Page 54 of It Happened on the Lake

That’s what Rand tried to tell himself as he walked back to his office.

But with Harper Reed back in town, escaping the past was sure to prove impossible. And she was still intriguingly beautiful. Even beaten to hell with a bandage across her chin and bruises on her face.

Or maybe he was just a fool.

Harper Reed came with a whole set of problems capped by a volatile temper.

But he didn’t know the half of it. When he walked through the door to his office, he found Chelle Brown elbow deep in a dusty box on the floor.

“What’s this?” he asked, tossing the file onto his desk and pulling his recorder from his jacket pocket.

“Cold case.”

“Yeah? Which one?” But he had a nagging suspicion that he already knew.

“Olivia Dixon,” she said, succinctly.

Harper’s grandmother.

“It’s not a cold case.”

“No?” She cocked her head quizzically. “The way I see it, it was a case that was never really solved.”

“As I remember it, an old woman died by an accidental overdose of medication. Not considered to be a homicide.”

“A rich old woman.”

“So?” He didn’t like where this was going. “Is there a reason you’re going through all this now?”

“Yeah. I’m interested. Another person dies on the lake just as Harper Prescott returns to the family home. It got me thinking about the other deaths related to her, to that island she calls home, and more specifically the lake.”

“So you decided to pull out decades-old files.”

“Yeah.” A grin slid across her face. “It’s what I do.”

“When you’re not working on active cases.”

“This is related.”

Chelle rocked back on her heels, came up with a file of yellowed papers, and tossed it onto her desk. “And it still hasn’t been transferred to the computer records—everything about it is in here.” She motioned to the box as she settled into her desk chair. “You know that Mrs. Prescott—then Miss Reed—was taking care of her grandmother that night but admitted to leaving the premises when her boyfriend didn’t come and meet her.”

Yeah. Rand knew it. Even now he remembered her as she had been on that long-ago night—ashen-faced and hiding in Levi’s truck.

“I think there’s more to it than was ever found out.” She slapped the files onto her desk just as the furnace kicked in, warm air rumbling through the ducts. “Maybe it’s time we took another look at what happened that night.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do. I think someone killed Olivia Dixon, and I think it might have been her granddaughter, who was supposed to be caring for her on the night she died, and who, I just learned, inherited a fortune from the old lady.” She added, “Who had a stronger motive to get rid of her?”

“Olivia Dixon’s case wasn’t a homicide,” he repeated.

“Wasn’t it?” She wiggled her flat hand up and down, in a maybe yes, maybe no gesture. “No one could really tell, could they? You’re right. ‘Accidental overdose’ is what they came up with back in the day, but really, her demise could’ve been intentional.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Isn’t that right?”

“Harper was eighteen.”

“Teens aren’t known for their stability. Or great judgment,” she countered. “Capable of all kinds of things. I say it’s worth looking into.”

He scratched his jaw. “You won’t find anything.”

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