Murder at Sunrise Lake

Not Bruce. Not Denver. Why would anyone want to kill either of them? Both men were well liked, but Bruce did have to let workers go occasionally. What about Denver? He had a few enemies. He got in bar fights sometimes. Bruce did too. Sam did as well, not as many, but he was known to throw a punch now and then. Did Sam fish here? She had no idea. How many other locals fished here?

Maybe she should camp out here. How many days before the murder would occur? One? Two at most. She could do that. Camp right here. No one could use the location as a fishing spot. The murderer wouldn’t be able to kill as he wanted to. What would that make him do? Would he realize she was onto him? That would be impossible.

“Stella?” Bruce called out her name. “You hungry? I’ve got food.”

She rose slowly from her crouch. “I’m meeting Zahra for lunch and I’d better get moving, but thanks for the offer.” When his face dropped, she took pity on him. “A few of us are going dancing tonight at the Grill. You and Denver are welcome to join us.”

Bruce immediately nodded. “We’ll be there.”

“I have to check my schedule,” Denver said.

“We’ll be there,” Bruce said decisively.

Denver laughed, following Stella to her 4Runner, watching as she opened the back so Bailey could jump in. “He can be very dominant when Zahra isn’t around. I think he’d go into the hospital and reschedule any operation just so I could go with him to hang out in a bar so he could stare at his woman all night.” He pretended to whisper since Bruce had followed them.

Bruce glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“She can’t be your woman if you haven’t claimed her,” Denver pointed out. “Scowling at other men to keep them away from her doesn’t count.”

“It might not count in your eyes, but it works,” Bruce said smugly.

“It won’t work forever,” Stella said as she slid behind the wheel. “You’d better decide soon what you’re going to do, Bruce.” She started the vehicle and began to back up so she could turn around.

“Wait, what?” Bruce yelled after her. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

Stella waved in the rearview mirror, ignoring Bruce pressing his thick fists to his hips as he shouted after her. He was a grown man. If he couldn’t figure it out after all the hints Zahra, Denver and Stella had given him, he didn’t deserve Zahra. Stella had the feeling Zahra had already given up and was trying to move on, at least in her head, and Stella didn’t blame her.

There really was something to a woman’s biological clock if one wanted children. Eggs were only good for so long. She knew because she’d looked that fact up and then resigned herself to a life with no children. She didn’t want that for Zahra, when she knew her friend really wanted a family. It wasn’t like they were twenty anymore. They’d seen thirty and counting.

The resort was a good distance from town and she had plenty of time to think about what she was going to do in order to prevent the murder of the fisherman while she drove there. The only real solution she could come up with was to camp out at the spot for several days. She could only hope the nightmares predicted the same timeline as the past serial killers she’d dreamt about. That would give her two days before he struck.

If the murderer didn’t have access to his chosen murder ground, maybe he would be thrown off his game and have to start all over with his planning. That would give her time to study everything she’d written and sketched without being so terrified. The calmer she was, the more logical and rational she would be in hunting the killer.

Zahra was already waiting at their favorite lunch spot, in the corner booth in the back of the little café the locals knew had the best breakfast and lunch food in town. Mostly it was a deli where people got sandwiches on the go, but there were a few tables and booths located toward the back of the café. The floor was a black-and-white-checked tile. The tablecloths were black-and-white-checked paper over wood so they could be torn off and the next ones spread on easily.

Sunrise Café was owned and operated by their friend Shabina Foster. Shabina was five foot four with thick black hair that fell to her waist if she let it. Mostly she braided it and wrapped it into a figure eight on her head. She had gorgeous skin and unexpected peacock-blue eyes framed with black lashes. Stunningly beautiful, Shabina was amazingly modest. Her father’s company had risen to become the number one company called on when oil wells caught fire anywhere in the world. That was how her mother had met him in Saudi Arabia.