Romantic/Suspense Author

Irene Estep

ALL IN THE GAME

Free Romantic Suspense Short Story

By

Irene Estep

     Chapter One

     “Oh dear!  Karo, I've done a terrible thing.” The elderly voice of Harriet Newlander trembled as thunder boomed in the background.

     “Aunt Harriet, What's wrong?” Karoline's hand tightened on the phone. She put down the red pencil she was using to grade her third grade students’ papers.

     “No, don’t—” Harriet was cut off when the line went dead.

     The voice had sounded so faint that Karo couldn't tell if the last couple of words were directed at her or someone else. She glanced at the clock over the stove. It was almost eleven pm, long past her aunt's usual bedtime. A chill of apprehension raced down her spine. Quickly she dialed her aunt's number.

     Panic gripped her as the phone rang and rang, but no one answered. What had Aunt Harriet meant?  I've done a terrible thing.

     Karo was reminded of the time her aunt called her after the firemen had extinguished a blaze in her stove from a pound cake she'd forgotten was baking. Or the time she had lost her monthly pension check on bingo and had to delve into her savings. Aunt Harriet didn't like dipping into her savings although her reserves were quite hefty. “Saving it for old age,” she always said. At seventy-three, Harriet was more active than a thirty-year-old, which was Karo’s age. Harriet’s voice had held a more foreboding tone this time, though, and Karo couldn't take any chances on her aunt's safety.

     She rummaged through the contents of the kitchen drawer next to the phone.  When she found the piece of paper where she’d jotted down the home number of  the Altoona county sheriff, she punched the digits quickly. As she waited for him to answer memories of the last emergency call she’d made to the sheriff returned. It had turned out to be a false alarm, not the first one she'd innocently made over the last few months. At her aunt's age, Karo worried the next time the emergency could be real. This time it seemed all too real. Not wanting to be fined for 911 abuse, she'd scribbled his home number down from the phone directory the last time she'd visited Aunt Harriet. There was a click on the phone and something electrifying zinged through her when the man spoke.

     ‘This had better be damned important.”

     “Sheriff Marlowe?” She wished her voice hadn’t squeaked like air escaping from a rubber duck. He's just a man, and feeling intimidated by him was just plain silly.

     “Hold on a minute.” After he dropped the receiver onto a hard surface, she heard paper crackling, then the sound of flint striking metal. He took his time picking up the phone again. She silently cursed his cigarette habit and wondered if he'd recognized her voice. She got her answer when he came back on the line.

     “What is it this time, Ms. Becker?”

     Karo regained her normal voice and said, “I think my aunt is in some kind of trouble.”

     “Your aunt is a grown woman who happens to have a life, which is something you should try working on.” She stiffened, wondering if he meant her to overhear his mumbled words. More clearly, he asked, “What makes you think she's in trouble this time?”

     Karo ignored his sarcasm. “Aunt Harriet called me a few minutes ago and said ...” not knowing what kind of terrible thing her aunt had done she decided vagueness was called for, “she sounded really scared, and the phone went dead before I could find out what was wrong.”

     Taking time to blow smoke, he asked, “Why don't you try calling her back?”

     She almost said, “Gee, why didn't I think of that.” Meetings with the parents of failing or troubled students had trained her to ignore cynicism, especially when she needed their cooperation. “The storm must have knocked out the service or something. She doesn't answer and I returned the call immediately.”

     “Well, that’s probably it. The storm scared her and the lights going out—”

     “I can see you can't be bothered to do your job.” She rejected his condescending rational. Her aunt had never been afraid of anything, especially a Florida storm, which was a frequent occurrence this time of year. Now she knew why the man's voice gave her stomach the flutters. But, he wasn’t a bad-ass lawman, just an ass disguising himself as one. No parent had ever made her lose her patience so quickly.

     “I'll just drive up there myself,” she said and slammed the phone down.

     Was she overreacting? There'd been so many false alarms with Aunt Harriet.

     A whimpering shifted her attention to the small puppy cringing at her feet. She'd found the abandoned animal on the schoolyard last week, hair matted, and crawling with fleas. Once she got him cleaned up, Zero—so named after one of her students remarked on how much of nothing he looked—had a thick, soft white coat. Tuffs of hair flipped forward over big, pleading brown eyes. At the time, Karo hadn't thought about how closely the puppy’s name resembled her nickname, or how closely zero described her existence. Divorced, available, attractive women didn't stay home on Friday night grading papers?  But, she had become tired of the nightclub scene after being dragged along by her friend and fellow teacher, Linda Gaye, to several “hotspots” the first months after the divorce. Now the main things she looked forward to was seeing her students each morning, and taking Zero for a walk each night.

     She picked up and cuddled the bundle of fur against her chest. “It's okay, Zero, I'm not mad at you.”

