Page 152 of It Happened on the Lake

“He’s a douche bag,” she said, and before Rand could get a word in edgewise added, “And don’t make apologies for him.”

“Wouldn’t even try.”

“Here’s a crossword clue for you: What’s another name for partner of Eleanor Brady? Two words.”

“Chelle, I don’t—”

“Bing. Bing.” She pretended to push a buzzer. “Too late. You lose.” She glared up at him. “The answer isSick Prick.”

He started to argue but couldn’t. He didn’t blame her for being furious.

Poking the air angrily, as if Rand were to blame, she spat, “He’s gonna lose his job and his retirement!” Her near-black eyes glittered. “I wonder what the old ‘ball and chain’ would think about that?” So livid her mocha-colored skin had darkened, she closed her eyes, balled her fists, and took a deep breath.

As he rolled his chair back to the desk, she slowly relaxed, letting out her breath and allowing her hands to unclench. Then, another prolonged breath, part of an exercise regimen he’d witnessed before when she was frustrated.

“Does that work?”

“The breathing?” She expelled more air and nodded. “Most of the time. But with Gunderson? No. Not yet.” And she repeated the exercise another three times before her normal skin tone returned and she seemed calmer again, more in control.

“Okay,” she admitted and took the time to pluck a couple of dead leaves from a trailing plant. “Now I can focus.”

“Good.”

She crumpled the brown leaves and tossed them into her trash can. After a sip of coffee, she picked up a stack of papers on the corner of her desk. “I’ve started looking for anyone Chase Hunt was associated with, going over their statements.”

“And?”

“The kids who lived at the end of the street in the Musgrave family’s rental, they’re all scattered to the wind. I’m running down Ronald Mayfield. Looks like he moved to Mississippi, but that may not be current. I’ve checked with the Jacksonville PD. Charla Lopez is in the Seattle area, and I’m waiting for a call back. I think I have a lead on Janet Van Arsdale. She’s the one who went by Moonbeam?”

Rand remembered, suppressed a smile.

“They all lived just a couple of doors down from the Hunts and you, right?”

“Yep.”

“You know them?”

“Not by name, no. But I saw them coming and going. I’d heard about the house being a potential place to score pot or LSD or whatever.”

She leaned back and eyed him. “Seems like a bad place to deal out of,” she observed. “Dead end street, two cops as neighbors.”

“I guess. But there were trails leading down through the woods from the street that runs above the cul-de-sac, if that’s what you want to call it. Southway.”

“I know it. Rims the lake on the south side.”

“Right. And there was always the lake access if anyone wanted to meet their dealer and not have their car near the place.”

“Huh.” Little lines appeared between her eyebrows, and she looked about to ask another question but didn’t. Instead, she contemplated the dark depths in her coffee cup.

He asked, “What about Trick, Tristan Vargas? I have a little info on him.”

“Such as?”

He pulled out the information Levi had given him. “Take a look at this.” He explained about Levi stopping by and the information he’d gathered, then handed her the note. “Cynthia left it with Edward Sievers, who also lives at Serenity Acres.”

“Your neighbor, way back when? The guy who first saw Anna Reed’s body in the lake?”

“The very same.” He handed her the note.

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