Murder at Sunrise Lake

by Christine Feehan

  Shabina sighed. “Honestly? I didn’t think of that.”

  Stella bit down on her lower lip. “Do you have any idea how many people come here to climb or backpack? There are a million things for people to do and it’s so beautiful. We get visitors all the time. I’m always busy during the season. I wouldn’t notice someone from those days, not when my foster mother had cancer and a serial killer was on the loose. My world was falling apart again.”

  “You told me the serial killer has to be someone you’ve physically come in contact with or you wouldn’t be having the nightmares. That was one of the reasons you didn’t want to tell any of our male friends,” Shabina pointed out.

  “I might have come in contact with someone I went to high school with,” Stella said. She doubted it. In those days, she stayed to herself. She didn’t trust anyone and she didn’t have friendships. If she was face-to-face with someone from her high school, close enough that she would physically touch them, would she remember them? She thought so. Her mind tended to be obsessive about details.

  “I want it to be someone from my past, Shabina,” she admitted. “But I don’t think it is. I think it’s someone close to me here. Someone from town. One of the businesses.”

  “Like Sean.”

  Stella tried to picture Sean as a serial killer. He was incredibly strong. Most of the climbers were, and Sean was a forester. He knew animals, but then again, most of those in the area were hunters. They knew the anatomy of animals.

  “What about Edward? What do we know about him? Bale’s the leader of the group, and Jason sort of hangs out on the edge. Sean is an ass, but Edward is right there in the thick of it, yet he is so quiet I overlook him,” Stella said. “He climbs. He hunts. He does a lot of winter sports, right? That’s kind of his thing.”

  “He was born right in town,” Shabina said. “I hear everything at the café. He was raised by his grandmother. Still lives in the same house, from what I understand. He inherited it after she died. One of the women in town was talking to her friend at lunch one day—this was a couple of years ago—and she mentioned that he took her back to the house after a dinner date. She said the house was super creepy. There were lace doilies everywhere, that the furniture and pictures and everything seemed out of time, as if nothing had been touched since his grandmother’s day. It was dark, with old heavy drapes covering the windows. She didn’t like the way the house smelled, like old moth balls or something. In any case, she couldn’t relax and ended up going home before anything happened. She never went out with him again.”

  “How strange. He seems like a modern man. He’s got all the latest toys and equipment,” Stella said. “His truck, his climbing gear, snowmobile, all of it is the latest and greatest.”

  Shabina sighed. “Let’s go for a walk in the gardens. This isn’t getting us anywhere. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  “It was a long shot. I knew it when I brought this to you,” Stella admitted. She followed Shabina outside, the three Dobermans rushing out with them. Inhaling the crisp October air, she took a moment to savor the fact that she didn’t feel anyone watching her. She could relax. Maybe she just needed to move in with Shabina for a few days for some respite.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The body of the hunter, Victor Bane, was found nearly immediately by his brother, Lawrence, who had gone looking for him just before sunset. It appeared as if Victor had fallen from his tree stand and broken his neck. His brother was very confused by the “accident,” as Victor always took safety precautions and wore his harness faithfully.

  Lawrence had packed in Victor’s gear himself. Lawrence had been the one to set up the tree stand and see to it that Victor was comfortable and had everything he needed before Lawrence left his brother to his favorite sport. Victor was good at hunting. He was the one who usually provided the meat for winter, and he was proud of his skills. He had multiple sclerosis and it was all he could do to hike and backpack the trails at times, but he did it. He hunted from a tree stand now, but he was still accurate. He never took a shot if his hands were shaky.

  Nothing about the “accident” made sense. Lawrence kept repeating it over and over to anyone who would listen. Victor wouldn’t have tried to climb down without him being right there. If he shot a deer, they used walkie-talkies to communicate. Lawrence would have come. If there was an emergency, he had a satellite phone.