     Aunt Harriet's birthday was Sunday, and Karo had planned to deliver the living birthday present. She'd packed in preparations to drive up to Altoona Bay in the morning, but already she had second thoughts about not keeping Zero. She had been looking forward to spending the weekend with her aunt, though, and she knew the puppy would have a better life at the Bay house with her aunt rather than being cooped up in a tiny apartment alone while Karo worked.

     It had been months since she’d made the trip to see Harriet, even though the drive was less than an hour and half away. Not her idea, but her aunt's. Suddenly Harriet had become too busy to spend time with her niece. That was so inconsistent with her normal reaction that Karo had planned this trip to be a surprise. Now more than ever, she wanted to know what was going on in Altoona Bay.

     She changed into a pair of jeans and a red cotton polo, secured her unruly blonde hair off her face with a pair of combs, and headed for her car. She tossed her suitcase into the trunk, put Zero in the passenger seat beside her and drove away in a reflective daze. What had her aunt done now?  

     She really couldn't blame the sheriff for thinking her silly to be so concerned about Harriet. To all outward appearances Aunt Harriet was intelligent and self-sufficient, yet she was also a ball of fire who often acted without thinking of the consequences.

  She recalled the time Harriet had gotten it into her head that she could repair a leak in the roof. Karo had been fourteen-years-old on summer vacation at the time. She'd always loved it at the bay and pleaded to stay there instead of accompanying her parents on their extended second honeymoon, a trip they never returned from.

     Harriet had slipped off the top rung of the ladder, landing in the hedges. She'd been lucky to come out of it with only a broken her leg and a few cuts and bruises. Not wanting anyone to think her a “foolish old broad”, she'd fabricated a story about falling in the tub, and sworn Karo to back her up. The truth got out anyway, since Harriet's nosy neighbor from across the bay had seen everything through her binoculars. The Widow Shaunessy did a lot of bay watching. She could name every boat that rode through the bay and describe the occupants in detail, but everyone knew her spyglasses were often trained on her neighbors, as well.

     She might learn more about her aunt's activities from Mrs. Shaunessy than she would Harriet. For the past few month whenever Karo mentioned driving up for a weekend, Harriet commented strangely,  “I might not be here, dear.”

     Karo swung her ancient Volvo onto I-4 heading west. Whether the Sheriff believed her or not, she had not mistaken the sound of fear in her aunt's voice. The note of desperation coming from the woman who'd raised her after her parents died in a plane crash was something entirely new to her.

     Rain lashed the car heavily as Karo drove into the storm rolling across Central Florida. Barely able to make out the dividing lines between the lanes now, she concentrated on keeping the taillights of the car ahead in sight. The cell phone ringing gave her a start.

     She let off the accelerator, and the taillights ahead faded in the distance. She searched out and found the faint white line to the right of the road, trying to keep her bearings as she jerked the phone off the seat and put it to her ear.

     “Aunt Harriet!” she screeched.

     There was silence on the other end for so long, she repeated, “Aunt Harriet, where are you?”

     “That's exactly what I'd like to know,” the now familiar man's voice said.

     She thought the sheriff could use some lessons on phone etiquette. Right now she was in no mood for formality, either. Her students would be appalled by the curse word that slipped out. “Dammit, sheriff, I'm in no mood for word games right now. What is going on?  Are you at my aunt's house?”

     “Have you heard anything more from Harriet?” he asked, seeming to ignore her questions altogether. In spite of his smoky voice, she visualized a pot-bellied lawman trying to keep his pad and pen from catching the rain pouring off his wide-brimmed hat.

     Just what was this Marlowe up to? she wondered. And more puzzling, how did he get her cell phone number? She was too worried about her aunt to split hairs over such matters now. “No, I haven't.”

     Karo veered left to miss a pothole and a truck's horn blared as he passed her on the inside lane. The phone fell between her legs. She retrieved and replaced the receiver to her ear just in time to hear a string of curses that made her swear word sound innocuous. A demand to know where she was came from Marlowe's end.

     “I'm here. I'm here. My phone slipped.”

     “Where the hell are you?” he asked again.

     She realized he meant literally and said, “On the Interstate, about five miles from the Altoona Bay Exit.”

     “Okay, I'll see you when you get to your aunt's house. I don't need anymore accidents to investigate tonight, so drive careful.”

     Accidents?  “Wait! Has Aunt Harriet been—”

     He hung up. “Damn you, Marlowe!”  

     She threw the cell phone down. It sailed by Zero and skidded off the seat onto the floorboard. Thankfully, the puppy was deep in doggy dreamland and not disturbed this time. She heard the casing on the phone crack and wished the connection were still open and pressed against Marlowe's hard head.

     For a man she'd never met, she had plenty of visuals to match his personality. A snarling bulldog face. A seven-foot mammoth with a barrel chest and a Marine haircut. A Wyatt Earp hopeful with a pair of six-shooters hanging off a potbelly. The images were briefly distracting, but she soon began to worry about her aunt once more. The sheriff said he'd see her when she got to her aunt's. And, his question about whether she'd heard from Harriet again, meant that Aunt Harriet wasn't home.  

