Murder at Sunrise Lake

That day was unusually hot, when everyone had been expecting the cooler fall weather. Because it was, those staying in the resort had rushed to rent the boats, wanting to be out on the lake. Unfortunately, that included people who didn’t have the least idea how to run a boat, or dock one. Both Sam and Stella spent the better part of the evening rescuing very drunk parties of four and six and couples, as well as a single mom and her two very young children, who, thank heavens, were wearing life vests.

Fishermen had been complaining all day, a steady stream of grouchy, irritable or downright furious people, mostly men, acting superior, although most of them knew her now. They’d come to respect her over the years. Still, they weren’t immune to the unexpected high temperatures. Humidity when there was usually dry heat, and all the crazy tourists who didn’t have the first clue about how to navigate boats on the lake. Nor did those tourists even seem to have any manners when it came to sharing the lake with those fishing.

Stella had been yelled at, called names and insulted many times, mostly in reference to her IQ and ability to run a fishing camp—which Sunrise Lake was not, but she didn’t correct anyone. She merely hung on to her polite smile, listened to every concern and complaint and assured them that it would be taken care of— unless they went too far.

Stella had learned a long time ago, when she first signed on as the manager, that if she wanted the respect of the fishermen, she had to stand up to them. She wasn’t shrill, she didn’t yell. She looked even the oldest, most hardened in the eye when she spoke to them. She knew her facts, fought for their rights, but refused to allow them to push her around no matter how upset they were.

Still, at the end of a very long and trying day, after going out to boat after boat to retrieve mostly drunks who didn’t know how to dock a boat, she wasn’t in the best of moods and she had snapped at Bernice Fulton. Sam was right. She didn’t do things like that. He’d kept his cool. He always did. Sam didn’t snap at anyone. Of course, he didn’t talk to anyone. He didn’t have to. He turned that stare of his on anyone giving him a bad time and they stopped.

When he got aboard a party boat with five women in bikinis, all of whom were throwing themselves at him, he barely glanced at them. He simply brought the boat in, tied it off and didn’t even gallantly help the drunk women onto the pier. He just walked off, leaving them to Bernice. Stella knew, because she’d been watching. It had been the only thing she’d laughed at the entire evening.

Stella was having nightmares every night now. She wasn’t able to sleep after them, which meant she was getting very little sleep. That certainly contributed to her growing crankiness. Not being able to discuss her uneasiness and the alarm she felt with anyone added to her irritability. She had no idea what to do in order to protect her friends or those she knew living in the area.

“Bernice will be happy you’re clearing the air, Stella, but it isn’t telling me why you’re upset. What’s going on?”

She took another sip of her coffee and regarded the glowing surface of the lake. A little shiver of apprehension went through her. There was no talking to anyone about this. Not even Sam. She had to figure this out on her own, at least until she knew Sam wasn’t involved in any way. He’d arrived two years earlier. He didn’t talk to anyone. He was a complete loner. He could shove his belongings into a pack and be gone in minutes.

Sam was good at every outdoor activity. He was extremely strong. He had scars all over his body, indicating something terrible had happened to him at some point in his life. Psychologically, what did that do to a person? She’d tried to find out about him on the internet, looking him up, but there was nothing that she could discover. She couldn’t imagine Sam being a killer of innocent people, but she had to know before she trusted him enough to talk to him.

She could feel Sam’s eyes on her and knew he wasn’t going to let it go. She was acting differently. She’d snapped at an employee. She’d locked her house. She was obviously upset.

“What made you decide to bring me coffee this morning, Sam?”

He didn’t bring her coffee every morning. He didn’t make her dinner every evening. He didn’t stop by her house to watch movies every night. She never invited him. He just showed up. When he did, he always cooked dinner. He brought beer. He never asked for anything. Never. He never once stepped over the line to so much as kiss her. She’d been tempted to kiss him more than once, but she never crossed that line with him either. She was afraid he’d just walk away, and she wanted him in her life however she could have him.