Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Christine Feehan

  “I see where you’re going with this.” Stella rubbed at the goose bumps rising on her arms. “I’ve thought about the why of my nightmares a million times. Why one serial killer and not another. If it was just the close proximity, then yes, I should have dreamt of the one while I was in college, but I didn’t.”

  That familiar little chill went down her spine, the one she got when she knew she was on the right track—and she didn’t want to be. She bit her lip and avoided Raine’s eyes, her stomach churning again.

  “Obviously, I had a physical connection to Jose Fernandez, my father. I lived in the same house with him and he picked me up. We were a family,” she said.

  “There was no obvious connection to the second one, when you were a teenager, Stella,” Raine said. “I searched. I got into the FBI files and couldn’t find anything. I even went back to the original police files when your foster mother took you to them to report your nightmare. There was nothing to indicate you had any physical contact with the killer.”

  Stella pressed her fist against her chest. Admitting it aloud meant that she knew this serial killer. That she’d touched him. She’d known it, of course, somewhere deep down, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself just yet.

  “Elizabeth loved her coffee and she would take me to this one shop all the time. It was where we would go for our discussions, as she always called them. I think she wanted to make them fun, so it was always an outing. He was a customer there. He was there a few times when we were there. I only noticed him because he dropped his wallet going back to his table. I had been in line behind him. I picked it up and brought it to him. When I put it on his table, he thanked me, and when I went to turn away, he caught my arm and asked if he could buy our coffee. I thought that was sweet, but said no and thanked him for the offer. So, he had touched me. It wasn’t much of a connection, but there had been physical contact.”

  “You said you saw him more than once in the coffee shop. Did you ever have physical contact again?” Raine asked.

  Stella nodded. “He wasn’t there often when we were. Maybe four or five times. Elizabeth never spoke to him. I don’t think she even noticed him. But I slipped on some spilled coffee when I went up to get our drinks and he caught me, kept me from falling. I remember laughing and saying we were even for the wallet.”

  “That was before he started killing?”

  “As far as I know. It was before the nightmares started, at least a year before. Elizabeth was diagnosed and our world was turning upside down.” She swallowed hard. “We thought she had beat it. She had a double mastectomy, did chemo, and we were told she was good to go. She followed up, but everything looked good.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stella. I can see why you wouldn’t have even thought about having ever laid eyes on the killer.”

  “He looked different at the time, but I recognized him after they arrested him. I never saw him in one of my nightmares. I just didn’t think it was pertinent to tell the FBI that I’d seen him in a coffee shop after he was arrested. I just didn’t care, not with Elizabeth so sick. All that mattered to me was getting her better.”

  Raine sighed. “The serial killer here has to be someone you physically have come in contact with.”

  Stella nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s most likely the case, but I come in contact with a lot of people during the season, Raine.” She tacked on the last because this killer wasn’t one of her friends. It absolutely wasn’t. She had to believe that.

  “You’re certain it’s a male.”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s not Sam.” Raine didn’t take her gaze from Stella’s, looking her steadily in the eye. “You’re absolutely certain the killer from this dream isn’t Sam.”

  Stella didn’t hesitate. “I’m absolutely certain. Sam would protect me with his life.”

  Raine visibly relaxed, taking her at her word. “You have good instincts. I’m grateful you have him, because he’s a huge asset to you. So far, who have you told about this?”

  “I still have to bring Shabina and Vienna in. I’m trying to go slow and tell only those who need to know so there’s no chance of tipping off the killer. I have no idea who he is, but even if he doesn’t live and work here, if he’s a temporary, he’s still here. It’s hard to keep one’s facial expressions from showing anything if you know ahead of time it’s murder and not an accident.”

  Her greatest fear was that the killer was a local, someone they all knew.

  “You have to bring Vienna into the loop. She’s head of Search and Rescue, Stella. She has to know, if she’s called, what she’s facing.”

  Stella rubbed her suddenly pounding temples. “And then what? She treats it as a crime scene instead of an accident? What if the killer is watching? What if he’s close enough and that makes her a target? I don’t want him suddenly putting his sights on her.”

  “Vienna always treats every accident as a crime scene, you know that. She’s careful. Everyone knows that about her. She’s going to be first on scene if we can’t save these people. She’ll know what to look for. She’ll be able to preserve evidence. We have to trust her.”

  “I trust Vienna implicitly,” Stella assured. “She’s always putting herself at risk, Raine. Of anyone, her life is on the line on these rescues. She’s the one hanging off a cliff when some idiot climbs way beyond their level. She goes out in a snowstorm, risking her life, to find a family who should never have gone for a drive in the snow. I know what Vienna is willing to do to keep others safe. She doesn’t keep herself that safe. The minute I tell her what’s going on, she’ll find a way to be on Whitney.”