     Kara realized he hadn't sounded as surly or dismissive as he had earlier. Just finding her aunt not home wouldn't have caused that change in demeanor. And if he was waiting for her to get there, he hadn't driven out there on another false alarm. Something must be very, very wrong.

    Chapter Two

     Karo raced toward the back yard where blue and red lights flashed brightly against the darkness. Spotlights lined the dock and reflected off a body bag atop a gurney. The worst images possible flitted through her mind.

     “Aunt Harriet,” she screamed and ducked beneath the yellow tape surrounding the grassy slope near the shore. A strong hand reached out and gripped her wrist. She was jerked to a sudden stop that caused her to stumble. She braced herself against a very hard chest.

     “Take it easy,” the drawling voice said, “it's not your aunt.”

     Karo pushed away from the sheriff and demanded, “Where is she? Is she in the guesthouse.” Every light in the small two-bedroom structure to the left and about forty feet closer to the shoreline than the main house was on. Men in uniforms and suits were walking back and forth to a crime scene van parked nearby. They carried satchels and briefcases, cameras and various other pieces of equipment used in their job.

     “No.” Marlowe said. “She isn't here.” He released her wrist, but cupped her elbow. “Do you want to take a look at the body, see if you can identify him?”

     Body! Him?  It began to sink in that the sheriff was telling her the truth. “Do I have to?”

     “No, it can wait,” he said. He swung her around and walked her up the incline toward the main house. “I need to ask you some questions. Let's get you in out of this damp air.”

     Karo had some questions of her own, but even though the rain had turned into a light drizzle, the wind whipping off the bay was making her shiver. Maybe she could think more clearly once she was in the safe harbor of her aunt's home. She glanced toward her car, but there was no sign that Zero had awakened. She'd left the driver's side window cracked, so he'd be okay where he was for the time being.

     She tossed a glance over her shoulder. If the body lying on the gurney wasn't her aunt, who was it?  That was the first question she asked when they reached the shelter of the screened porch.

     “I don't know,” Marlowe said. He took off his Stetson,  removed his rain slicker and hung them a nail hook by the back door.

     Karo started to reach above the doorframe to find the spare key, but Marlowe turned the knob and the door swung open. Her aunt never left the house unlocked. She almost called out for her, but it was obvious the sheriff had already been inside looking for Harriet, since he'd said she wasn't there. He flipped on the overhead kitchen light and she got her first good look at Sheriff Marlowe.

     Her preconceived ideas of him had been so far off the mark she almost laughed aloud. He was trim and fit, no beer belly or backwoods lawman look about him. His dark hair with a bit of gray peppering the sides was short but longer than the butch cut she'd imagined. In fact, he had an errant curl that must irate him to no end since he kept finger combing it back off his forehead. She guessed he must be pushing forty, and likely kept his athletic build by jogging or doing regular workouts in a gym

     He ordered Karoline to sit down. She was too tired to argue, and she didn't figure he'd answer her questions unless she followed his orders. He removed the paper towels from the holder and sat them on the table. “Here, use these to dry off.”

     She pulled out one of the ladder back chairs beside the round mahogany table, still scared with initials she'd carved into the surface during her rebellious phase shortly after losing her parents. Through it all, her aunt had remained kind, loving and patient, and eventually she had learned to forgive herself for not being with her parents when they died.

     She was jarred back to the present when a cupboard door banged shut. She wondered what the sheriff was looking for until he finally opened a canister on the countertop and an ah-ha look came over his face.  

     After patting the moisture off her face and arms, she got up and tossed the used paper towels in the trash, then went over and removed an herbal teabag from one of the smaller canisters. His clean scent of damp saltiness made her sway closer for a second breath, which threw her off guard. He'd just spent a good deal of time near the bay and in the rain, and the familiar scents shouldn't have caused such a stirring response in her. It was something that mingled with those familiar scents, though, something that sent out mixed signals of protection, possession and comfort that had her insides turning into liquid heat.

     She backed away and retrieved two mugs. Sliding one down next to the coffee maker for the sheriff to use, she held her breath until she'd eased away from him again. She filled the other mug with water, which she heated in the microwave.

     Marlowe lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. He got the coffee to brewing, then leaned against the counter and watched her carefully undo the individually wrapped teabag and dunk it several times in the cup of hot water. He asked, “You don't like coffee?”

     He fixed, dark blue gaze had an almost mesmerizing effect on her. She regain her senses and recalling his question, she answered, “I like coffee sometimes, but right now I need something a little more soothing.”

     The coffee maker popped and sizzled out it’s last drop into the carafe. She took a sip of tea and surveyed the sheriff's backside when he turned to fill his mug. He was only a head taller than her five-three, but with his every movement, gave testimony of his masculinity. Broad shoulder muscles bunched and rolled against the damp brown khaki uniform as he placed the carafe back on the warmer. With coffee mug in hand, he walked to the table with a lithe male stride and sat down. A nod of his head indicated she should do the same.

