“Badly. I’m no artist, which is why I don’t tell anyone,” Stella said. She took another cautious sip of the coffee. It was really bad coffee. “Who made this?”
Denver laughed. He had a rich, warm laugh that invited others to laugh with him. “Bruce. I told him never to offer to make coffee for Zahra. He was highly offended.”
“If I wasn’t so desperate for caffeine, I would spit it out, but I can’t afford to waste the gift from the gods.”
Denver spewed his caffeine out onto the ground. “You’re even more insane than I thought you were.”
She waved her free hand airily while clutching the mug with the other. “Sadly, it’s true, but I don’t mind. How often do you two come out here?”
Denver shrugged. “Not as often as we’d like. Bruce is busy all the time now, thanks to you and your scheming. Our laid-back hunt-and-fish days are over.”
“I’m not buying it, Denver. You’re a workaholic.”
She studied the layout of the lake’s edge carefully, committing it to memory. The weeping trees. Were they the same? Did she recognize them? What about the rocks jutting out of the water? Her gaze jumped to Bruce. He had waded farther out from shore just like the fisherman in her nightmare. She could see he wore waders. The reeds and plants looked the same, but then the flora was close to being the same on this side of the lake.
“You’re going to spill your coffee, Stella,” Denver pointed out, his tone mild. He reached out and took the mug from her. “Why are you staring at Bruce like that?”
“I was imagining what it must be like to be a fish.” She had to improvise fast. “One minute, swimming along peacefully, looking for a meal, and then the next, some asshole sends a hook down and jabs you in the throat with it. Now you’re fighting for your life. If you have a nice little fish family, you’re never going to see them again. Bruce looks like a nice enough guy, but under all that niceness lurks an evil fish killer. I have to warn Zahra.”
Denver stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. Stella couldn’t blame him. She was not cut out to be a detective. She wasn’t all that clever. The expression on his face made her want to laugh.
“Nice fish family? Evil fish killer? Good grief, Stella, you have a terrible imagination.”
“No, I have a vivid imagination,” she corrected. “It’s why I don’t fish. Or hunt. I will kill the occasional spider, but I mostly practice the capture-and-release program. I trap them and put them outside.”
Denver groaned and dropped his head into his hand. “You don’t.”
“I do. My very healthy imagination tells me all the spiders in the house that are related will rise up in an army and come after me while I’m sleeping. I’ll develop an allergy in that single night and it will be a horrible way to go, choking on my own vomit or something equally unpleasant and unwomanly.”
Denver burst out laughing. “Unwomanly?”
“Well, yes. When I go, I want to at least look good. Not all covered in red splotches from allergies. That wouldn’t be very dignified. If you’re going to find me, Denver, I have to look somewhat decent. Vienna is always telling me about these horrible-looking bodies when you find them. I refuse to go out that way. If an army of spiders gets me in the middle of the night and poisons me and I break out in horrid allergy splotches, then I can at least know my corpse isn’t going to look hideous. Well, I mean it will if I get attacked and bitten and die that way.”
He shoved the coffee mug back at her. “Drink. You’re not making any sense.” He looked at the dog. “Is she always like this in the morning, Bailey?”
Stella wrapped her hands around the coffee mug, glad she’d diverted his attention again. She took another healthy drink of the bitter brew. “Does Bruce really like this coffee, Denver? Zahra is a coffee fanatic, just like me. I think she might keel over if she drank this, not that I think the two of them are ever going to happen.”
The laughter faded from Denver’s face, leaving him with that rough exterior that put most people off. There were pock marks on his left side, faint but there, marring the weathered skin. Up close she could see a strange scarring over the pocks, much like a skid mark, as if his cheek and jaw had slid along the pavement.
“Why do you say that, Stella?”
