem?”

“Ask him!” Harper jerked her chin at Rand before breezing past the shorter woman.

“What the hell?” Tanaka asked. “Should I stop her?”

“No. Don’t.” Rand waved a dismissive arm. “Let her go.”

“What was that all about?”

“The past,” he said and glanced at her. Then picking up his recorder and notepad, asked, “Isn’t it always?”

“If you say so.” Tanaka seemed a little baffled as she watched Harper leave, her footsteps echoing down the hallway, hard and fast over the sounds of muted conversations and ringing phones.

“Trust me,” he reiterated as he slid his recorder into his jacket pocket. “It’salwaysabout the past.”

Chapter 14

The past.

Thinking about it was a trap.

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