Murder at Sunrise Lake

Raine designed a brochure and a PowerPoint presentation for Stella to show Alek. It had worked and he had agreed to try the food and dancing for one month to see if he could bring in the locals along with those she promised from her resort. The results had been astonishing, and since then the Grill was so popular Alek had to hire permanent help along with his temporary workers during the height of tourist season.

Sam leaned down, his mouth close enough to her ear to be able to be heard above the loud, pulsing music. “Stay put, Stella. Bale and his friends are dangerous when they’re drinking, especially when confronted by women.”

Denver nodded his agreement. “They can’t be bested by a woman or they’ll need to get back at her in a very public way. You’ve already had one confrontation with them, you don’t need another.”

She watched the two men make their way to the dance floor. Denver looked as if he had sobered up. He wasn’t staggering at all as he walked beside Sam. Sam just looked … predatory. For her, he would always stand out, no matter where he was. It didn’t make sense that he was supposedly a ghost as Denver had suggested. Her gaze was drawn to him, that confident way he moved, like a jungle cat stalking his prey.

Stella didn’t understand men like Bale or the others. They had thriving businesses, or at least ones that were getting by in the small town. They had jobs where so many had to have three jobs. Why did they think themselves so superior to women? Especially to a woman like Shabina or Zahra? Both women worked hard. Had their only crime been turning down a date from one of these men? Was Bale really harassing Harlow? A senator’s daughter? Would he dare?

Stella didn’t take her gaze off Denver and Sam as they walked casually up to the bar close to the dance floor and inserted themselves right next to Bale and his friends. There was satisfaction in noting that the taunting smirks faded when the two men showed up, although that didn’t stop Sean from calling out something nasty as Shabina danced nearby.

Shabina looked breathtaking. She was naturally graceful and had rhythm, losing herself in the music as she moved with Zahra, Raine and Bruce. She had her slender arms over her head and her eyes closed. Her long, dark hair fell to her waist and moved around her like a waterfall of gleaming silk.

Stella watched Sean’s expression more closely. She might be tipsy, but she was aware. He had a look of obsession on his face. There was a reason he continually showed up at the Sunrise Café in spite of the warnings not to keep coming back. He might think himself superior and he could tell himself anything he wanted, but he had a real thing for her friend. She switched her gaze to Sam. Naturally, Sam noticed because he saw everything.

She let her breath out. Sam would be such a great ally to have. He did see everything. He was careful. He listened to her and weighed what she said carefully. If she could rule him out as a suspect— and honestly, she didn’t for a minute really think he was a serial killer— then he would be the person she would want to confide in. He fit with her. She didn’t know why, only that he did.

She switched her attention to Denver. He had warned her about Sam, but he had done so gently, not in a mean way. She could tell, in spite of his warning to her, he did like Sam and respected him even more. He was just careful of her, like a sibling might be. She was closed off to everyone and had put herself off-limits. Denver respected those limits. Sam always had as well. Sam seemed to be stepping over them all of a sudden.

“This seat taken?”

Stella looked up. Carl Montgomery, the local contractor, slid onto the barstool next to her. He was around forty, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. Like most of those living in the town, he was a hunter. He worked hard and expected his crew to as well. Carl had built several of the cabins for her at the resort, and they were exactly what she’d asked for and then some.

She flashed him a smile. “I don’t see you here very often, Carl. What a nice surprise.”

“What are you drinking?”

She looked at her glass. “Moscow Mule, but I think I’ve had a little too much. I’m definitely feeling it.”

“One night off won’t kill you, Stella. You work too hard.” He leaned over the bar to get the bartender’s attention. “It’s packed in here.”

Stella looked around. Every table was taken. Every barstool. The dance floor was packed. Along the walls people talked and laughed together, tapping their feet to the music. In the outside covered patio, where the heaters were turned on against the cool night air, she could see those tables were filled as well.