  Vienna told them all that the ME found it suspicious that the left ring finger had two breaks on it in exactly the same places as the climbers and James Marley. She even had the sheriff come in and take a look. He didn’t seem to think, even with four people having the exact same breaks on the exact same finger, that he could build any kind of a case. Falling from tree stands wasn’t all that uncommon, and when you added multiple sclerosis to the mix, it stood to reason that an accident was an accident. The ME had a drink with Vienna and voiced her concerns. She said four people with exactly the same breaks on exactly the same finger was pushing the boundaries of coincidence for her. When Vienna had pushed her, asking what she was considering, the ME had backed off, shrugging, just shaking her head.

  Stella couldn’t blame her. What were the odds of a climbing accident on Mount Whitney, a fishing accident on Sunrise Lake and a hunting accident in the Inyo National Forest being in any way tied together? If the sheriff didn’t think broken fingers were enough to build a case—and she knew he was right—then what was she going to do? Stella didn’t blame him either. Even if he did think there was cause to think Victor’s death wasn’t an accident, there were no witnesses. There was nothing whatsoever, no evidence to suggest a serial killer had murdered him. That was the danger of this killer. Other than his “signature” of the broken finger, there was no way to identify his kills.

  Stella cried over the hunter, but she’d all but resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to save him. There just weren’t enough clues to find him in time.

  Shabina called and asked if Stella wanted to come for a girls’ night at her place. Sam insisted that she go, that she needed at least a night off before Bailey was back and the killer struck again, as his timetable seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Sam was afraid that meant he was unraveling.

  It felt good to just climb into her favorite pair of leggings and a long shirt, eat pizza and be with her friends. Stella found it strange to be without Bailey, but Shabina’s Dobermans, Raine’s Jack Russell and Harlow’s beagle were all there. Zahra had lost her dog two years earlier and continued to vacillate between getting another dog or a little black kitten. Where she got that idea, no one knew. She’d been heartbroken when she’d lost her beloved rough-coated half–Pyrenean Shepherd and half something no one knew. Her energetic gray, black and white Elara had been twenty pounds of sheer fun. Zahra continued to say if she got another dog, she would get the same combination, although she swore Elara wore her out “forcing” her to take her out for runs a hundred times a day. All of them knew Zahra didn’t like to run. She shared Stella’s view of the pastime. Jogging was okay, but running was just the worst possible thing in the world. For her dog, she sacrificed with much complaining.

  Stella sat tailor-fashion on the floor of Shabina’s great room with its luxurious carpet that one could practically swim in. The huge stone fireplace was lit, the flames burning orange and red, casting images on the walls. Instead of sitting on the cozy sofas and chairs, all six women sat on the floor, using the furniture as back supports. Over the last few years, they’d gotten comfortable sitting that way. In the center of their circle were bowls of popcorn and small chocolate bars Shabina had made for the evening.

  “I’m going to gain so much weight tonight,” Zahra moaned as she chose another one of the bars. “I wouldn’t eat it, but just looking at it puts weight on my thighs, so I might as well enjoy it.”

  “There is this thing called exercise,” Stella said. “Miguel, our personal trainer, is
still on speed dial.”

  “Don’t speak his name to me,” Zahra sniffed indignantly. “He no longer exists. Not after telling me I have to swipe my badge at the desk if I want in his class.”

  The other women burst out laughing. “You never swipe your badge, Zahra,” Harlow pointed out. “In fact, you don’t bring your badge.”

  “If he doesn’t know who I am by now, there’s something seriously wrong with him.” Zahra’s dark eyes were passionate as they normally were when she was very serious about a subject. “Miguel Valdez can take his badge swiper he’s so fond of and shove it somewhere he doesn’t want to talk about. Besides, he’s so mean to me when he’s making us do our workouts.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Don’t even go there. You make one little complaint and for you he changes the workout, but he makes me do the same hideous and extremely difficult program no matter what. And it’s always easy for you. You never sweat and I look like I dove into a swimming pool. My face is lobster red, even my eyelashes have sweat on them, and Miguel is over there helping you up and staring into your big brown eyes.”

