Sara was petite, with a feminine but athletic body, and rarely wore a bra; she’d never seen the need under a chef’s coat and had gotten out of the habit over the years. There was no one here to see her, anyway and frankly, at this point, she wouldn’t have cared if there was. She walked back to the white leather bench seat in the back of the boat and lay down, holding her shirt to her head, and closed her eyes against the pounding rays of the sun.
Chapter Three
Sam Draper walked into the police department and wordlessly handed a cup of coffee to the older woman at the front desk, before she walked through the double doors and down the hall to her office. When she’d first joined the force in McCall, almost twenty years ago, the same woman had taken an instant dislike to her. Sam was very fit, taller than she was by a good four inches, and wore her dark hair in a stylish but masculine cut. It was the mid-nineties in a small mountain town, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Beth Thompson didn’t like her. She was civil, and did her job well, but she never looked Sam in the eyes or made small talk like she did with the other officers. Technically, she was a receptionist, but in reality, everyone knew that the person at the front desk was the eyes and ears of the force, and Beth took her job seriously.
About a year after she’d started, Sam knocked on the door of the Chief of Police and asked if he had a moment.
“Absolutely,” he said, clearing a stack of papers off his desk by dropping them in a pile on the floor behind it. “What can I do for you?”
She shut the door behind her and sat across from him in one of the two leather chairs. “Sir, I know Beth at the front desk isn’t my biggest fan, but I’ve never given her a reason to dislike me. You’ve known her for years, and I was wondering if you had any advice on turning that around.”
The captain looked at his desk and tapped a pencil on the calendar that covered it. “Why do you think she has a problem with you?”
Sam wondered if she was supposed to answer that frankly or if he was just asking if she’d ever had a run-in with her. He sat quietly behind the desk, waiting for her answer, and she decided to say what she really thought.
“I think it’s because I look a little too much like you,” Sam said.
Chief Draper pointed the pencil at her with a chuckle. “Well said.”
“Unfortunately,” Sam said, “I’m fresh out of dresses, so I’ve got to find some other way to make her see past this.” She ran her hand through her hair, turning it into a ruffled mess without realizing it.
They sat there in silence for a minute or two after that, turning the issue over in their minds, until Chief Draper said, “You’ve been on the force now for a year, right?”
Sam nodded.
“So what’s Beth’s biggest pet peeve?”
Sam thought about the last time she’d seen her really annoyed. It’d been in the break room, and Beth had come through on her break, coffee mug in hand, only to find the pot empty. She’d muttered something under her breath about being the only one who actually worked, then turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall, a trail of resentment following her.
“She hates it when there’s no coffee,” Sam replied, wondering where he was going with all this. The Chief looked out his window and nodded in the direction of Main Street.
“Don’t you pass Moxie Java every morning on your way into work?”
It didn’t take long for that to sink in, and Sam shot her father a smile on the way out the door.
Since that day, Sam had brought Beth a coffee every day on the way into the station and handed it to her as she passed. Even when she transferred to the Lake Patrol Division, housed in a different wing of the station, she still brought one if she knew she’d be going by the front desk, by now out of habit more than anything else. Beth thawed toward Sam after a few months, and years later, one of her colleagues told her that when a visiting officer in the break room referred to her as that dyke, Beth had gotten up from her chair, calmly poured the rest of her coffee into his lap, and returned to her desk.
But now there was a new Chief of Police; Sam’s father had passed away a year earlier. Sam had considered leaving the force but stayed to head the Lake Patrol division as Captain, although she made a point to walk past her father’s old office as little as possible. When she finally reached her office, she gathered the paperwork she needed to complete her rounds for the day and headed out towards the docks where the patrol boats were located. She always drove the same boat, and getting out on the open water was the best part of every day. In most places, crime happens on the streets, but in a small town dominated by a massive body of water, the majority of the excitement happened out on the water.
Sam patrolled the edge of the shoreline, looking for anything out of place, but the lake was quiet for a Thursday; not even the usual speeding water-skiers were present. She headed towards the north shore, unwrapping a ham sandwich from her backpack with one hand as she steered toward the Ponderosa National Forest. Camp Montauk came into view as she rounded the corner of the cove. Montauk was the largest youth camp in McCall; it was well known in the Northwest and a multi-million dollar property, including a two-story waterslide built on the side of the dock. Sam kept her eyes straight ahead.
As she increased her speed towards the northwest quadrant of the lake, a flash of blue to the right caught her attention. About three hundred yards from the far north shore, an older model Ski Nautique was drifting. Sam knew from the water patterns that the engine was not engaged, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in the boat. She accelerated toward it, then cut her engine. She utilized the currents of her wake to drift closer, picking up the radio to call back to the station when she saw what was onboard.
There was a blond female lying face up on the back seat with a bloody rag under her head. She was naked to the waist, and one arm was up to shield her face from the glare of the sun. She either didn’t hear Sam approaching or she was unconscious, but her eyes snapped open when Sam tethered her boat to the side of hers and stepped in.
