Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Feehan, Christine

  If what her friends said about his career was true, then Sam would have relentless enemies tracking him. Harlow had told her that men in the DEA who had gone undercover and shut down rings were hunted, as were their families. If that was the case, she could imagine that someone like Denver and Raine described would be pursued to the ends of the earth. He shut down terrorist cells. Drug cartels. Getting in touch with his friends in order to help her would be a huge risk to him— a sacrifice he would make for her. He didn’t put it to her that way, of course, because he downplayed his past, but she was fairly certain she wasn’t far off.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary yet, Sam. What can we tell them that we can’t tell Griffen? Helen McKay is a local trail runner and peak bagger. She logs hundreds of miles and is familiar with so many of the trails around here and throughout Yosemite.”

  Sam loomed over her, shaking his head. “Stella.” This time her name was a clear warning.

  “I thought I could show her a sketch and tell her I’m drawing and have this vague memory of this cool place I want to paint in detail, but can’t remember where it is. She might know.”

  Sam thought it over and then nodded. “That’s a good idea, sweetheart. If she has any friends who trail run, she might ask them as well, but maybe wait until you have a little more detail.”

  There wasn’t much more she could do. This was always a wait-and-see game with a killer. That was the worst part.

  “I’m going to take a walk around the property. Do you want to come with me?”

  He did that every night. Sam didn’t seem to need sleep the way others did. She nodded and jumped up to pull on warm sweatpants and a sweatshirt over the skimpy clothes she’d been sleeping in. She didn’t need to look glamourous for Sam. He didn’t seem to care one way or the other. If she dressed up, she could tell he liked it. If she didn’t, he still seemed to think she was beautiful— at least he always made her feel that way.

  Bailey followed them outside, although she could tell her dog thought they were a little crazy for interrupting their sleep to the extent of wandering all over the property and walking out onto the pier when they could be in a comfortable bed. It occurred to Stella that it was the first time in her life that she’d ever had one of her terrible nightmares and ended up feeling content and even at peace after.

  ZAHRA SAT ACROSS the table from her, dipping the fried zucchini into Shabina’s incredible and very secret sauce that had everyone coming back to her café. Stella watched her closely. Usually, Zahra was an open book. She had a pixie face, with her dark expressive eyes and pretty, very pouty mouth. Right now, she kept her gaze on the sauce and the zucchini, as if that would give her all the answers she might need.

  Stella sat back in her chair and looked around the café. They’d deliberately met late for lunch, almost at closing time, Stella wanting the crowd gone so they wouldn’t be overheard at the back of the café when they sat in their favorite spot. No one was close to them because the section was cordoned off. She’d asked Shabina ahead of time if they could sit there. Shabina hadn’t asked questions, just gave her permission and said she’d clean up after, not involving her crew.

  The silence seemed to stretch on forever, along with the tension. Finally, Zahra flicked her gaze up to Stella’s. “Did you think this revelation about your father would change how I feel about you?” Her voice was very low, her accent pronounced.

  Stella started to press the pads of her fingers against her mouth and then realized she was doing it. “No, I didn’t say anything because I was trying to get away from that little girl and her family. The things my mother trained me not to say to anyone. I built the life that I wanted for myself and was happy in it.”

  Zahra’s gaze went back to the zucchini. She dipped another piece in more sauce and swished it around. “Why did you decide to tell me now?”

  Stella took a deep breath. “The thing with knowing about my father started with nightmares. I was a little kid, but I would have these dreams. I’d have five in a row and each one would give me a wider picture of what was happening. The dreams would stop and, two days later, someone would die in that exact way. I was just a little kid, and I’d tell my mother.”

  She found herself rocking back and forth and she deliberately forced herself to stop. She wasn’t a little kid. She had allies now. She had Zahra, who sat across from her without judgment, ready to help without knowing what was wrong. There was Sam. Raine. She could do this.

  “Essentially, you saw the murders before they happened.”

  Stella nodded. “When I was a young child, it went on for years. The nightmares started when I was four, and my father wasn’t arrested until I was eight, almost nine. My mother was a terrible alcoholic by that time and she killed herself when he pled guilty to avoid the death penalty. The media circus was too much for her. She was very certain he wouldn’t be found guilty and she could continue her life in society. When she was ostracized by her friends, she became bitter and angry, mostly at me because I told on my father and she’d said not to.

  “When I was a teenager in a foster home, I suddenly began to have similar nightmares. I didn’t want to believe it, but I realized there was a serial killer at work in close proximity to me again. The pattern was the same. Five nights of dreams and then one or two days of silence and then the kill. I tried to stay out of the limelight, but the media got ahold of it just like when I was a little kid. It was hell. I vowed never to go through that again. I changed my name and found a place of peace where I could just live my life.”

  Stella took a piece of zucchini, but her appetite was gone. She dropped it on her plate and looked at Zahra with stricken eyes, unable to go on.

  Zahra sighed. “The sudden desire to camp when we already had plans to go to the Grill. That didn’t make sense. Bruce told me that was his favorite fishing spot. He and Denver go there all the time. You had a dream and you were keeping them from fishing there, weren’t you?”