  “I think we’re all going to find a way to be on Whitney,” Raine agreed. “Tell her tomorrow after your dream. That way you’ll know whether the couple dropped their backpacks at Trail Crest and have their day packs on. I’ll try to find permits and go through them for couples that might be planning to summit Whitney in the two days after tomorrow to see if we can get ahead of him. That’s all we can do, Stella.” She glanced out the window. “The dogs have been patient with us. We can take them for a walk and get all this out of our heads for a little while.”

  Stella was more than happy to do just that.

  * * *

  —

  Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.

  There was no mistake about it, the two backpackers were making their way up to the top of Whitney, day packs on their backs. Stella could make them out in the early morning light. Gray streaks glimmered through what had appeared as unrelenting darkness and both turned off their headlamps as they continued at a steady pace.

  Occasionally the woman seemed to call out to him to stop and both would look at the wide, sweeping views. Stella had been there more than once and she knew what they were experiencing. The climb was worth every strenuous moment. There was nothing like the beauty of the Sierras, and from atop Whitney, aside from the achievement, the breathtaking views felt like sitting on top of the world. The trail was only two or so miles from Trail Crest to the summit. There was only the one switchback left that could give the two climbers any trouble, and so far, Stella didn’t feel the killer’s presence. He hadn’t followed them from Trail Crest. Perhaps he was waiting for their descent?

  Her heart started to accelerate and she immediately calmed herself. This might be the last night for her clues, but she wouldn’t panic. That was the point of all this, gathering every piece of information she could get in order to save these two individuals. She forced herself to be that onlooker, taking in every single detail, looking for the tiniest shape of a rock or an outcropping she might be able to make out in the dim lighting so she could sketch it and hopefully find the exact location if they missed them at Trail Crest.

  The female hadn’t shown any signs of altitude sickness. She might be a relatively new backpacker, but she had trained for this hike. Her partner must have stressed the importa
nce of it, or she was a natural at this kind of altitude.

  Altitude sickness was nothing to mess around with, and many seasoned hikers fell prey to it. One had to recognize the first signs of it. Headache, nausea, shortness of breath. Legs refusing to cooperate no matter how hard you commanded them to move. Stella knew, she’d had it happen. She’d been careful, going slow, eating the right foods, but still, anything over eight thousand feet was always a risk, a fifty-fifty shot for her. She would try to camp every thousand feet or so if she could when she was preparing for a mountain like Whitney, but it didn’t always guarantee she was going to dodge the altitude sickness that sometimes prevailed, even if it was mild.

  The woman said something again to the male and he stopped, came back to her, and they looked out toward the early morning sunrise. It was still too early for the sun to climb high enough to illuminate the granite. He indicated the summit, clearly telling her that if they could make it to the top to watch the sunrise, it would be worth it. She nodded and they started out once again.

  Stella felt him then. Just a thin, ominous threat carried on the wind blowing across the open trail. He was like a dark film infiltrating the beauty of the early morning. Sly. Cunning. A sinister presence creeping into the picturesque setting. She couldn’t tell where he was. Behind them? In front of them? She should be able to see him. Why couldn’t she?

  She took several deep breaths in an effort to remain calm. It wasn’t like there were places to hide. The early morning light was beginning to reveal more and more, and the killer couldn’t hide in the shadows for much longer. She found herself straining to see through the gray, looking for him.

  The couple continued upward toward the summit, and as they came around the last switchback, there was a person huddled right on the edge, rocking back and forth, head in hands, pack beside him, clearly suffering altitude sickness. It wasn’t uncommon to get so close and not be able to make even the last five hundred feet, or think one couldn’t make it. She’d had it happen where her legs just refused to work.

  Stella observed the individual as the couple approached him. Clearly it was a man, although it was impossible to tell his size or even his build. He wore a dark rain hoodie over his jacket, the hood covering his hair and shielding his face. The closer the couple got to him, the more that ominous, pervasive feeling of menace grew.

  She tried to yell to the couple to stay back, but already the male had hesitated in his forward progress. He obviously spoke to the killer, who shook his head and indicated he felt sick.

  The male took out his water and walked over to the killer, the female trailing behind him. Stella cried out a warning, but nothing could be heard. She could only watch helplessly as the killer, who had feigned altitude sickness, rose suddenly. In a blur of motion, he gripped the male with both hands and turned so the male hiker teetered on the edge of the cliff. Oddly, it looked as if he reached out and caught at the hiker’s left ring finger as he shoved him.

  The female stood frozen, in clear shock. It had taken the killer all of two seconds or less to throw the male over the side. She probably had no idea what actually happened. The killer turned to face her and she opened her mouth to scream. Before a sound could escape, he was on her, one hand slamming over her mouth as he shoved her right to the very edge. He held her there a moment.

  Stella couldn’t imagine how the poor girl felt, looking down, knowing she was going to die. She didn’t understand what the killer was doing, but he appeared to hold her finger, the way he’d done to the male, slowly, cruelly, tipping her over the edge. Then the woman was gone, out of Stella’s sight, and only the killer remained, crouched down, looking around him to make certain there were no signs that he was there.

  He didn’t go up to the summit but, head down, body slumped, began to make his way back down as though he’d already made the climb and was on his way down to Trail Crest. The lens snapped closed and she couldn’t stop it, although she tried.