“Who the hell are you?” Sara scrambled to her feet, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other grabbing the bloody shirt to hold to her chest.
Sam motioned her back toward the seat. “I’m Sam Draper with McCall PD Lake Patrol, and I need you to remain seated until you tell me what happened.”
Sara sat back down, holding her shirt against her body and looking through the glaring sun at the officer. She wore navy cargo pants and a crisp white uniform shirt, her gun clearly visible on her belt. Draper’s voice was professional, but Sara saw her glance at the bloody shirt before she stepped back over into the patrol boat. She took a navy jacket with MPD embroidered on the back from the captain’s chair and handed it to Sara, then discreetly looked away until she heard Sara zip the jacket up.
“Okay, ma’am,” Sam said. “I can see that you’re injured. Did you see who attacked you?”
Sara looked down without saying anything, and Sam took the opportunity to look around at the interior of the boat. Most of the blood was under the steering wheel, which indicated she was there when she was attacked.
“Did someone on the boat with you do this?” Sam said. “Or was it someone else you don’t know?”
Sara just shook her head, and when she looked up, Sam saw she was trying not to cry. She softened her voice and knelt down to her level.
“Whatever happened, I’m here to help you, okay? Just tell me who did this to you.”
Sara wiped a tear off her cheek with the heel of her hand. “My stupid boat attacked me.”
Sam took that in for a second. “So you were the only person on the boat when this happened?”
Sara nodded, then pointed to the control panel. “A big ski boat passed me and they had music blaring, so I leaned down for a second to find the radio.”
She had a definite southern accent, as if her words were covered in honey and clung together as she said them. Sam was willing to bet she was some rich girl from the south here on vaca
tion, and even if she wasn’t, she had no business driving a boat.
“So a boat had just driven by and then you leaned down?”
“Yes.”
“Did you feel like something knocked you off balance right after that?”
Sara looked up, surprised. “Yes! How did you know that?”
Sam shook her head and tried not to smile. She was almost cute wrapped up in her jacket and insisting that her own boat attacked her. Almost.
“It was like a car crash,” Sara continued. “But when I finally got up to see what I hit, nothing was there.” Sara paused and touched the wound on her head. “Wait,” she said. “What if I did hit another boat and it sank before I stood up?” The color drained from her face and Sam thought it was probably best to take a guess at what happened before she passed out from shock, which looked to be about three seconds away.
“Ma’am,” she said, leaning back on her heels and pointing at another boat in the distance. “If I had to guess, I’d say it was just bad timing.”
Sara shook her head, trying to understand how timing had anything to do with crashing her boat into another and possibly killing everyone on board. “What are you talking about? I probably just murdered someone!”
Sam had to look away to keep her composure. “You didn’t murder anyone,” she said, turning back to Sara. “It was bad timing in that when you leaned down to look at the controls, the wake from the other boat no doubt hit the side of yours at the same moment. And because you were bending down at the time, your center of gravity was off and you went headfirst into the panel.”
“Oh.” Sara squinted up at Sam, clearly not sure she believed her. “So you’re positive there was no other boat?”
“I’m positive.”
Sam stepped away to radio the station and Sara heard her ask dispatch to send an officer out to drive her boat back to town.
“I think I’m going to need more than that,” Sara said. “Like a towboat or whatever you call a tow truck for boats. On top of everything else, I somehow managed to break the engine.”
Sam turned to look at the controls and stepped behind the wheel. “What made you think it’s…broken?” Sam Draper was always professional, if even a little detached at times, but she was finding it hard to keep a straight face.
“Well, after it happened, I turned it on and it sputtered for a few seconds and then it died.” Sara pulled Sam’s jacket tighter around her shoulders. The sun was fading into golden afternoon light that hovered just above the water and the wind was picking up.
Sam leaned down to look under the wheel. She flipped a tiny chrome switch, then turned the key and the engine roared to life.
“When you fell, you must have hit the lever that switches the engine from one gas tank to the other,” Sam said. “It looks like the main tank is almost full, but the reserve was empty.”
“Oh,” Sara said slowly, “Which explains why it died right away.” She looked down at her hands and rubbed at the dried blood, then dipped them over the side of the boat to clean them.
“Do you think you’re steady enough to step over to my boat and let me take a look at that cut on your head?” Sam said. “I can get the EMS boat out here, but I think that might just need some butterfly stitches, and I have that in my medical supplies onboard.”
“No, I’m okay,” Sara said. “It’s just a scratch. I think I’m just going to head home before I have to try to find my dock in the dark.”
Sam shook her head. “I can’t let you drive with a head injury, so driving home is not an option.”
Sara stepped onto the side of the boat and almost lost her balance before Sam grabbed her waist and steadied her.
“Stay right there,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “If you think I’m going to let you jump from here to the patrol boat, you’re wrong.”
Sam held her eyes until Sara stepped down and allowed Sam help to her get safely into the patrol boat. Sam motioned for her to sit, then rummaged through the storage compartments until she found the medical kit.
