Page 71 of It Happened on the Lake

He cranked up the radio, heard Jimi Hendrix wailing on his guitar.

A good start.

1988

The Present

Chapter 18

It was barely three in the afternoon, but already the sky was darkening, cloud cover thick though sunset was still a few hours off.

Harper was still pissed. She left her car on the street near the station, then walked several blocks to tamp down her temper and stopped at a café where once there had been an Italian restaurant.

Thankfully the café was nearly empty, the lunch crowd having dispersed. But it was warm inside and smelled of hot coffee and fragrant spices. Music was playing softly, and the café was decorated for the season with pumpkins on the counter, twinkling lights around a large chalkboard menu on the wall, and a life-sized papier-mâché witch on a real broomstick that swung from the high ceiling.

Unfortunately, Harper hated Halloween and anything associated with the holiday. She found it macabre rather than lighthearted and fun. Ever since that awful night on the terrace . . .

Don’t go there.

She found a booth in the back corner and turned her thoughts to the present, such as it was. She needed time and space to cool off after her heated exchange with Rand Watkins—oh, excuse me,DetectiveWatkins—whatever that was all about.

Dealing with Rand had never been easy, not since grade school. Now that he was a cop—a full-fledged detective, no less—one with obvious suspicions about her, she was certain that dealing with him wasn’t going to get any easier.

Well, too bad.

She’d given her statement.

She was done.

She did feel horrible about Cynthia Hunt, though. The woman may have despised Harper, even blamed her for Chase’s disappearance, but the way Cynthia had died had been horrendous. And there was Levi, now having lost his brother and both his parents. Alone in the world.

Her heart was heavy at the thought. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay from a passing waitress, a slim redhead whose name tag read TAMI.

The wine came, and when pressed, Harper ordered the first thing she saw on the menu, a Caesar salad and cup of soup.

She was still thinking about Chase and his family when her order was delivered and, though she ate, she barely tasted anything. Her thoughts moved from the Hunt family tragedies to the interrogation—because that’s what it felt like—with Rand Watkins. She was still bugged by their heated exchange.

So, really what had she expected when she’d gone to the station? That it would be all hearts and flowers? “Rand was right,” she had to admit as she dipped her spoon into the clam chowder. They’d never been friends. Not twenty years ago and obviously not now.

But back then, in high school, he hadn’t been an enemy.

Now, she feared, that had changed.

She conjured up images of Rand as a youth, when he’d hung out with Evan and Chase, then later became a soldier.

You can never go back.

The wayward thought echoed through her mind.

“Oh, shut up,” she muttered and saw the approaching waitress react, suddenly backing away from the table.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just . . . talking to myself.” Geez, she probably looked like a mental case. Her face was bruised and bandaged, and here she was muttering to herself.

“You want another glass of wine?” Tami asked.

Though it was tempting, Harper shook her head. One more might well lead to another. “Just the check, please.”

Dear God, she needed to turn her head around.

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