     She eased into the chair opposite him. When she realized he was grinning like a man who was used to women looking him over, she narrowed her eyes and brought them back the seriousness of the situation. “Is the victim a drowning accident?”  

     Somehow she wasn't surprised when he gave the same response as he had to her previous questions. “Don't know.”  

     “Perhaps I'm going about this all wrong, Sheriff Marlowe. What exactly do you know?”

     He smiled. Deep groves appeared around his eyes, the sign of a man who'd spent too much time in the sun. “I know the victim is male, age estimated between sixty to seventy. I know he died under conditions that appear suspicious. I know your aunt was here around the time, but has since left the premises. And I know I'd rather you called me Cliff instead of Sheriff.”

      He slipped the latter in as if it were a part of his report. She wasn't sure she wanted to be on a first name basis with the man, but avoided the issue for the moment. “What sort of suspicious circumstances?”

     “We'll discuss that later. What do you know about your aunt's recent activities?”

     He pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket, so she realized the intimate “call me Cliff” phase of their conversation was over. “I don't know what you're getting at?”

     “Where she goes?  Who her friends are? That sort of thing will do for a start.”

     Karo didn't know much about her aunt's recent activities and guilt washed over her. She should have drove up here weeks ago when all the weirdness had started, even if her aunt hadn't wanted her to come.

     She told the Sheriff about social clubs her aunt belonged to, the church she had attended for as long as she could remember, the homeless shelter--a pet project of hers for years--and the people she'd helped when they had nowhere else to go. Karo gave him a list of her aunt's friends, the longtime ones…God knows who Harriet had been seeing or what she had been up to lately. “I'd like to start calling around to see if anyone knows where she might be.”

     The sheriff tucked his notepad back into his shirt pocket and stood. “I was about to suggest you do just that. And in case you can't catch up with her, if you would gather up any personal phone books, address books, appointment books, and such, it will save me some time later.” He tilted his head toward the back door. “While you check with her friends, I'll finish up outside.”

     Karo wasn't completely stupid. The time he was concerned about saving was from getting a search warrant. But, after she'd called around and exhausted the list of close friends she knew, all of whom either didn't answer their phone at this hour, were away from home, or knew nothing, she went into the den and started gathering the very items the sheriff wanted.

     Of course, she examined each item for clues to her aunt’s whereabouts. She didn't find anything unusual, other than some initials jotted on the desk calendar and three unfamiliar names on vouchers in her aunt's checkbook. The sums were extremely large and that bothered her, knowing how her aunt disliked dipping into her savings. Since the sheriff hadn't specifically asked for that item she shoved the checkbook to the back of the top desk drawer. She tore off the calendar page with the unknown initials and stuffed them in her shorts pocket.

     Until she knew exactly what sort of trouble her aunt was in, she wasn't going to share anything that she hadn't checked out first herself. She didn't think for a moment that her aunt had murdered the man they'd fished out of the bay, but Harriet must think she was somehow responsible. Why else wasn't she here answering all their questions?  

     I've done a terrible thing.  No matter how innocent those words, to a lawman, they might sound like a murder confession. But, her aunt wasn't one to run away from a bad situation. Unless...could she have been forced to do so?

     The thought was chilling, and one she anxiously shared with the sheriff when he came back inside with her suitcase in one hand and Zero snuggly tucked against his chest with his other.

Chapter Three

     “I'm not ruling out any possibilities at this point,” Cliff said. He laughed, as he ducked a lick in the face from Zero. “I found this little fellow in your car yapping his head off. I took the liberty of bringing in your suitcase, too.”

     He sat her suitcase and the puppy on the floor. Karo noted that Zero wasn't trembling like he usually did around strangers. She wanted to reprimand Cliff for searching her car without her consent, but knew it might make her look guilty of something if she did. A barking dog to draw his attention was one thing, but going through her trunk without asking seemed more invasive. Did he just guess that she'd come prepared to stay? Or did he search her trunk on the chance he'd find a clue to the case? She found it difficult to know if the sheriff had been searching for clues or just acting the gentleman

     Already busy helping himself to more coffee; he didn't seem to expect a thank you, so she didn't voice one. Karo had learned not to take things at face value. Her former husband had occasionally shown a chivalrous streak, too, but he'd only used it when he wanted to manipulate her in some way.

     Zero trotted over to the sheriff and lapped at the moisture on one of his boots. “I guess he's thirsty,” she said. She got two bowls from the cupboard and put water in one. Then she leaned down and unzipped the side pocket of her suitcase. She noticed the sheriff staring at her butt, and she quickly straightened with a foil packet of dog food she'd packed.

     Looking around for something to set the bowls on, she spotted an unopened newspaper that had been left beside the back door. She slipped it out of the plastic bag and noted it was yesterday's issue. Her aunt's habit of reading The Reviewer from front to back each morning, was another indication that something unusual occurred that day—or rather the day before. It was nearly three a.m. She spread out the front section to set the bowls on.