  * * *

  —

  She had never gotten a clear view of him. Not his face, not his size. Not one identifying mark. He could have been anyone. He was faceless, shrouded in his hood, stooped over, and no doubt if he met anyone on the trail he would feign altitude sickness. If he heard them coming, he would lie down, curl up, and wave them on, assuring them he would be fine, he was hydrating. They would never see his face or actual build.

  She woke, wanting to scream out her frustration, but at least she knew the couple would drop their backpacks at Trail Crest. There would be a two-day window for the killer between this nightmare and when he struck. They would have to monitor Trail Crest for couples in those two days, but surely they could stop the couple from climbing.

  She tried not to think about James Marley and how the killer had murdered him when he hadn’t been able to kill his first victim. If they saved the first couple, would he simply select someone else to kill and take them instead?

  “Stella, you already know you have to work through this,” Sam’s calm voice came. Always reassuring. “You write it down and sketch it. You’re going to talk to Vienna today. Raine said she’d look for permits. Vienna and I will go up Whitney. It makes sense for us to go. We’re the ones they’d call for Search and Rescue and we can easily make an argument that we need to figure out faster and better methods to get to people in trouble. Vienna will be able to get us onto the trail both days.”

  Stella knew he didn’t want her there, but she also knew that made perfect sense as well. “You’re right, it’s just hard to see him murder two innocent people. He pretended to have altitude sickness and they were going to help him. I hate that doing something nice for someone got them killed.”

  “I know, sweetheart,” he said gently. “We’re going to stop him.”

  Stella hoped he was right. It was just that watching the killer, he seemed so invincible somehow. So completely bold, hiding in plain sight. Usually, there were several people on the trail that early in the morning, but somehow his luck held.

  * * *

  —

  Vienna Mortenson was tall, blonde and gorgeous, with the looks of a supermodel. Her Scandinavian ancestry was very evident in her pale hair and large green eyes. She hadn’t come from money, but she made it by playing cards, and she’d put herself through nursing school with her earnings. She was a serious card player, eventually playing high-stakes poker in Vegas, although she kept a fairly low profile when possible. She said it was never good to get the wrong people interested in you. Some were very sore losers.

  Stella knew very little about Vienna’s life other than that she had a mother she sent money to, paying her rent and utilities in Las Vegas. She knew her mother lived with someone, but Stella didn’t have a clue who that person was, if they were related or anything about them, and Vienna never said.

  Vienna’s house was small but very neat, everything in its place. Every single piece of furniture had been chosen with care. She took her time deciding on what she wanted in chairs for her living room or the kitchen table. She wasn’t a person to be rushed over personal decisions, yet she could think fast in a crisis, making decisions that saved lives when others depended on her.

  Her cat ruled the household. Princess, the white Persian, had a bed in every room. She had a climbing castle and scratching walls everywhere, in every possible shape that could please the finicky animal. The smug little feline strutted around to show Stella she was the boss, especially since Stella “stunk” of Bailey.

  Stella didn’t dare bring Bailey into Vienna’s home. Bailey had good manners and would have curled up in a corner and calmly waited for Stella and Vienna to finish their visit. She knew because they’d tried. Princess would have none of the invader in her home. She’d attacked him, chomping on his giant paw, racing up his hind end, clawing her way to his back to try to ride him to the front door.

  Bailey had made it abundantly clear that unless he got to retaliate in a bi
g way, he was staying in the 4Runner and Stella could visit Vienna and her vicious cat alone. He was not protecting her.

  “Bailey looks miserable out there,” Vienna said, turning away from the window to give her cat the best glare she could muster up. It wasn’t much of one.

  Stella feared for any children Vienna might have if she ever ventured down that path. “He’s just fine. He’s sulking. Princess is the only cat that’s never fallen in love with him. He can’t understand why she thinks he’s a barbarian.”

  “I’m sorry about your father, Stella,” Vienna said suddenly. She crossed the living room again to look down at the sketches Stella had made. “He’s in prison?”

  “Yes. I don’t have any contact with him, but I make certain to know what’s going on with him so I don’t get blindsided if suddenly, by some miracle, he gets out.”

  Vienna sank down into one of her beautiful and very comfortable chairs. No leather for Vienna. She liked material with extra padding in her chairs, a thick wall of stuffing draped over a sturdy frame that promised to last for years; her chairs either glided or raised to give one a nice foot rest. Where she managed to find her furniture, Stella didn’t know, but it came from taking her time and not settling.

  “I think Sam is right, the two of us should go up there. It would be natural for us to go up there together. No one would question it, Stella.”

  “Do you have time off?”

  “I’ve got tomorrow off and can trade. It’s done all the time. I can say I have a chance to do this and the weather is holding. The holidays are coming up so someone will want to trade with me.”

  “It’s terrifying to think that he’ll just switch victims like he did with Marley,” Stella said. “That’s another huge fear. That I save two victims and condemn someone else to death.”