Stella deliberately avoided the marina and walked in the dark to reach the family pier. This dock was not one the original owners drove their boat to—they used the marina’s piers for that. This one was private, one to enjoy the sunrises and sunsets, just as she was doing now. The dock had been positioned perfectly to catch the beauty of the mountains mirrored in the lake as the sun rose or set. She never got tired of the view.
She was so familiar with the layout of the grounds that she barely needed the small penlight as she maneuvered the narrow path that took her away from the main buildings, the small grocery store, the bait shop, the collection of cabins and the play areas designated for children and game areas for adults.
The trail took her behind the campsites and RV sites to an even narrower path that led through a pile of boulders and into a heavily forested area. Once through the trees, she was back to the shoreline. It seemed like a ridiculous place to put a pier, but she liked the peace when she needed it most—like now. Tourists didn’t know the way to reach the pier, and that meant precious solitude when she had a few hours—or a day to herself.
Fall had arrived, and with it the glorious colors that only the Eastern Sierras could cloak her with. She loved every season in the Sierras, but fall was definitely a favorite. The cooler weather after the summer heat was always welcome. There was still fishing, and tourists were still coming, but things were slowing down so she could take a breath. Climbing was still a possibility, and she loved climbing.
Then there was just the sheer beauty of the blazing reds, all the various shades, from crimson to a flat, almost purple-red on the leaves of many of the trees. The oranges were the same, all the varying shades. She hadn’t known there were so many shades, subtle to brilliant orange, golds and yellows, the colors vying for attention even among the varying greens, until she came to the Eastern Sierras.
The mountains rose above the lake; forests of trees pressed together so tightly they seemed impenetrable from a distance. The mountains stretched for miles, canyons and rivers, amazing forests and scarred, beautiful rock found nowhere else. This was the place of legends, and she had come to love it and the ever-changing landscape.
Stella sat on the end of the thick planks making up the pier and stared out over the water of the icy lake. Fed by the high mountain rivers and snowpack, Sunrise Lake was a huge bowl of deep sapphire-colored water. A light breeze ruffled the surface, but for the most part, the water gleamed like glass. Sometimes the incomparable beauty of this place stole her breath. It didn’t seem to matter what time of year it was, the lake and surrounding mountains always had such elegance and majesty to them.
Bailey curled up beside her, close, the way he always did when she sat on the end of the pier. He went right back to sleep, never knowing how long she planned to sit, waiting for the sun to come up. She wished Bailey could talk so she could at least have someone to sound out important things with—like murder—but when she’d tried, the dog gave her a look like she’d lost her mind and shoved his face in her lap, inviting her to scratch his ears. Taking advantage. That was her beloved Bailey.
There was no warning. A hand touched her shoulder and she nearly threw herself forward off the dock into the lake. Bailey didn’t even look up or make a sound. The hand caught her in a firm grip before she could tumble off the pier. She turned her head to glare up at the man towering over her. Sam Rossi was one of those men who could walk in absolute silence. Sometimes, like now, he freaked her out. He was too rough to call gorgeous, with his chiseled masculine features, all angles and planes. His jaw was always covered in a dark shadow that never was a beard, yet never was shaved. He rarely smiled, if ever, and when he did, that smile never quite reached his arctic-cold eyes.
He had a body on him. Wide shoulders. Thick chest. Lots of muscle. He was strong. She knew because she employed him as a handyman and he had to do all sorts of jobs that required unbelievable strength. He had to have knowledge of boats, carpentry, fishing, climbing and most outdoor activities, and so far, he hadn’t let her down once.
He had scars. Lots of them. He took his shirt off when it was hot as hell and he had to work outside. Not so much when there were others around, usually only her, or when he was a good distance from others, but she’d seen the scars, and those scars weren’t pretty. They weren’t the kinds of scars one acquired in a car accident. It looked like the skin had been flayed from his back. He’d been shot more than once. He had a few knife scars, for certain. She hadn’t looked closely. She’d made it a point not to stare, although she’d wanted to. She’d never asked and he’d never volunteered an explanation.
“Quit sneaking up on me,” she snapped irritably as she reached for the coffee he had in his other hand, clearly meant for her.
He pulled the to-go mug out of reach and sat down, Bailey between them, ignoring her outstretched hand.
“Sam.” She practically growled his name. He couldn’t bring the aroma of her favorite brew and then withhold it.
He quirked an eyebrow at her. Evidently, he thought he could. He set the mug on the opposite side of his body so there was no way she could lunge over the dog and grab it. Ignoring her, Sam calmly drank from his mug and looked out over the lake. Bailey didn’t even help her by biting him. Or lifting his head and growling.