     After she emptied the packet, Zero's paws did a slip and slide tap dance across the linoleum floor to get to the bowls. He dove into the food the same way he did the first day she brought him home, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

     The sheriff seemed to find the animals antics amusing. His soft laughter making the coffee cup jiggle in the mug he had resting on his trim stomach. Sprawled back in the chair and his legs stretched out before him, his damp breeches molded to certain parts of his anatomy.

      Karo ripped her eyes away from the tempting view, turned and stared out the kitchen window. Only one light was on at the dock and it appeared the crime scene crew had packed up and left. “You mentioned other possibilities. What else is there to consider, Sheriff?”

     When he didn't answer, she whirled around and confronted him. “You can't be thinking Aunt Harriet had anything to do with that man's death.”

     His chair banged when the front two legs came down on the floor. He rose and moved within inches of where she stood, making her breath hang in her lungs longer than usual. Then with a lopsided smile inching across his lips, he leaned around her and dumped the remains of his coffee into the sink.

     She felt shocked and a little embarrassed that his nearness sent a frisson of awareness to sensitive areas of her body. She moved to the table, basically exchanging places with him when she sat down in his chair. What had come over her tonight? She wasn't normally attracted to authoritative or domineering men, especially ones like the sheriff, who exuded testosterone as if he splashed it on each morning like after shave lotion.

     While the sheriff refilled his cup, Karo chalked her strange reactions up to nothing more than the current worrisome events. It wasn't everyday a loved one went missing and a dead stranger popped up on her property. Fear and uncertainty caused all sorts of emotional instability.

     He was pouring another cup of coffee. It was a wonder the sheriff didn't have the shakes with all the coffee he drank. Was he relying on the caffeine to keep going? Earlier he’d mentioned a slew of accidents he’d had to investigate during the storm. He must have just hit the sack when she'd called him. She'd been awake all night, too, but at least she hadn't been caught out in a drenching rainstorm.

     “There are lots of possibilities,” he said, “but I don't think we need to speculate on all of them right now.” He frowned at the address book and day calendar she'd left on the table, shoving himself away from the counter and flipping through them briefly before he asked, “Is there a place where I can make a private phone call?”

     When she stared at the radiophone hanging from his belt, he said, “Dead battery.”

     There was a phone on the kitchen wall, but he said he wanted privacy. Did that mean he had a wife or a girlfriend to check in with back home?  It must be hell on his social life being pulled out of bed at all hours to look at dead bodies, whether from accidents or murder. His eyes seemed more sunken now, and dark circles were forming around them. Her heart softened and she pointed toward the hall.

     “There's a phone on the desk in the den. Down the hallway to your left.” She smiled when she saw Zero had found himself a bed on the rug in front of the back door. A full tummy and a little quiet was all it took to put him to sleep. She was getting pretty tired herself.

     It must have shown, for Cliff said, “I'll be getting out of your hair pretty soon. If you want to go to bed, I can lock up before I leave.”

     “A shower sounds very tempting right now.” It would probably do more to calm her than the tea had, too. “I'd like to ask you a couple more things before you go, though.”

     “Okay, take your time. I have more than one call to make and may be on the phone quiet awhile. Then I'll answer your questions if I can.”

     Karo was in the shower when she thought once again of the page she'd ripped from the desk calendar. She'd checked the initials against the names in the address book, and was about to go through the day planner when Cliff had come back inside.

     She hurried through her shower and donned a pair of short pajamas. For modesty's sake, she pulled on a chenille robe that belonged to her aunt, and transferred the calendar page from her jeans to the robe pocket. As she passed the den, she peeked in and saw the sheriff leaning against the desk. His back was turned toward the door and the phone was pressed to his ear.

     She interpreted that to mean he would be a while. In the kitchen, she scanned the day planner, but the only thing that came close to matching the initials HTL was on the phone list in the back for Holly Lanier. Holly had been one of the homeless people her aunt had taken in for a short while. Karo had met her briefly when Aunt Harriet and the girl stopped by her apartment while in Orlando on a shopping trip. Holly had just gotten at the local diner and needed new clothes. She'd earned a little money by doing housework for Harriet. But knowing her aunt, she imagined Harriet had been the one keeping house for Holly.

     What sort of contact had they maintained after Holly moved out? And, why would Aunt Harriet put Holly's initials on the calendar on the same day of the man's drowning?  Had the girl lost her job and called for another handout?   

     She glanced toward the hallway. Fearing Cliff would come back any minute, she flipped over the page she'd ripped from the desk calendar and quickly scratched the number for Holly Lanier on the back, then shoved the paper in her robe pocket.

     Karo was nervous about withholding evidence, but was it evidence? In any event, she felt it was very important that she find her aunt before the law did. To occupy her hands and mind, she got up and washed the cups they'd drank from. After dumping the dregs of coffee and washing the pot, she wondered if she shoud make another pot?  She decided her questions wouldn't keep Cliff around that long. Besides, he wouldn't get any sleep at all if he kept dosing himself with caffeine.