  The others burst out laughing. Harlow tossed a piece of popcorn at Zahra. “Stella has a point. I work out all the time and you just lie around complaining about how hard it is to run and then you just go out and run, talking the entire time, never running out of air or things to say while I’m keeling over.”

  Zahra raised her dark eyebrows and stared at them all soberly, looking serious and innocent. None of them were buying into it.

  “You’re a flirt too,” Vienna accused. “There isn’t a male in town, no matter the age, who isn’t enamored with you. I was juggling three bags of groceries and you had one. One. Two silly teenage boys come up and it’s, ‘Oh, Zahra, can I carry that for you?’ ” She used a teen voice and rolled her eyes.

  Zahra shrugged and examined her fingernails, a little smirk curving her lips. Even that was attractive. “I can’t help it if these boys are polite, Vienna. You glare at them when they try to help. You speak of women’s independence. I only want to be independent when it suits me. Taking out trash doesn’t suit me. Doing Miguel’s torture exercises and swiping my name badge certainly doesn’t suit me. And I despise running unless I have my dog with me, which I no longer do, so running is a chore. I even hated it then, but I did it for her.”

  “I swear, I’m getting you another dog,” Harlow groused.

  “I’ve been thinking I should be a cat lady like Vienna. She has a white cat and I’ll get a black cat and call her Matilda.”

  “You need a dog to run with you,” Raine said firmly. “Eat another chocolate bar.”

  Zahra obediently chose one and took a bite, again moaning as if she were in ecstasy. “Who needs a man when we have Shabina’s bars?”

  There was another round of laughter. Stella leaned her head back against the sofa, grateful that she had such good friends. Sam was right, she’d needed them—needed the closeness of them. The laughter they shared. Still, they had gathered for a purpose. She could tell there was an underlying tension that ran between them. They wanted her comfortable and mellow, in a soft, trusting, open mood.

  She took one of the chocolate bars and regarded her friends. “You may as well get to the main subject, because I know you want to talk to me about something. None of you has a poker face with the exception of Vienna.” She laughed at her own joke. It was a little significant that none of them really laughed with her. They smiled, but they didn’t laugh. If anything, they looked uneasy.

  Stella sat up a little straighter. She looked around Shabina’s living room at all of her friends. They looked troubled, and no one seemed to want to bring up what was bothering them. She looked to Zahra. She never understood what it was about Zahra that she’d gravitated to right from the beginning. They had very different personalities, but she knew, even if it sounded weird, they were soul mates. She could count on Zahra.

  “What’s going on? We all have our drinks. We’re comfortable, or should be, but you look like someone is about to do in your best friend. Me, I’ve had a lot of blows the last few weeks, so just get it over with. Tell me.”

  The women exchanged long looks between them. Stella took a drink of her margarita and wished she had Bailey to comfort her.

  It wasn’t Zahra, but Vienna, who was the one to answer her. “I spoke to Amelia Sanderson, the vet, about Bailey and his wounds.”

  Immediately, Stella tensed, fearful Amelia might have given Vienna bad news she wouldn’t have given Stella, maybe long-term effects that Bailey would suffer.

  “Given the number of stab wounds on his body, his size and power, the fact that he was stabbed while attacking and yet no major damage was done to his internal organs, whoever used that knife on him had to know what they were doing. They knew anatomy.”

  Stella frowned, her eyes on Vienna’s, trying to comprehend what her friend was getting at. “You’re saying whoever stabbed Bailey didn’t want to kill him.”

  “Amelia says the attacker had a big knife and he could have killed Bailey, but he didn’t. He punched down about two inches and raked, opening lacerations but avoiding any internal organs. Bailey had charged, probably bit him. There was blood on his teeth. He maybe had one arm in his mouth. The man had to be strong and he had to be calm throughout the entire attack. That takes someone incredibly well trained.”