“Bruce is so shy around Zahra and can’t bring himself to ask her out. She was raised in a very small village in Azerbaijan. She’s been here a long time and she’s a citizen, but she spent her life as a child there. Our childhood shapes us, Denver, you know that. She’s not going to suddenly be bold and ask Bruce out. She might flirt with him, especially if she drinks a bit, but she won’t go any further than that. She might be an American now, but she will never be that bold woman who just asks him out first. Bruce isn’t going to take charge like she needs him to. They are, unfortunately, at a stalemate.”
Denver stretched his legs out in front of him, his smile back. “That’s why she drinks so much. I have to tell you, I was a little worried and kept my eye on her, afraid she might be an alcoholic. I even cautioned him about it once, which didn’t go over well.”
His smile turned into a grin. He had extremely light-colored brown eyes, almost more amber than brown. His hair was very thick and a light brown with streaks of blond from all the time he spent in the sun. When he gave her that grin, his eyes took on the color of a burnt whiskey.
“Maybe we should lock the two of them in one of your smallest cabins for a weekend and see what happens,” he ventured.
Stella burst out laughing, but there was a small part of her contemplating the idea. “If only we could get away with it.”
“Does she really like him?” Denver asked, his tone suddenly serious.
“She really likes him.” Stella matched his tone.
CHAPTER THREE
Bruce trudged up to Denver and Stella, frowning at them, one hand on Bailey’s head as he cast a giant shadow over them. “You’re sitting in my chair, Denver, and you gave Stella my favorite coffee mug.”
Stella looked him over carefully. The waders were that same olive color that were in her nightmare. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. Many of the fishermen wore those same exact waders. It was just that the man in her nightmare wore bibbed denim overalls tucked into the waders. Denver had the waders on but not the overalls, which didn’t mean he didn’t own a pair. Neither man was wearing a hat, but it was early enough that the sun’s rays weren’t that strong yet.
“I’m kidding, Stella,” Bruce said. “Don’t look so upset.”
“I was about to tell him to go get another chair out of his truck. He has ten of them in there,” Denver said. “Really, Stella, he couldn’t care less.”
Was she looking upset again? Her nightmares had really thrown her. She’d promised herself she’d get a handle on her behavior. These were her friends. If she was going to save them, she needed to do better. Much better.
“Sorry, I was just thinking about spiders and fish families.” She waved one hand dismissively. “Don’t ask, Bruce. Denver already thinks I’m crazy. Were the fish biting this morning?”
Denver stood up and Bruce immediately sank into the vacated chair. Denver flipped him off but walked over to Bruce’s truck and yanked out another chair.
“Not really,” Bruce answered. “I didn’t really care if I caught anything this morning or not. I just wanted to come out here and relax. It gets hectic sometimes and my brain can’t take the chaos after a while. I need the reset.”
Stella thought it was interesting that he thought in the same terms she did. Every morning the sunrise “reset” her. “We all need that once in a while, don’t we?”
Bruce nodded. He looked around. “You came on your own?”
Stella kept a straight face. Denver set his chair across from them, looking at her with a little grin that told her he knew exactly what Bruce was fishing for.
“Who did you think was hiding in her rig, Bruce?” Denver asked.
Bruce glared at him. “You’re such a pain in the
ass, Denver.”
Stella pushed out of the chair. “I’m going to look at the water and try to figure out the colors and what I’m doing wrong when I’m mixing my paints. I’ve been trying to get the colors right for so long and I just can’t seem to do it when I’m painting the lake. You two can argue without me.” Her art was her best cover, the best reason she had for examining the rocks and grasses so carefully.
She hurried down to the water’s edge, doing a careful sweep of the shoreline. She wanted to view it from every direction, the way the camera’s lens had done in her dreams each night. She’d gotten multiple views of the lake and the boulders and trees. She should be able to identify if this was the exact location of the upcoming murder. She doubted it. It would be far too much luck to have it be the very first secluded place she checked. This was remote, not known to outsiders, and only a few locals ever went here, which actually made it the perfect place for murder.
