Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Feehan, Christine

  She looked up quickly, hope blossoming. “Do you think that’s possible?”

  “Anything is possible, Stella. No one is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. He stabbed Bailey four times, and those stab wounds were deep. When you use a knife like that, often you can get cut yourself. He may have been bleeding. He might have retreated to his ‘safe’ place in order to see when everyone left so he’d have access to the house. If he cut himself, there might be blood and anything he used to clean up with.”

  “I never thought of that.” But of course, Sam did. He was like that. He seemed to think of those little details that would never occur to her. “It’s hard to believe he’d have the guts to return after what he did last night,” she added, trying not to revert to rocking back and forth. It was such a bad habit. “You’d think he’d want to at least take a night off.”

  “Apparently, serial killers and assholes don’t ever get tired,” Sam said.

  To her utter astonishment, Stella burst out laughing. “Apparently not. Do I get hot chocolate while I’m sketching and journaling?”

  “I suppose you deserve it.” He got up, came to the side of the bed, leaned over and brushed a kiss to her temple as he trailed a finger down the side of her cheek to her chin.

  His touch was barely there, like a whisper, but she felt it all the way through her body, the way she always did whenever Sam touched her. Abruptly he turned and stalked out, moving with his silent grace, reminding her of a panther. She watched him go, nearly mesmerized, until he was out of sight. Even before they were in a relationship, he’d always managed to catch her attention when he moved like that. He would go from being perfectly still to looking as if he were flowing across the ground. He really did disappear into shadows.

  Stella leaned down and pulled open the drawer in the nightstand containing her sketchpad and journal. She switched the bedside lamp on dim and began to meticulously recall as much detail as possible from the dream. As always, when she first started, it never felt like she could get enough from the tiny portion the lens of the camera showed her, but when she actually began to draw, and the picture took shape, there was more than she thought.

  The grass was long and textured, blues, greens, yellows and reds. It was thick as it ran up a slope and into the trees. The trunks of the trees were round and heavy with saplings struggling to grow in between the larger ones, most faltering, choked out by the heavy brush and towering trees around them. She only had the impression of tall trees; she couldn’t actually see the tops of them. Leaves and needles lay on the ground, and some of the branches she could see were clearly losing the fight with the wind.

  It was the strange metal frame she wasn’t familiar with, jutting out from the tree with the grid on it, the two boots resting on it, with just the very edge of camouflage pants showing, that baffled her. She would have to look that up on the internet if Sam didn’t know what she was looking at.

  As soon as she finished sketching, she switched to the journal and wrote down as many of the details as she could remember, specifically the birds and insects she heard. Every sound counted. She really hoped Shabina could identify that for her.

  Sam placed the hot chocolate on her nightstand. “Gave you whipped cream tonight.”

  She picked up the mug. “And chocolate sprinkles.” She flashed him a smile. He was staring down at the drawing. “Do you have any idea what that is?”

  “Sure. Hunters use them. They sit up in a tree and wait for deer to come to them. Deer. Elk. Whatever they’re going after. It’s called a tree stand.”

  She frowned. “How come I haven’t heard of them?”

  “You’re not a hunter.”

  “But nearly everyone around here hunts for their food, Sam. They don’t talk about tree stands. How high up are they put in the tree?”

  “Anywhere from twelve to thirty feet, maybe. It depends on the amount of cover there is. This time of year might be more difficult to find good cover because the branches are dropping leaves.”

  “How does one climb into the tree stand?”

  “Hunters use all different methods. Climbing sticks are very popular.”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll show you on the internet. That would be the easiest, but just from the little that you’ve picked up, it looks like he’s definitely going after a hunter.”

  “Sam, practically everyone we know is a hunter. That’s how most people get through the winter. You hunt. Denver hunts.” She put her mug down and pressed her hands to her temples, wanting to scream in frustration. “Sonny hunts. Even Griffen. Mary does. Without hunting they can’t feed their families.”

  “Those boots look too big to be a woman’s boots,” he replied, calm as always. “We can rule out the women we know who hunt. We can rule out any hunters who aren’t sitting up in a tree stand.”

  “How do we know who hunts from tree stands?” Stella wrapped her arms around her middle again, rocking herself back and forth.

  “Sweetheart, there’s no reason to get upset this early. We have to outthink him. We have to think of this like a puzzle we’re solving and you’ve already got pieces he doesn’t know we have. He believes he’s clever and no one could possibly be onto him.” Sam retrieved the mug of chocolate and held it out to her. “Drink your chocolate. It always helps you think.”

  Stella took the mug from him. “If the person watching us is the same as the one doing the killing, don’t you think he’s watching because he already knows who I am?” She looked up at Sam, the knots in her stomach tightening. “It’s possible I was his trigger. He found out who I was and wanted to pit himself against me.”

  Sam sat down on the edge of the bed. Stella tried not to think that Bailey was usually on that side of the bed, shoving his big head against her. To keep from acting like a baby, she sipped at the chocolate and forced herself to keep her gaze steady on Sam’s. He was a man who told the truth no matter the consequences. She might not always be able to read his expression, but she could count on knowing he would answer her when she asked him his real opinion.

