Murder at Sunrise Lake

She noticed the hum of bees and skitter of lizards in the leaves. There was always the drone of insects, the cicadas calling. It was all part of nature she could count on there in the Eastern Sierras. It didn’t matter what time of year, there was always something that gave her that connection she needed to the earth itself instead of the insanity that made up a world she didn’t seem to fit into or understand.

“You gonna talk to me?”

Stella’s stomach was already in knots. She needed to talk to someone. If she was going to talk to anyone, it would be Sam, but what was she going to say? She sent him a look from under her lashes, hoping he wouldn’t see fear in her eyes. That was the thing about Sam. He was far too observant. He noticed everything. Details everyone else missed.

She wasn’t the talking type. What did she really know about him? She wanted to trust him. He was the only man who came and went from her home, but she didn’t know him. She didn’t know a single thing about his life. She didn’t even know if he was married or had children. She didn’t know if he was running from the police, although looking at him, she knew instinctively, if he was on the run, it wasn’t from something as mundane as the cops. Sam would be hiding from some international crime he’d committed, one the CIA or Homeland Security would know about and no one else.

As a rule, Stella knew everything there was to know about her employees, but not Sam. When she’d asked him to work for her, he had been a little reluctant. In the end, he had said he’d work for cash only. Under the table. She didn’t usually go for that. She kept everything strictly legal, but she was desperate for a really good worker who knew the kinds of things Sam knew. At the time, nearly every cabin needed renovations. Electricity, plumbing, walls crumbling. So much work. Motors on the boats. She needed him more than he needed her. She’d hired him thinking it would be for a short period of time. That short period had turned into over two years.

She stayed silent. Took another drink of coffee. Kept looking at the lake. What was there to say that didn’t make her look as if she were losing her mind? Nothing. There was nothing she could say. Even if she revealed her past, blew her carefully constructed lie of a life, what would be the point? There was no proof, and she doubted if she could get any proof that accidents weren’t going to be accidents and a serial killer was on the loose. As of that moment, even the fisherman hadn’t been found dead because no crime had been committed— yet. The killer would strike in two days. She needed to drive around the lake and look for the location.

“Been here over two years now, Stella. You never once locked that door. You don’t snap at the workers, especially if they make a mistake. That’s not your way.”

She didn’t look at him again. Instead, she kept her eyes on the lake. The tranquil lake that was so deep and could hold countless bodies if someone weighed them down. Above the lake the mountains rose with all the beautiful trees. So many places to bury bodies no one would ever find. Hot springs. Some of the hot springs were hot enough to decompose a body.

Without thinking, she pressed her fingers to her mouth the way she’d done when she was a child to keep from blurting out anything she shouldn’t say. A habit. A bad habit she’d worked to get over, and now it was back. Just that fast. Her fingers trembled and she wanted to sit on them. She hoped he didn’t notice, but he saw everything. She knew he did. Sam was that type of man. She dropped her hand back into Bailey’s fur. Buried her shaking fingers deep.

“Satine, you want help, I’m right here, but you gotta talk. Use your words, woman.”

“Did I really do that? Snap at someone because they made a mistake?” She did turn her head and look at him then. “Did I do that to you, Sam?”

His tough features softened for just a moment. Those dark eyes of his turned almost velvet, drifting over her. Unsettling her. “No, it was Bernice at the boat rentals the other day.”

Stella pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. She had done that. Not yelled. But definitely been snippy. Okay. More than snippy. She was not a boss to be snippy or short with her employees. Bernice Fulton was older and had worked for her for over five years. She would take it to heart. “I’ll talk to her.”