  Stella nodded. “But I had too much to drink. I thought Sam would drive us home and just stay at the resort, but no, he had to be too nice and go watch over our things. He doesn’t get a chance to fish because he’s always working, so he thought he’d put in a little time in the early morning hours before we got there. Bernice told me he was there and I jumped in my rig and raced to the site, terrified I’d be too late.”

  “He would have murdered either Bruce or Denver if we hadn’t put up the tents and driven them out of their favorite fishing site,” Zahra said. “They don’t always fish together because Denver has to work so much at the hospital and can’t get away. Bruce can only go out in the early morning. Most likely, he would have been the victim. You probably saved his life.”

  “I didn’t save James Marley’s life. I never even saw that coming. What did he do? Go straight from trying to kill Sam to targeting James and then getting away that fast? How? Sam called the sheriff after the attack. They searched boats and trucks for scuba gear.”

  “The killer would have dropped the gear to the bottom of the lake, Stella. It’s a big lake, and by the time the sheriff gets out there and the word goes out, come on, realistically, if he’s been around here at all, he’ll know it wouldn’t be easy to get a decent search crew together. He had hours to get away.”

  Stella knew Zahra was right. Unfortunately, it had been a good day for fishing, and there were boats on the water and many fishing from shore all around the lake. It wasn’t like the sheriff had hundreds of men he could deploy to search. She hadn’t expected the killer to go straight from attempting to kill Sam to killing another fisherman using the exact same method.

  “What are you going to do?” Zahra asked.

  Stella shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s not really much I can do without evidence. According to everything I’m hearing, there isn’t enough evidence to build a case for murder. As it stands, the only reason they’re even considering that it wasn’t an accident is because there was an attempt on Sam and we saw the assailant in t
he water, but of course, we can’t identify him.”

  “Are you even certain it was a man?”

  Stella nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Zahra sighed. “If Bruce was the intended victim, at least it’s not some woman out to kill him because he isn’t paying attention to her.” She sent Stella a little mischievous half smile. “You can’t really tell the police anything, can you, and you shouldn’t at this stage, Stella. If it got out who you are, it would only tip off the killer and we’d lose any advantage we have in trying to catch him.”

  “That’s what I think too. Sam does know. I had to tell him when the killer almost got him and I suddenly showed up out of the blue and dove into the lake to save him. The freezing-cold lake. I really think he should remember that.”

  “I’m sure he’s appropriately thankful. He did kiss you, after all.”

  Stella wasn’t touching that. “Raine has to do background checks on anyone around her because of the type of work she does. She knows about me and has known for years. She’s never said anything. She keeps everything confidential.”

  Zahra’s head snapped up, her eyes darkening almost to a black midnight. Her brows came together. “What do you mean, background checks?”

  “It’s a requirement for her job. Anyone she’s close to. That would be us. She doesn’t talk out of turn, Zahra,” Stella soothed, seeing the near panic on Zahra’s face.

  “How much can she know?” Zahra’s dark eyes were bouncing all over the place, as if she might suddenly get up and make a run for it. She looked really alarmed.

  Stella realized Zahra had her own secrets, maybe as shattering as her own. “I have no idea. My past was very well documented. I don’t know how well documented yours is. Whatever you’re worried about, if no one knows about it, or wrote it down, or had pictures of it, she wouldn’t be able to find it.”

  Zahra took a deep breath and let it out. “That sucks to be her. She must feel like a peeping Thomas.”

  “Tom,” Stella automatically corrected. “It is difficult for her. I’m sure that’s part of the reason she stays a little apart from everyone. But in any case, what I was trying to say in regard to the serial killer …” Stella frowned as she dipped the zucchini in sauce and took a bite. “It isn’t like we have a huge circle to draw on and we can’t talk to anyone else about this. No one, Zahra, not Bruce, not anyone.”

  Zahra nodded. “I get it. I come from a place where the wrong word can get someone killed. I’m not about to mess up when it comes to your life. This is one of those situations where we can’t trust anyone until we know for certain they’re clear, and how do we know that?”

  “I had another nightmare this morning. This time it was two backpackers. It was such a small, tiny piece of a campsite that it was impossible for me to recognize. I know I’ve been there before, but there’s thousands of miles of trail in the Sierras, and the campsite I know I’ve seen, but it was so dark. I believe the killer is going to stay close to home, stay in our county, so odds are I might be able to identify where he’s going to strike.”

  Zahra wasn’t a dedicated backpacker. She would camp occasionally, and go out on weekend backpacking trips, or day trips, but not week-or monthlong trips. She didn’t want to hike the John Muir Trail. That wasn’t her thing at all. She would generously resupply her friends if they were hiking the JMT, but that was the extent of her “hiking” expertise.

  “You have four more chances to find the right place he’s going to strike, right?” Zahra asked.

  Chances. Stella had never considered each nightmare a “chance,” but that was what it was. Another clue. Another reveal of the larger picture. “If this goes the way it’s always gone in the past, then yes, I should have a nightmare every night for the next four nights and see more of what the killer sees.”