  Sam’s eyes darkened until they looked almost like black velvet. He reached over and switched off the lamp. “There’s no need to help him see anything. Let’s put your drawings and the journal in the safe. When you lean down, I’ll shield you with my body so it’s impossible for him to see what you’re doing even if he has night vision.”

  Stella leaned over to put her mug of chocolate on the nightstand. At the same time, she scooped up her sketches and journal. Sam shifted to block her body from the sight of anyone watching from the window as she pressed her fingerprint to open the door built into the wall.

  “That’s an interesting theory, Stella, that finding out your identity might have been the trigger for a serial killer. It would fit with someone watching you, trying to discover what your next move might be.” Sam sounded thoughtful but pragmatic, the way he always did, as if the idea might have some merit but it didn’t in any way get under his skin.

  Stella wondered what it would take to get him riled up. Not that she ever wanted to see him angry or upset, but the idea that she might have triggered a serial killer into murdering random people sickened her. How Sam could be so calm about it shocked her. She stuffed the sketchpad and journal in the safe on the shelf below her gun and closed the door before straightening, trying to look composed.

  “Does anything ever get to you?” She tried to keep the challenge out of her voice.

  Sam gently tucked stray tendrils of flyaway hair that had come loose from her braid behind her ear. “You get to me. Anything upsetting you gets to me. A man stabbing Bailey gets to me. I learned a long time ago that thinking things through requires a calm mind. Anger gets in the way and clouds judgment. In order for me to stay alive, I had to learn to always keep my mind clear.”

  “That’s a lot easier said than done, isn’t it?” She sipped the chocolate. That was always her calming go-to formula. That, Bailey, and now this man she was learning to love. />
  “My body was turned into a weapon. I learned to use all kinds of various weapons, but do you know what the greatest weapon we have is, Stella? Our brain. We all have one. The trick is to actually use it. We can’t panic. We can’t freeze. We have to be able to use our brain in a crisis. More often than not, that’s what keeps someone alive when others die.”

  Stella knew that to be true. She had taken enough self-defense classes to have had instructors drill that into her over and over. Her brain was her greatest weapon. Use it. She also was taught to be observant. Don’t be looking down. Don’t look at her phone as she walked or ran. Look around. Pay attention to her surroundings. She had always followed those instructions.

  “It’s difficult to stay calm when I know that horrible killer might have started murdering people because of me. But you’re right, and I know you are.”

  “I don’t believe he’s aware of who you are, Stella. If this watcher is the serial killer, he’s here for another reason.”

  There was something in his tone Stella didn’t quite understand. Speculation? An underlying darkness? A hint of a threat? “What would that be, Sam?” It would be interesting to hear what he had to say, especially since she had the feeling he wouldn’t want to tell her. “Why do you think he would come around then, if he doesn’t know who I am?”

  He sighed and moved off the bed. It was the first time ever that she’d seen Sam act uncomfortable. “I think we need to get privacy screens to black out the windows, at least in the bedroom, Stella.” He paced across the room. “If he had a sniper rifle, we’d be sitting ducks.”

  She leaned back against the headboard. The weird feeling of being watched had slowly begun to fade. “I think he’s leaving. Or he left.”

  “We still need to get screens. I don’t like the idea of having someone watching us if I’m touching you, sweetheart.”

  A little shudder went through her. That idea hadn’t occurred to her and it should have. She was a very private person. “I think you’re right. I’ll order them tomorrow morning.”

  She waited. He kept pacing, reminding her of a tiger locked in a too-small cage. “Man.”

  His eyes locked on to her. Like a target. It should have been uncomfortable, but that gaze only held a deep emotion that set her heart pounding. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Woman.”

  “Spit it out,” she ordered.

  “You won’t like it.”

  She raised one eyebrow.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You’re most likely wrong. We’re only guessing,” she reminded him.

  “I don’t think I’m wrong. You’ve got enough crap to contend with. I should just keep this particular speculation to myself.”

  “Samuele Lorenzo Rossi.” She called him by the full name he’d given her on his employment record, the one she couldn’t find anywhere on the internet.

  He winced visibly. “Only my mother called me that when she was really upset with me and I was in trouble. Mostly between the ages of two to seventeen.”

  “That’s your actual name? And the real spelling?”

  “Yes. Why would I lie to you? I knew I was staying. I told you. The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you were the one. I checked to make sure you weren’t taken and then I set out to win you. Pay attention, Satine.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why couldn’t I find you on the internet? You should be there, at least your earlier life with your father.”

  “Type of work I did, didn’t want anything leading back to my family.”

  That made sense. “I am not letting you distract me, as charming as I find you, especially knowing your mother used your full name to chastise you. What is your theory of why the serial killer might be stalking me if he doesn’t know anything about my past?”

  Sam sighed and once more came to the side of the bed and sank down, his weight shifting the mattress so she nearly tumbled into him. He put his arm around her to steady her, or offer comfort, she wasn’t certain which. Now, she braced herself, wondering if it had been such a good idea to insist on knowing his theory, especially since he really didn’t want to tell her, which meant he was reasonably sure he was right.