  Vienna fell silent. The other women avoided Stella’s gaze. She took another drink of her icy margarita. Morza, one of the Dobermans, rose and padded over to Stella to drop down beside her. He had always been her favorite of the three.

  “Hey, baby. Are you missing Bailey too?” Stella continued to meet Vienna’s eyes. She was going somewhere with this. “I’m listening.”

  “It was dark. You were running toward them. The attacker only had seconds and yet he got in four stab wounds, Stella. That would ensure that you would have to take Bailey down the mountain to the vet as quickly as possible in order to keep him from bleeding out. An ambulance would transport Sonny.”

  Stella frowned. “I know all this, I was there, remember?”

  “Honey,” Zahra said, gentle for her. “Think about how calm this attacker would have to be. How strong. How many men do you know like that?”

  “How many men know anatomy?” Vienna persisted.

  Stella shrugged. “Most of the men in this area hunt for meat to carry their families through the winter. They’re incredibly strong because they climb and they pack out their kills. They know anatomy because they cut up that meat and package it. You aren’t eliminating suspects.”

  “Who do you know that could remain that calm during an attack by a ferocious dog weighing in at sixty-five pounds? Bailey’s all muscle. The attacker would have had to deliberately shove his arm into Bailey’s mouth and then stab him repeatedly knowing you were running toward them. He got Bailey down and calmly backed off, most likely watching you attending to your dog while the sheriff came to help. Who do you know who is that strong, and that absolutely cool under fire?”

  She blinked. Her stomach dropped. Sam. They were talking about Sam. She looked at each of their faces. Vienna. Zahra. Shabina. Harlow. Raine. Raine was the only one who looked unconvinced. In fact, she looked as if the others were so far off base, she thought they were nuts. Clearly, she had argued against their reasoning.

  Stella shook her head slowly. She didn’t understand how any of them could think the serial killer could possibly be Sam. He wasn’t like that. He might kill if he had to, but he wouldn’t kill indiscriminately. “The serial killer isn’t Sam. Don’t you think I would know? I’m sleeping with him, for heaven’s sake.”

  No one said anything. Stella sighed and tried again. “For one thing, Vienna, he was with you on Whitney when the two climbers were thrown over the edge.”

  “He wasn’t though. We split up.”

  Stella glared at her, not because she thought Sam
was guilty but because that had put Vienna in danger. “You promised the two of you would stick together. Do you have any idea how much danger you were in? You could have been killed.”

  “I decided the killer was looking for a couple, not one single woman or one single man. We were in more danger together,” Vienna argued. “We had clearly missed the intended targets and didn’t know why, so we split up to cover more ground. In the end, it didn’t matter. We were too late. So, no, I wasn’t with him.”

  “Nevertheless, Sam isn’t the serial killer. He was attacked first. Remember? I was there. I dove into the water. I saw someone in a diving suit trying to drown him. That diver hit me in the face and then kicked me in the chest. Do you think I’m making that up in order to protect him?”

  She did her best to keep the belligerence out of her voice. She had to remind herself these were her friends and they had real concerns. They wanted her to be safe. From their perspective, Sam might be a logical choice. They didn’t know him the way she did. He could be intimidating at times, she could acknowledge that. There were all kinds of rumors about him. Even Denver, his closest friend, had warned her about him. Raine had told her to be cautious about the relationship.

  “No one thinks you would lie to protect Sam, Stella,” Vienna said. “But the fact is, he could have had help. He could have set up that attack on himself easily. He barely had a scrape on his head. Certainly not enough to lose consciousness.”

  “He told me he hadn’t lost consciousness,” Stella admitted. “It isn’t him. For one thing, he wouldn’t have to break into the house, he knows the code to get in, and someone tried to break in after the attack on Sonny. And I’d see bite marks on his body from Bailey. I do actually see him naked. More than any of that, I know him. It isn’t him.”