She was very glad she’d told Denver she painted, although only a few of her friends knew she did and she was much more comfortable with that. Having told him provided a good reason for her to be studying the shore and trees from every angle. She could commit every detail to memory. Her brain catalogued images for her. Sometimes that was a good thing, but not always. There were things in her past she wanted to forget.
She pushed all thoughts away and began to slowly study each individual section of the fishing area. It would stand to reason that a fisherman would drive in, park as Denver and Bruce had and walk to the area where both had chosen to fish. They wouldn’t go much farther. That meant she could concentrate her investigation where they had been fishing. She chose to inspect where Bruce had been first. He had waded the farthest out into the lake, and he’d been among the rocks and into the reeds and plants.
Stella made her way over to the area where Bruce had been fishing. Skirting around the large pile of rocks onshore, she went down to the water’s edge, where she could look back toward the ones jutting up out of the water. She told herself to keep breathing evenly. Slowly. It was strange how much trepidation she felt, even though she kept assuring herself there was no way this place would be the same one as the murder site in her nightmare. Still, there was just something in her that knew. She felt it.
The rocks were shaped exactly the same as the ones she’d sketched from her nightmare. The more she studied them from each angle, the more her heart beat faster. She looked at the reeds and plants rising out of the water, the way they grew around the egg-shaped rocks, some bent over, some rising toward the sky. There were thick patches and others where the water lapped against the granite rocks. It was like déjà vu.
Not Bruce. Not Denver. Why would anyone want to kill either of them? Both men were well liked, but Bruce did have to let workers go occasionally. What about Denver? He had a few enemies. He got in bar fights sometimes. Bruce did too. Sam did as well, not as many, but he was known to throw a punch now and then. Did Sam fish here? She had no idea. How many other locals fished here?
Maybe she should camp out here. How many days before the murder would occur? One? Two at most. She could do that. Camp right here. No one could use the location as a fishing spot. The murderer wouldn’t be able to kill as he wanted to. What would that make him do? Would he realize she was onto him? That would be impossible.
“Stella?” Bruce called out her name. “You hungry? I’ve got food.”
She rose slowly from her crouch. “I’m meeting Zahra for lunch and I’d better get moving, but thanks for the offer.” When his face dropped, she took pity on him. “A few of us are going dancing tonight at the Grill. You and Denver are welcome to join us.”
Bruce immediately nodded. “We’ll be there.”
“I have to check my schedule,” Denver said.
“We’ll be there,” Bruce said decisively.
Denver laughed, following Stella to her 4Runner, watching as she opened the back so Bailey could jump in. “He can be very dominant when Zahra isn’t around. I think he’d go into the hospital and reschedule any operation just so I could go with him to hang out in a bar so he could stare at his woman all night.” He pretended to whisper since Bruce had followed them.
Bruce glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“She can’t be your woman if you haven’t claimed her,” Denver pointed out. “Scowling at other men to keep them away from her doesn’t count.”
“It might not count in your eyes, but it works,” Bruce said smugly.
“It won’t work forever,” Stella said as she slid behind the wheel. “You’d better decide soon what you’re going to do, Bruce.” She started the vehicle and began to back up so she could turn around.
“Wait, what?” Bruce yelled after her. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
Stella waved in the rearview mirror, ignoring Bruce pressing his thick fists to his hips as he shouted after her. He was a grown man. If he couldn’t figure it out after all the hints Zahra, Denver and Stella had given him, he didn’t deserve Zahra. Stella had the feeling Zahra had already given up and was trying to move on, at least in her head, and Stella didn’t blame her.
There really was something to a woman’s biological clock if one wanted children. Eggs were only good for so long. She knew because she’d looked that fact up and then resigned herself to a life with no children. She didn’t want that for Zahra, when she knew her friend really wanted a family. It wasn’t like they were twenty anymore. They’d seen thirty and counting.