  “Wait.” Zahra sat up straighter. “Do you actually see through the killer’s eyes?”

  Stella shook her head. “Not exactly. It’s like I’m a bystander, a witness, watching from somewhere apart from them all. In this instance, I’m behind the couple. I can’t see their faces. It’s frustrating. I can’t shift positions to see any more of the trail. There’s no way to move the lens of the camera.”

  “Is it an actual camera lens you’re looking through?” Zahra asked.

  Stella had never thought of that. She’d been a child and then a teen. No one had ever asked that question. She wasn’t a photographer. She didn’t know anything about cameras. She could barely take a selfie with her phone. The rest of her friends laughed at her efforts when she tried. She did have hundreds of pictures of Bailey on her phone. And the lake. She loved the lake, especially at sunrise.

  “I don’t know. It’s a dream, Zahra, how would I know, and what difference does it make?” Stella asked, looking around, suddenly needing coffee.

  Shabina was busy cleaning her machines, but she looked up as if she had a sixth sense when it came to her customers. She moved quickly to catch up her coffeepot and bring it all the way to the back of the shop to pour the aromatic liquid into Stella’s mug.

  “Thanks, Shabina. You’re a goddess.”

  Shabina laughed. “It’s a new pot, just for you. That’s why it’s a mini-pot.” She turned and left them to it, not even asking why they needed to meet alone where no one could overhear them. She didn’t seem the least upset that she wasn’t included in their conversation.

  Stella took a sip of the coffee. It was very hot. Too hot, just the way she liked it. “Why would it make a difference? I’ve always concentrated on what I’ve seen through the lens, not on the lens.”

  Zahra leaned closer. “What if you could make the lens wider yourself, Stella? If there were details on the lens you’re looking through, the camera itself, you might be able to adjust it, shift the view a little each time. I don’t know, it’s just a thought. When I dream, I can sometimes change my dream a little.” She shrugged and dabbed the zucchini stick in more sauce.

  Stella sat back, staring at Zahra in shock. In a hundred years she would never have thought of trying to change her dreams. Not those dreams. She was too shocked by them. Too terrified. “That’s brilliant, not that I know the first thing about cameras or lenses.”

  “But you do know how to draw what you see, and Harlow knows a lot about photography. She’s good, Stella, really good. If you can get any details at all, she might be able to tell you what you’re looking through and how to widen your view or move it even a little.”

  Stella bit down on her lower lip, trying to recall all the times she saw through the lens. She’d always concentrated on what she saw, the vivid details, training herself to see everything she could, not what she was seeing through. Now she tried to narrow her vision, block everything out but that lens.

  “Honestly, I’m too scattered to recall anything about the lens, Zahra, but you might be onto something. The thing is, if you are, and I can find something on the lens to help identify it, then I’d have to go to Harlow. As you well know, Harlow, like everyone in our circle of friends, is extremely intelligent and quick on the uptake. She’s going to know something is up, especially after the attack on Sam. Everyone now suspects James Marley was murdered but no one can prove it.”

  Zahra shrugged. “Maybe, but how is your asking about a certain type of lens going to have her connecting those dots?”

  “I’ve never asked about a camera in my life, Zahra. I have zero interest in them. I’ve gone to see her work and that’s it. You all laugh at me and I’m good with that. I don’t make any effort to get better. She knows that,” Stella pointed out.

  Zahra gave her that little mysterious, intriguing smile that got to every single man within miles if they saw it. Stella always thought she was beautiful when she flashed that particular secretive smile that told anyone seeing it exactly nothing, but they would want to know more.

  “You can’t purposely taunt Harlow, Zahra,” Stella said. “You’re such a minx sometimes. What did Harlow ever do to you?”

  “Harlow
was very good to me,” Zahra said staunchly. “If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have made it into this country. I wouldn’t have gotten my citizenship or gotten into college. I owe her a lot. She’s been a good friend to me.”

  “But?” Stella prompted.

  Zahra shook her head. “I’ve never changed the way I’ve felt about her. It’s just complicated between us. I tease her occasionally and she takes it with grace.”

  “She never goes home. Never. Her mother comes here to see her, but she never goes home.” Stella didn’t make it a question, because if Zahra knew why Harlow’s mother visited but her very popular senator father didn’t, she didn’t want to put her on the spot.

  Harlow was a talented surgical nurse, but her first love was photography. She’d gone to school for it and not only taken classes at college but interned with some of the masters, both digital and old-school. She’d been making a name for herself when all of a sudden she’d gone to nursing school and seemingly become passionate about that career. Then she’d gone to the High Sierras and stayed. She was needed there and she could take the photographs she loved and do the work she felt was important.

  “Tonight I’ll see if I can get any details on the lens, Zahra,” Stella promised. “If I can, I’ll write it down, sketch it, and see if Harlow can help me. Thanks for understanding, but mostly, thanks for being my friend. I really needed you. As your friend, I have to tell you, that’s the same zucchini stick you’ve had for the last half hour and you’re dipping it into the sauce. You may as well pick up the sauce container and drink it.”

  Zahra made a face at her and dropped the zucchini onto her plate. “The sauce is excellent.”