“Did you come out here just to annoy me?” Stella demanded.
He didn’t answer. She knew he could keep the silent treatment up forever. It was like his annoying nickname for her. He called her Satine in that silly voice—Satine from the lead character in the movie Moulin Rouge! Well, not that he had a silly voice exactly; he had a low, mesmerizing, sexy-as-hell voice. Fortunately, he didn’t call her Satine in front of anyone else. He didn’t talk much, so it never came up when her friends were around.
She was not one to be embarrassed by much, not even when she was caught in a ridiculous situation, but because she harbored a slight crush on Sam, she found things she normally would laugh at nearly humiliating.
She loved the movie Moulin Rouge! Loved it. It was her go-to movie when she was in a funk and wanted a pity party. She didn’t have them often, but when she did, she played that movie and cried her eyes out. When she wanted to watch something that made her heart sing, she played Moulin Rouge! and ate popcorn and cried and laughed.
Stella didn’t even know how it happened that Sam had come in while she was having a pity party, but he had. He sat down and watched the movie with her. After that, he’d joined her more than once and seemed to watch her more than the movie. As usual, he didn’t say anything, he just shook his head as if she were a little nutty and walked out afterward. She didn’t even know if he liked the movie, but if he didn’t, he had no soul, which she shouted after him. He didn’t even turn around.
She knew every song by heart, and every single morning, when she did her exercises, she played the songs, sang to them and danced. At night she did her fitness routine to them and did a little burlesque show. Naturally, Sam had walked in just as she was kicking her leg over a chair and she didn’t quite make it and landed on her butt. That was the first time.
She loved to do aerial silks as a form of exercise. Because the house was two stories and open, she had her own rigging in her home and practiced some nights. Of course, when she’d gotten tangled for a moment and was upside down, desperately trying to get her foot unlocked from the silks, music blaring, he had walked in.
The third time she was doing a very cool and sexy (if she didn’t say so herself) booty shake to the floor and back up again. Naturally, he would be leaning against the doorjamb watching, arms crossed over his chest, those dark eyes of his on her. She could never tell what he was thinking because he had no expression on his face.
He took to calling her Satine in a low, dramatic movie voice every now and then. She wanted to glare at him but it always made her laugh. He didn’t share the laugh with her, but his dark eyes sometimes went velvet soft and he
r stomach would do a strange little roller coaster loop, which irritated the crap out of her.
“Seriously, Bailey, what kind of watchdog are you?” She sighed as she sank her fingers into her dog’s curly fur. There was no getting around the fact that now that coffee was in her reach, she needed it. “Sam, thank you for thinking to bring me coffee. I appreciate it so much.”
Since she did appreciate him bringing coffee, it was easy to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, although a part of her wanted to be sarcastic. Maybe push him off her private dock into the snow-fed freezing-cold water. He’d no doubt find a way to drag her into the water with him, so she couldn’t even get satisfaction that way.
Without a word Sam handed her the to-go mug. She gratefully took her first sip as they both watched the breeze play with the surface of the water. She stole a quick look at Sam’s face. Fortunately, Sam never smirked. He was a restful person in that he never demanded anything from her. Sometimes she was so exhausted at the end of the day she didn’t want to have to give one tiny bit of herself to anyone.
Those days, Sam would be on her deck grilling vegetables and steak or whatever, as if he knew she’d had a terrible day and didn’t want to talk. He’d indicate the cooler and there would be ice-cold beer in it. She’d grab one for herself, hand him one and go sit in her favorite swing chair hanging from the ceiling covering the porch. He never asked anything of her. She never asked anything of him. That was the best part of their strange relationship. He just seemed to know when things were bad for her. She didn’t question when he’d show up and make things better or how he seemed to know she needed a little care.
She sighed and took another sip of coffee, her hand moving through Bailey’s fur. She’d found a few things made life great. This place and its beauty. Her dog. Coffee. Her five friends. Her favorite movie of all time and maybe Sam Rossi. She wasn’t certain what category to put him in. They didn’t exactly have a relationship. Sam didn’t do relationships. Neither did she. They both had too many secrets.
The leaves on the trees closest to the pier were yellow and red, some orange, and they swayed with the breeze, creating a frame on either side of the wooden planks at the shoreline. Many of the leaves had dropped on the boulders where the lake’s waters lapped at the shore. On the pier, where the breeze sent the leaves spiraling down over the wood, it had turned into a carpet of blazing color.