     It was getting easier to think of the sheriff by his first name, she realized, and wondered if that were good or bad.  She put the coffee pot back together and finished wiping down the kitchen counters. Calmer now, she looked at the clock above the stove. It was 3:45. Cliff had been in the den for much longer than she would have thought necessary. Maybe he wasn’t on the phone any longer.  Maybe was going through her aunt's things instead.

     Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. No wonder he suggested she should take her time in the shower. She marched down the hallway until she overheard him speaking.

     “Thanks, Greg. If your dive team could get out here first thing in the morning, I'd really appreciate it.”

     Her fury seeped away in an instant. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes to fight the sudden bout of nausea.

     Was there any reason to call in a dive team except to search the bay for another body?  While she took slow, deep breaths to keep from crying, a strong hand came to rest on her shoulder. He massaged her neck then stroked her back. It was a comforting touch, similar to way she'd treated Zero when he had a spell of the shivers. The stroking stopped sooner than she wanted it to. She turned and Cliff's intense, dark gaze once again held her in a trance. The longer the silence between them lingered, the more difficulty she had holding back the tears. He opened his arms and she slid into his embrace as if it were her God given right to be there.

     Cliff swore softly. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

     The endearment brought Karo to her senses. She pushed out of his arms, embarrassed by her moment of weakness. She found a tissue in her aunt’s robe pocket and used it to, dry her eyes. “I'm fine. You called for a dive team?”

     “Just routine when an incident occurs around water. We'll need to check the entire area for evidence, a weapon, items belonging to the victim—”

     “Another body,” she injected caustically. He'd been refreshingly honest all evening; she didn't want him glossing over the truth to save her sensibilities now. She shouldn't have worried that he would.

     “There is that possibility.”

     “One of those possibilities you were mulling over earlier.” She half smiled when he nodded.

     “It's a routine procedure when an unidentified body is found in water. The dive team will be looking for any suspicious objects, weapons or whatever. Although we won't know if there was a weapon until after the autopsy. I'm also hoping to find something belonging to the deceased. His pockets were empty and we couldn't find anything of a personal nature in the guesthouse.

     “What makes you think he was staying there?”

     “One of the neighbors witnessed the victim moving his stuff into the guesthouse about three weeks ago.”

     She said disbelieving. “It just doesn't make any sense that my aunt wouldn't have mentioned him—unless he was from the homeless shelter. She knew how I hated her taking strangers in the way she did. Was he around either time you came out here?”

     “No, he wasn't,” Cliff said. “But he could have been with her.”

     It would be just like Aunt Harriet to offer a job to someone from the homeless shelter where she's a volunteer. “Didn't the neighbor find out his name?”

     “No, and he said the man kept to himself in the guesthouse most of the time. The only time the neighbor saw him out was when he made a trek up to the main house, or the two drove off somewhere in your aunt‘s car.”

     Karo felt as if she were going to faint. It seemed her aunt had been keeping lots of secrets. If the man wasn't hired to work around the place, what was he to her aunt?  An old acquaintance in town for a few weeks?  But why keep him a secret. A lover? Had her aunt taken a lover?  No wonder she'd been reluctant to have Karo come for a visit.  

     “You never know what meaningful evidence a dive team might find.”

     She realized Cliff had continued to talk while her mind had been wandering. “I suppose you would know,” she said and smiled at him. He shocked her then by sticking two fingers into her robe pocket. He pulled until she came so close to him his breath fanned the hair on top of her head. A chill of excitement ran through her, but he obviously wasn't making a pass. He dug deeper into her right pocket and pulled out the page she'd ripped from her aunt's calendar earlier.

     “Oh, I was going to show you tha later,” she lied.

     “Yeah, well I'd rather sooner than later.” He scanned the pages and asked, “Do you know who these initials belong to?”

     “No.” She should have known the sheriff would notice the missing pages, but how did he know she'd taken them?

     He narrowed his dark glare, giving her a strong dose of psychological truth serum. “I'm sure you wouldn't lie to me about that, would you?  You wouldn't have some ulterior motive for hanging on to this?”

     “No, I'm not lying,” she said defensively, but didn't deny the latter accusation. It didn't matter, she had the initials memorized, anyway, and she silently repeated the phone number in hopes she wouldn't forget it before having a chance to jot it down again . She walked back into the kitchen and he followed. She avoided looking at him and took up her vigilant stare out the back window. Her aunt's car was in the carport. She'd seen it when they'd walked up from the lake.

     How did her aunt leave? She wondered if the boat was in the boathouse and thought about going down to check, but he'd probably already done that. “Is the skiff in the boathouse?”

     “Yes, it's there. Do you know who these initials belong to?”

     “I couldn't match the initials to anyone in Harriet's address book.” He'd figure out soon enough Holly Lanier was a close match to one of the entries, but she wasn't going to volunteer anything else, and thankfully he didn't ask about the phone number when he flipped the page over. She had no qualms about getting the woman up early, especially if it led her to her aunt's whereabouts. She mentally made a list: call Holly, search the guesthouse—maybe the sheriff's crew had missed something—go by the shelter.