  “This man has met you, Stella. He doesn’t have to know you very well. He could have met you in passing. You don’t realize it, but you’re considered somewhat of royalty down in town. There are businesses thriving because of you. That means jobs. You don’t notice, but you go into a restaurant and you’re seated right away. Others have to wait. You don’t have to pay. The owner waves off your money because you saved his ass when he was going under. Now he’s making it through the winter with cash to spare.”

  His assessment of her embarrassed her. She had saved a struggling fishing camp. When she’d taken over management, the place was going under, and every single cabin, RV and fishing camp, dock and piece of equipment was in desperate need of repair. The owner had money, but he was tired and didn’t have the staff or the energy to keep his beloved business going. He had hired her as a last-ditch effort to keep his fishing camp open. It was Stella who had come up with the idea of a high-end resort and a first-class fishing tournament, two things that didn’t sound as if they would mesh at all. She got the locals on board and turned their businesses around right along with the one she was managing.

  “He could be a temporary worker here or in town. He might have been one of the campers or a climber you talked to when you were out bouldering. You’re friendly, Stella. You talk to people. You make them feel like they matter. You get coffee when you’re in town and you stand in line and he could have stood in line next to you and talked to you. Obsession starts that way. Some stalkers fantasize they’re in a relationship with the one they’re obsessed with.”

  Stella pressed a hand to her churning stomach. “Great. A serial killer might be fantasizing he has a relationship with me? That’s what you think?”

  He nodded slowly. “That’s why you felt him at the campsite and in town. That’s why he’s out here some nights. He could have been trying to get into the house to get a few of your things to take home with him to feed his illusion.”

  By now, she could tell, whoever had been outside was gone. It didn’t matter. The idea that Sam might be right was repulsive. “I don’t want to think about this anymore, Sam.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. “Just kiss me.”

  Kissing Sam was never enough. He slid her under him and then the world disappeared until there was only the two of them and she couldn’t think, only feel, because Sam had a way of setting her world on fire.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The formal dining room in Shabina Foster’s home was large, the ceiling high and the walls made of what appeared to be white marble with thin gold veins running through them. If one looked closely, that was exactly what they were made of. The ceiling overhead had heavy beams of redwood quartering the deep insets of subtle gold. The floors matched the subtle gold of the ceiling and pull the very thin, jagged veins of gold from the walls. The room defied description, but then Shabina’s entire house did.

  She owned the local café and worked from early morning until late afternoon serving customers, some very surly. Even the car she drove, a RAV4, was modest for the area when one could afford the best, and yet when she went home, few knew the home she went to was behind closed ornate gates. The drive led to a three-car attached garage with radiant floor heating. The garage was attached to a four-bedroom, four-full-bath home with a library, game room, chef’s dream kitchen and formal dining room as well as a smaller, more intimate dining room and many other appointments, including an indoor pool and exercise room. Mostly, Stella knew, it was the kitchen and the grounds Shabina had fallen in love with.

  Outside the two-story mansion, a gray-and-white stone pathway meandered through beautiful, well-kept gardens with several water features before going up three long round stairs that curved around the front of the deep verandah. The lanai was long and was shaded by a roof
to keep the unrelenting sun off those enjoying an afternoon breeze. Screens fit along the railings to keep out insects, protecting the occupants from nasty bites.

  Stella loved Shabina’s home. At first glance, it might seem pretentious, but it was warm and homey and always welcoming. If she’d had Bailey with her, he would have been right in that formal dining room, nose to nose with Shabina’s handsome boys, three large Doberman pinschers: Morza, Sharif and Malik. Her dogs accompanied her everywhere. Stella had been shocked when Jason had issued his warning about Shabina not going into the forest alone. She always had her very well-trained dogs with her. Didn’t everyone know that? Would someone shoot her dogs like they had stabbed Bailey?

  “What are you thinking about, Stella? You’re looking at my boys like they might suddenly come out of their dog beds and attack,” Shabina said, putting one of the sketches back down on her gleaming cherrywood formal dining table.

  The table was massive and sat beneath a tiered chandelier that appeared to be dripping a multitude of chains of raindrops. Stella had never considered it odd that Shabina had dog beds in every room for the three Dobermans. She was a dog person. Bailey usually went with her, and if he didn’t go into a home, he was out in her rig. Most of her friends wanted her to bring him inside. Vienna’s cat was the only exception, and Vienna was mortified over her princess acting so snobby. She was determined that someday the silly cat would come around and appreciate the dogs. Her friends all knew that was never happening.

  “Remember I told you Jason whispered that warning to me about you going into the forest alone? You always have the dogs with you. Someone stabbed Bailey. Do you think he meant they would hurt your boys? All three of them? They would have to in order to harm you, Shabina. I don’t think they’d run away if someone came at you.”

  Shabina’s eyes, those strangely colored, intense royal-blue eyes, stared directly into hers. “No, they would never run away. Aside from being my companions, they’re trained personal protection dogs. I love them dearly, and they’re rarely away from me. At the café, they’re in a room with the door open so they can see me at all times.”