Murder at Sunrise Lake

Stella could still remember the chilling way her father had looked at her. She’d been afraid of him for the first time. She knew she hadn’t broken the camera. It was the first time she realized that her mother lied. That frightened her and she’d felt very alone. She didn’t remember how old she was.

“It’s never a good time when we find out our parents might be monsters, like your father, or have feet of clay, like your mother,” Harlow said, her gaze glued to the catalogue she was scrutinizing. She glanced up for a moment. “Do you think any of us comes from normal? I mean anybody alive? Do we even know what normal is, or do we just make it up in our heads because the movies and television convinced us there is a normal?”

Stella raised an eyebrow. “That’s a good question, and one I don’t have an answer for, but I don’t think most people have serial killers for fathers.”

“I think the camera thing with your mother happened before the nightmares, Stella, so in a way, you can thank your mother for helping you stop serial killers. I know it sucks to be you when it happens, but at least you stop them eventually from killing. There is a similar-looking knob. In your next dream, try twisting it a little to the right and see if it widens your range of vision. If it doesn’t, no worries, we’ll keep working on it. You’re using your mind, not actual fingers, so you really can’t hurt anything. Don’t panic in your dream thinking you’re going to harm anything. If you have to, pretend I’m with you, taking the photographs for you. Just imagine that I’m twisting the knob to the right.”

“You’re so brilliant, Harlow.” Stella meant it too. “Misha is out of her bed and pacing. I think she’s trying to tell you something. I’ll get Bailey if you’re ready.” She was more than ready to stretch her legs.

At the lake she spent hours and hours picking up trash after everyone left. She was lucky that when she had a clean-up day, volunteers showed up with their own supplies to help— that was the kind of community she lived in— but there was always trash. She walked Bailey every morning and took a trash bag. In the evening she did the same after the last of the campers left and they closed everything down.

She was used to being extremely active. Sitting even for a short period of time made her antsy— especially now. During the season, there was no time to do anything but work. If she took a day off, she climbed or hiked. She needed the time away to clear her mind. She was busy every minute of the day from sunrise until well after midnight. Sam had taken a great deal of pressure off her, and she had gathered the best staff and crew together over the years. That helped tremendously. They worked hard and she appreciated every single one of them.

Misha leapt at the back door as Stella went out the front door to get Bailey out of her 4Runner. He was already waiting for her, eager for the walk. He waited for her release command before leaping out and then he raced around the studio to the back to meet with Misha, who was already eagerly yipping her joyous greeting.

Stella found herself smiling. Happy. That was one of the things she loved about dogs. They lived in the moment. They took joy in whatever they were doing. Both Misha and Bailey loved to run along the canal, and they knew the way Harlow and Stella jogged or walked. Neither needed a leash. Everyone knew them and who they belonged to. They could play tag together and find every interesting crawling creature and rodent available.

It was much warmer at the lower elevation and Stella wore a light sweater over her T-shirt. She could always tie it around her waist if she got too hot. The October weather cut down on the mosquitoes, which was helpful, but she was always careful anyway, carrying repellent with her. The same with tick repellent, although, if truth be told, she was more vigilant with Bailey than herself. Her dog was always protected.

“Where’s Vienna today? I thought she had several days off in a row. Wasn’t she going to try to train her cat to go for a walk with Misha?”

“Vienna was called into work just before I got your call, an emergency. Denver had to go in as well. Big accident, two trucks, head-on. It sounded bad.”

“That’s awful.”

“As for her cat and canal walking, yeah, that didn’t go so well. Her prissy little princess wanted to ride on Misha’s back, claws dug in deep, not walk on the ground.”

The two women looked at each other and burst out laughing. The cat was the love of Vienna’s life and spoiled rotten. The animal ruled, although she never admitted it. She always indicated she was determined to have the cat come along on their adventures with the dogs. The cat never did. She lived in a “palace” and was snobby, turning up her nose at most food and demanding to be brushed and petted when Vienna was close. She would get annoyed if Vienna was gone too long and turn her back on her owner for long periods of time in a little snit. They all thought the “princess” was aptly named and loved to hear stories about her.