     “Maybe they're not names,” he said. “Could be they're places where she had an appointment to meet someone.”

     She hadn't thought of that angle. He was sharing his ideas with her and it was foolish for her to hold back anything that would help Cliff solve the case. Should she tell him what her aunt had said? I've done a terrible thing.

     What good would it do?  It would only make her aunt appear guilty of murder, and Karo wouldn't do that. The sheriff's immediate concern would be identifying the victim. She wanted to know, too, but she was more interested in locating her aunt. Discovering whatever Harriet's relationship was and what they'd been up to over the last few weeks might help her and Cliff get what they wanted. She squinted and stared at a light across the bay as it flickered and went out. “Six O-clock news!”

     “What?” Cliff's head snapped away from the notes he'd been studying.

     “Widow Shaunessy. She's a bay watcher. Everyone calls her the six-o'clock-news because she usually knows everything that goes on around here before anyone else does and doesn’t waste time relaying it to anyone who'll listen.”

     Cliff yawned. He rose and gathered the paperwork. “I'll talk to her later this morning, right now I'd better get out of here so we can both get a little shuteye.”

     Zero lifted his head when the sheriff opened the back door, then satisfied all was well, he went back to sleep. Cliff said, “I don't trust your watchdog, so one of my deputies will be patrolling the area.”

     She didn't think she was in danger, and imagined he was sending the patrol to keep an eye out in case her aunt returned home. “Sheriff?”

     “Yeah?” He smothered another yawn and she almost felt sorry for keeping him one second longer than necessary.

     “Pick me up when you get ready to go see Mrs. Shaunessy.”

     He didn't commit to anything, just smiled and said,  “Good night, Karoline.”

     Chapter Four

     Karo woke to the sounds of slamming doors and male voices. Her bedroom was on the backside of the house, and listening to the scraping and splashing, it didn't take long to figure out the divers had arrived. The bedside clock told her she'd been to bed for only four hours, and during that time Karo had gotten little sleep. An old house made lots of noises. The wood tended to shrink and expand during temperature changes at night. Normally the popping and crackling wouldn't have bothered her, but the sounds last night had her jumping up to see if her aunt had returned.

     The sheriff had kept his word. During her last wakeful moments she'd watched a patrol car circle the drive, shining a spotlight over the house and dock. She'd slept much better after that.

     The phone rang and she rolled to the side of the bed and picked up the receiver.

     “Mrs. Newlander?”

     “She isn't here. This is her niece,” Karo said.

     The man identified himself as Brian Atwood, Harriet's yardman. “I just wanted to let her know I'm not feeling well and won't be over to mow today.”

     “What happened to Toby?” She remembered the high school kid had been mowing her aunt’s yard for the last few years.

     “College, I heard.” The man laughed.

     He didn't sound sick and Karo didn't laugh with him. During her five year marriage, Roger had planned so many social activities that she'd had little time left to keep abreast of Altoona Bay's residents, that included her Aunt Harriet, apparently. They had a lot of catching up to do and she wished her aunt were here right now to do it. She heard a splash and loud yell. She said, “I'll tell her you called.”

     She hung up and wiggled into a pair of white shorts, dug the first T-shirt she came to out of her bag and pulled it on. The words “Teachers do it by the book” were emblazoned across the front. There was a knock on the back door, and she grabbed up her canvas boat shoes and went to answer it. She wasn't surprised to find the Sheriff standing there. He gave her a once over that began at her head and stopped at her bare feet. Then he mumbled, “Good morning”, and stepped inside.

     “Good morning,” she said, “I heard one of the divers yell. Did they find anything?”

     “Cold water shock,” he said grumpily.

     She assumed he meant the diver had been yelling because of the water temperature. When he frowned it didn't take much to figure out he was staring at the empty coffee pot. She shrugged and sat down to slip on her shoes.

              He seemed to take the hint and started preparing the coffee himself. After he dumped several large spoonfuls of grounds into a clean filter and poured in the water, he simply stood watching the brown liquid slowly drip into the carafe. Some of her fellow teachers were grouchy until they hit the teacher's lounge for that first cup of coffee in the morning, so she excused his self-indulgent mood.

     Likely she'd get more information from him if she waited until the coffee was ready, so she excused herself and went back into her bedroom. She brushed her teeth, pulled her tawny hair into a ponytail and put on a touch of lipstick. A few strokes with an eyebrow pencil and she stepped back and gave her reflection a critical look. She usually took more care with her appearance, but she hated wearing makeup, something Roger constantly berated her for. “Go put your face on,” he'd say, adding, “In my profession, one needs to make a good impression at all times.” His profession was political aide to a county commissioner, an office that he aspired to have eventually on his way up the political ladder, so she supposed he was right.