The sun was just beginning to rise and the colors shifted subtly. Rays began to spread across the water. They were low at first. A golden globe barely seen reflected in the deep pools of the sapphire lake. The sight was pure magic, the reason Stella lived here. She felt connected to the real world. Humbled by nature. As the golden sphere began to rise, the trees took on a different look altogether. The ball looked as if it grew in the water, spreading out across the lake, shimmering beneath the surface like a golden treasure.
Stella kept her gaze on the sphere. It appeared to be moving, as if alive. Each sunrise was different. The colors, the way it presented in the water. The magic. She couldn’t always get to her favorite spot to watch the dramatic entrance, but she tried. There were always the sounds of the morning accompanying sunrise. The melodies of the early birds. Some were the songs of the males defining their territories. Some birds had beautiful musical qualities while others seemed to be raspy.
She listened for the way the birds sang; some ended on high notes while others let their notes trail off low. Some called out on a single coarser pitch as if they had just greeted one another or called out to say, I’m here! She enjoyed her early morning solitude before the sun actually rose and she could see which birds were up with her.
She noticed the hum of bees and skitter of lizards in the leaves. There was always the drone of insects, the cicadas calling. It was all part of nature she could count on there in the Eastern Sierras. It didn’t matter what time of year, there was always something that gave her that connection she needed to the earth itself instead of the insanity that made up a world she didn’t seem to fit into or understand.
“You gonna talk to me?”
Stella’s stomach was already in knots. She needed to talk to someone. If she was going to talk to anyone, it would be Sam, but what was she going to say? She sent him a look from under her lashes, hoping he wouldn’t see fear in her eyes. That was the thing about Sam. He was far too observant. He noticed everything. Details everyone else missed.
She wasn’t the talking type. What did she really know about him? She wanted to trust him. He was the only man who came and went from her home, but she didn’t know him. She didn’t know a single thing about his life. She didn’t even know if he was married or had children. She didn’t know if he was running from the police, although looking at him, she knew instinctively, if he was on the run, it wasn’t from something as mundane as the cops. Sam would be hiding from some international crime he’d committed, one the CIA or Homeland Security would know about and no one else.
As a rule, Stella knew everything there was to know about her employees, but not Sam. When she’d asked him to work for her, he had been a little reluctant. In the end, he had said he’d work for cash only. Under the table. She didn’t usually go for that. She kept everything strictly legal, but she was desperate for a really good worker who knew the kinds of things Sam knew. At the time, nearly every cabin needed renovations. Electricity, plumbing, walls crumbling. So much work. Motors on the boats. She needed him more than he needed her. She’d hired him thinking it would be for a short period of time. That short period had turned into over two years.
She stayed silent. Took another drink of coffee. Kept looking at the lake. What was there to say that didn’t make her look as if she were losing her mind? Nothing. There was nothing she could say. Even if she revealed her past, blew her carefully constructed lie of a life, what would be the point? There was no proof, and she doubted if she could get any proof that accidents weren’t going to be accidents and a serial killer was on the loose. As of that moment, even the fisherman hadn’t been found dead because no crime had been committed—yet. The killer would strike in two days. She needed to drive around the lake and look for the location.
“Been here over two years now, Stella. You never once locked that door. You don’t snap at the workers, especially if they make a mistake. That’s not your way.”
She didn’t look at him again. Instead, she kept her eyes on the lake. The tranquil lake that was so deep and could hold countless bodies if someone weighed them down. Above the lake the mountains rose with all the beautiful trees. So many places to bury bodies no one would ever find. Hot springs. Some of the hot springs were hot enough to decompose a body.
Without thinking, she pressed her fingers to her mouth the way she’d done when she was a child to keep from blurting out anything she shouldn’t say. A habit. A bad habit she’d worked to get over, and now it was back. Just that fast. Her fingers trembled and she wanted to sit on them. She hoped he didn’t notice, but he saw everything. She knew he did. Sam was that type of man. She dropped her hand back into Bailey’s fur. Buried her shaking fingers deep.
“Satine, you want help, I’m right here, but you gotta talk. Use your words, woman.”
“Did I really do that? Snap at someone because they made a mistake?” She did turn her head and look at him then. “Did I do that to you, Sam?”
His tough features softened for just a moment. Those dark eyes of his turned almost velvet, drifting over her. Unsettling her. “No, it was Bernice at the boat rentals the other day.”
Stella pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. She had done that. Not yelled. But definitely been snippy. Okay. More than snippy. She was not a boss to be snippy or short with her employees. Bernice Fulton was older and had worked for her for over five years. She would take it to heart. “I’ll talk to her.”
That day was unusually hot, when everyone had been expecting the cooler fall weather. Because it was, those stayi
ng 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.
Murder at Sunrise Lake Page 2