The resort was a good distance from town and she had plenty of time to think about what she was going to do in order to prevent the murder of the fisherman while she drove there. The only real solution she could come up with was to camp out at the spot for several days. She could only hope the nightmares predicted the same timeline as the past serial killers she’d dreamt about. That would give her two days before he struck.
If the murderer didn’t have access to his chosen murder ground, maybe he would be thrown off his game and have to start all over with his planning. That would give her time to study everything she’d written and sketched without being so terrified. The calmer she was, the more logical and rational she would be in hunting the killer.
Zahra was already waiting at their favorite lunch spot, in the corner booth in the back of the little café the locals knew had the best breakfast and lunch food in town. Mostly it was a deli where people got sandwiches on the go, but there were a few tables and booths located toward the back of the café. The floor was a black-and-white-checked tile. The tablecloths were black-and-white-checked paper over wood so they could be torn off and the next ones spread on easily.
Sunrise Café was owned and operated by their friend Shabina Foster. Shabina was five foot four with thick black hair that fell to her waist if she let it. Mostly she braided it and wrapped it into a figure eight on her head. She had gorgeous skin and unexpected peacock-blue eyes framed with black lashes. Stunningly beautiful, Shabina was amazingly modest. Her father’s company had risen to become the number one company called on when oil wells caught fire anywhere in the world. That was how her mother had met him in Saudi Arabia.
Shabina rarely talked about her parents or how their union came about. Shabina once told them her name meant “eye of the storm” in Arabic. Her mother had told her she was aptly named. Shabina implied that meant it had something to do with her family history. Stella did know that her mother never returned to Saudi Arabia nor did her grandparents ever come to the United States. None of Shabina’s aunts, uncles or cousins had ever met her. It seemed they all had secrets, and that was okay. Maybe that was what allowed them all to be friends.
Stella waved to Shabina, knowing she was too busy right now to talk but would come to the booth later when the rush was over. Hurrying to the back, Stella slid onto the bench seat opposite Zahra. “You got off early.”
Zahra nodded, her dark eyes looking Stella over carefully. “I had some time off coming to me, and my schedule wasn’t all that impo
rtant that I couldn’t move things around. I thought it would be nice to spend more time together.”
That wasn’t like Zahra at all. She worked. She stuck to her calendar and crossed appointments off as they came. She looked innocent, but then that was half of Zahra’s charm. She could look innocent even if she was stealing your car right out from under you. When they went to the gym together and shared a personal trainer, Zahra could talk him into letting her off the hook when it came to the harder exercises, even though Zahra could do them no problem. Stella, on the other hand, thought she was dying and the trainer just made her do more. She didn’t have that cute accent or the adorable smile of innocence Zahra had.
“What’s going on with you?” Stella asked.
“I needed girl time.”
Stella regarded her suspiciously. There was a plate of fried zucchini, one of Shabina’s specialties. It wasn’t just any old fried zucchini. This tasted light, as if it wasn’t fried and couldn’t possibly add a single calorie to your body. Shabina could fool you into thinking things like that with her food.
“Perfect. So do I. I’m going camping and need someone to camp with me.” Stella pounced. Zahra was a five-star luxury girl. She’d had enough of starving and roughing it to last a lifetime when she was growing up, but she did backpack and climb when Stella twisted her arm.
Zahra narrowed her dark brown eyes. “What does that mean? Camping in one of your cabins? Or in a tent? What exactly are you saying? Because it’s cold at night now, or hadn’t you noticed?”
“Tents by the lake. I’ve got the perfect spot already picked out.”
Zahra slumped over the tabletop dramatically, burying her face in her arms, groaning. “You’re not right in the head, Stella. No one wants to camp in a tent anymore. You have a beautiful house. Cabins. We can go anywhere. Tents by the lake?” She lifted her head and glared at Stella. “Tell me now, you’re getting me back for that time I was supposed to hike the JMT with you and I thought I was sick and backed out.”
Murder at Sunrise Lake Page 5