     Since a sheriff was an elected official, she wondered if Cliff was as picky about how his lady-friend or lady-friends dressed. He didn't wear a wedding band, so she didn't think he was married, but of course, that didn't rule out a significant other.

     She made a face at her reflection. Even if she wanted to put on extra makeup, she hadn't brought any of the heavy-duty supplies with her. Lip-gloss and eyeliner would have to do. She stared down at her shirt.

     Did the silly message draw too much attention to her full breasts?  Linda had given her the T-Shirt for Christmas, and this was the first time she'd worn it. The sheriff's once over hadn't exactly given her looks a stamp of approval. She laughed at the silly, insecure self-image returning at such a moment. She had a lot more to worry about than what sheriff thought about her appearance? She stuffed the tail of the T-shirt into her shorts, smoothed the packing wrinkles out of the material, pursed her lips, kissed the air and said, “Take that, Cliff Marlowe.”

              Either he took it just fine, or the coffee he was sipping gave him the appreciative twinkle in his eyes. He lifted his cup. “Coffee? Or, do you prefer tea in the mornings, too?”  

     “Coffee is fine.”

     He surprised her when he filled a mug for her, then asked how she liked it.

     “Black is fine.”

     “Fine,” he said, and handed her the cup. About the time she realized he was mocking her, he caught her off guard by adding, “I like your T-shirt.”

     It seemed like an ambiguous remark, but the way he looked at her when he said it made her weak-kneed. She was still trying to decide if a “thank you” was in order when he lifted the pot in one hand, stuck a stack of Styrofoam cups—which he must have plundered through her aunt's cabinets to find—under one arm, took his cup in the other hand and said, “Would you open the door for me?  I promised Jake and his men fresh coffee. It was the only way I could entice him to put this job ahead of one he will actually make a profit on. County doesn't put much aside for this sort of thing, so it's scrape for scrap,” he said it so deadpan, she wasn't sure he'd meant it as a joke until he rewarded her with a lopsided smile. It was the first sign she'd seen he had a sense of humor. Of course, the current situation didn't give much opportunity for levity.

     “As a teacher, I can empathize with your predicament,” she said.

     “Thought you might.” He was halfway down the back steps when she realized Zero was missing. Then she saw him rollicking back and forth along the shoreline, barking at two divers hanging to the dock ladder examining something one of them held. He must have escaped when Cliff came in and set off to explore his new surroundings. The divers tossed the item onto the dock among several other things they must have retrieved from the bay.

              Cliff knelt to give the man sitting on the dock in a cup of coffee. Apparently Jake was the one who'd yelped from the cold-water plunge, for the two men still in the water wore dive suits while he was dressed only in swim trunks. With Cliff busy talking to the man, she decided this was as good a time as any to take a look inside the guesthouse. There was no crime scene tape warning her to stay out, so she didn't think it was off limits.

     She entered without being noticed and surveyed the mess from the foyer. Fingerprint dust and muddy floors, she'd expected, but the room looked like a hurricane had blown through. The sofa cushions were dumped on the floor and books from the wall shelf lay scattered about. Had the crime scene investigators gone to that extreme looking for clues?

     She walked through the two bedrooms, and found them in similar condition. The mattresses had been upturned and covers heaped into a pile in one corner. The strange thing was the dresser drawers and closet had been emptied. If the man had been staying at the guesthouse, where were his clothes? The drawers in the small kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, had been opened and the contents appeared to have been disturbed. A half dozen champagne glasses, covered in fingerprint dust, were sitting on the drain beside the sink.

     The front door flew open and Karo jumped. Reminding herself she'd not done anything wrong, she turned and faced Cliff. “Find anything interesting, yet?”

     “Maybe. How about you?” he asked.

     “If the man was staying here, someone took his personal possessions,” she said.

     “Anything else?”

     “Nothing you don't already know about, I'm sure.” She nodded toward the wine glasses. “He must have had visitors before he died. I don't suppose there were any prints on them.”

     “Nope, they were clean. Maybe he was lazy and let the dishes pile up before washing them.”

     “If so, he was on a liquid diet. I was about to check the trash for an empty bottle.”

     “Don't bother.” He narrowed his eyes. “We're really not that incompetent, Ms. Becker.”

     “I never thought you were, Sheriff Marlowe. I'm just anxious to find my aunt.”

     “I know you are, Karo.” His tone softened. “The divers did find a wine bottle in the bay,” he offered as if to atone for his defensive attitude. “Hard to tell how long it's been there, but it was corked, so I sent it to the lab to have the contents checked.”

     “What have you got there?” She pointed at the waterlogged wallet he had in his hand.

     “The deceased's, I think. He'd aged a good deal since the driver's license picture was taken, but I'm pretty sure it's the same man.” Cliff eased the wallet open, careful not to do more damage to it and asked, “Do you recognize him?”

     “William H. Anderson,” Karo read and shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.”

     “I need a clean, dry surface to lay out the rest of the contents. Let's do it on the breakfast ba