Sara watched her as she prepped a cotton pad and touched it gently to her forehead. “Has anyone ever told you you’re scary?” Sara winced as Sam carefully cleaned the area around the cut with disinfectant.
Sam smiled. “I’ve heard it once or twice.”
Water lapped against the side of the boat and Sara watched the blinking lights on the control panel long enough to make herself dizzy.
“Do you think it needs stitches?”
“If it was me,” Sam said, “I wouldn’t bother with stitches, but you may feel differently if you’re worried about scarring.”
“It’s fine,” Sara said, lifting her chin slightly. “I’m not as fragile as I look.”
“Tough girl, huh?” Sam tried not to smile as she said it. “You’re going to get a chance to prove that when I start cleaning the actual cut; I haven’t touched it yet. Ready?”
Sara nodded, and put a hand on Sam’s knee to brace herself. To her credit, she breathed deeply and stayed still while Sam worked, even through applying the butterfly stitches, which Sam knew from experience wasn’t easy.
The second patrol boat pulled up soon after, and another officer in the same navy jacket stepped in, a younger man with broad shoulders and a military haircut.
“You want me to drive this rig back to the station, Captain Draper?”
“Thanks, Randy,” Sam said. “I’m going to drive her boat back to where she’s staying, and I’ll give you a call with the location so you can send someone to pick me up.”
Sam and Sara stepped back into Sara’s boat as Randy started up the patrol boat.
“Where are you staying?”
“I’m renting a house on the north side…” Sara realized suddenly she hadn’t memorized the address yet. Sam waited, noticing the blood that was starting to seep through the surface of the bandage.
“Do you remember the name of the person you’re renting from?”
“Mary Parker?” Sara was almost sure that was right. “She owns the drugstore in town.”
“You’re at the Parker cabin?”
Sara nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the seat.
Sam was surprised; she’d expected to be driving her back to one of the five star resorts across the lake. The Parker cabin was tiny, as Sam remembered it, anyway, and she’d be surprised if Mary had made it into a short-term rental. The last conversation she’d had with her, Mary was hoping to sell it and retire in Portland, to be closer to her daughter, and this girl didn’t really look like the type to be roughing it in a fishing cabin.
The two patrol boats took off just then, and Sara lost her balance slightly when the wake hit the boat. Sam sat her down and wrapped a blanket she’d brought from the patrol boat around her shoulders.
“Keep that around you,” Sam said. “The air is a lot colder now than when you started out.”
Sam started Sara’s boat and pulled smoothly out into the water. The sun was starting to set now, and the last of the sunlight lingered on the water like fairy lights as the boat carved a path through it.
Chapter Four
Sara woke the next morning to a stiff neck and a pounding headache, and instinctively touched her forehead before she lifted her head from the pillow. Sunlight warmed the bed from the loft window and Sara slowly stretched her sore muscles, which felt more as if she’d been in a fight than an accident. An appraiser was scheduled to be here in an hour to give her an idea what the cabin and land were worth. Apparently, in McCall, there was one appraiser and one home inspector, and it was the same guy in one truck, which Sara found amusing. Despite yesterday’s disaster, McCall was growing on her; either that or she wasn’t ready to go back to Savannah. She wasn’t positive which one it was yet.
By the time he’d arrived, Advil, coffee, and a hot bath had made yesterday seem like a dream, and as she walked the perimeter of the property with him, she realized she was more relaxed than she had been in years. Northwest oaks
turned the sunlight into dappled patterns on her arms as they marked the edges of the property, and even when she was too far into the woods to see the edge of the lake, she heard the water lap against the dock in a pattern that already seemed more familiar than not. It wasn’t until she’d gotten out of the restaurant that she realized she’d been running on empty for at least the last few years. Fine dining was a challenge for any chef, but in Savannah’s emerging food scene, competition was fierce. It felt good to finally wake without an alarm and listen to the cicadas on the deck while she watched the sun set over the water. The thought of being in such a competitive environment again was starting to feel foreign. Maybe she’d confused passion for the restaurant with the habit of working herself into exhaustion.
“Well, Miss Brighton,” the appraiser said as he handed her the completed report early that afternoon, “There’s good news and bad news.”
“Well,” said Sara, “There’s a beer in my fridge that has your name on it if you can upgrade that to good news and better news.”
“Deal,” he said, “It’s never too early for good beer.”
She got them both her favorite Danish beer and he took a long swig and looked at the bottle with real affection before he went on.
“Let’s start with the good news. The cabin is solid, no termite damage, no indication of roof issues, and the plumbing is in better shape than my house, which is saying something.”
“Any issues at all?”
“The roof over the porch is just plywood and shingles; it’ll need to be replaced within five years if it’s going to hold the winter snow load here, but that’s a weekend project and fairly inexpensive.” He took another swig of his beer. “And you’ll have to have the chimney guy from the hardware store come out and take a look at that fireplace. This cabin’s been empty for a couple of years, and you never know what’s made a home up there in the meantime.”
“I was hoping everything would check out well,” Sara said, glancing at the report. “I knew I loved this place about five minutes after I’d walked in, so that’s great news.”
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