Murder at Sunrise Lake

Sam handed her the mug with a slight shake of his head. “You really are a terrible addict.”

“I know. There’s no hope for me.” She wasn’t going to lie. She loved coffee. She was a coffee snob. In town, Shabina made the best coffee, but Stella was very, very good at making her own coffee. She’d learned out of necessity. “I don’t even care, and I hope I never recover.”

Sam gave her a little half smile as he gestured toward the lake. “Someone just tried to kill me and you knew it was going to happen.” His voice was gentle. There was no accusation. No judgment. Just a statement of fact.

That was so like Sam. Stella took a sip of coffee, blinking rapidly to clear her vision of the sudden blurring, and looked out over the lake. The capricious wind had died down and the surface looked like a deep sapphire gemstone blazing with beauty as the early morning sun shone down on it.

“You’re going to have to trust someone, Stella. It may as well be me. I told you I would do certain things for you I would never do for anyone else, and I meant that, but you have to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

“I don’t know how. I don’t know where to start.”

“Look at me, Stella.”

She’d almost gotten him killed. She’d been so selfish, wanting her night off, thinking she could set up her camping site and no one would go fishing. The killer wouldn’t have a target. Instead, she’d set up Sam to be the killer’s victim. She’d done that. Delivered him right into the murderer’s hands.

“I could have lost you,” she whispered. Tears tracked down her face. She couldn’t stop crying when she normally never showed weakness to anyone anymore. She knew better. She’d learned that at an early age. “I almost got you killed.”

“Look at me, Stella,” he repeated. There was no change in his voice. Not in the volume. If anything, the tone was softer, but there was a firmness to it, that absolute implacability that told her he wouldn’t stop until he had his way.

She forced herself to lift her wet, spiky lashes. His features were hard, unreadable, all angles and planes, but his eyes held a gentleness at odds with the ruthless lines carved into his tough features. Her stomach did some serious somersaulting. Roller coasters had nothing on the performance going on. And her heart … serious melting.

She didn’t trust. That was a given. She had reason not to. Real reasons. How had Sam, over the last two years, slipped under her guard? How had they gotten to this point?

“I wasn’t knocked out. When I felt the tug on my line, I knew something was off. I saw you running toward the lake. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together that you decided on this camping spot for a reason. You didn’t want anyone fishing here, did you?”

She couldn’t look away from his gaze no matter how much she wanted to. She shook her head.

“I felt someone grab my ankles and yank, so I let them take me under. The blow to my head stunned me, but didn’t knock me out. I had my knife, sweetheart. No one was going to kill me. I don’t die so easy.”

She let her breath out. If she had just stayed out of it, Sam might have killed him, or at least subdued the potential murderer, and it would all be over. She’d rushed in to save him and now the killer was on the loose.

“That just makes it worse. Now he’s out there and he’s going to kill someone else. He’ll keep killing. He isn’t going to be easy to stop. I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t realize you’d come out here. I thought if we left the tents here, no one would come to this spot to fish. Both Denver and Bruce were drinking last night and they’re the only ones that I know of who really come to this spot to fish.”

She rubbed her pounding temples. First her left one and then right. She took another sip of coffee. “I really am sorry.”

“There’s no need, Stella. Just talk to me. Look at your lake. Drink your coffee and know that you can trust me. Talk to me.” He indicated the lake.

Stella took a deep breath and inhaled the Sierras. The fresh morning mountain air. The campfire. Sam. Bailey. Even the smell of her friends’ tents. She looked around her at the sheer beauty of her chosen home. The magnificence of it. The trees and colors. Sunrise Lake.

She moistened her lips. “I wish I would sound sane, but I’m not going to, so I haven’t decided how I can say this to you and make you believe me.” She was as truthful as she could be.