Page 57 of It Happened on the Lake

“Cynthia Hunt was in her room at the last bed check,” he said. “I talked to the general manager at Serenity Acres, who had verified that with the night staff. So far no explanation, but we’re on it.”

“Don’t they have cameras? Or alarms?”

“Apparently not. Or at least none that was working.”

“Convenient.” Her eyebrows pulled together as she picked up her pen and started twirling it again. “I’ll double-check.”

“Good.”

The phone rang, and she picked up the receiver. “Detective Brown.” A pause and then, turning her gaze to Rand, said, “Ms. Simms with theTribune?” She lifted her eyebrows in a question, and Rand shook his head and held up a hand.

“I see. Well, for now, I’ll transfer you to the public information officer and—”

Rand was already out of his chair.

“I can’t comment at this time. As I said, I’ll transfer you and—” A pause, then, “No, I said—”

Rhonda DeAngelo Simms wasn’t taking no for an answer. Not a surprise. Rand remembered her from school. She, like he, had returned to Almsville, where she’d taken a job as a reporter with the local paper. He had no interest in talking to her at the moment and left Chelle to deal with her.

He headed for the break room. In the hallway, he passed a uniformed officer ushering a disheveled man in cuffs toward the interrogation rooms. The guy was a mess, the smell of alcohol seeming to seep out of his pores while he argued loudly with the female officer escorting him in the opposite direction.

Rand turned a corner and stepped into the break room with its round tables, vending machines, microwave, and coffee station. It was quiet, no one inside, and the glass carafe in the coffeemaker still held a cup or two. Someone had strung black and orange letters spelling outHAPPY HALLOWEENover the high windows and there were a couple of small pumpkins and a gourd nestled on the counter, Almsville Police Department’s nod to the season.

He poured himself a cup and thought about his conversation with Chelle.

She was right, of course.

He wasn’t objective when it came to Chase Hunt or Harper Reed.

Nonetheless, if she was going to start digging, he wanted to search through the old files before he handed them over to her.

Chapter 15

Finishing his coffee, Rand was about to head to the cold case files when Ned Gunderson, wearing a heavy jacket, walked from the outside and entered the break room. A heavy-set old-timer with close-cropped hair that was more salt than pepper, Gunn was only a couple of years from retirement, one of the few cops that had been on the force for over twenty years.

“Jesus, it’s wet as hell outside and pretty damned cold, too. You’d think it was the middle of January.” Gunn rubbed his hands together before pouring himself a cup of coffee, emptying the pot just as his partner, Eleanor Brady, joined him. Half his age and half his size, Brady was petite, blond, and a divorced mother of two who was blessed with a razor sharp tongue and had earned a black belt in karate.

“You gonna refill that?” she asked, eyeing the empty pot.

Gunn sent her an are-you-kidding look before tearing open several packets of Equal. Adding the sugar substitute to his cup before he doctored his brew with a shot of Coffee-Mate. “Looks like it’s on you.” Using a stir stick to mix the concoction, he took a chair at a round table where newspapers had been scattered while his partner sent him a dirty look.

“Fine. I’m doing it because I want a fresh cup, not because it’s ‘woman’s work,’” she told him. “You got that?”

“I didn’t say anything like that. Geez!” Gunn wasn’t the least bit abashed as he glanced at Rand, as if expecting backup.

No way was Rand going to step into that dog fight.

Gunn muttered, “It’s got nothin’ to do with sex.”

“You mean in my being a woman.”

“Jesus. Word games.” Tossing his stir stick into the trash, he grumbled under his breath. “Damned libbers. Everybody’s so damned touchy these days.”

“You got that right.” A pissy frown in place, Brady swabbed the pot in a nearby sink and refilled the water chamber. She measured out fresh coffee for the basket, pushed a button, and waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Gunn shed his jacket, letting it fall against the back of his chair, and slid a pair of reading glasses onto his nose. After pushing aside a basket of sugar packets, he sifted through the scattered sections ofThe Oregonian, the state-wide newspaper. “Where the hell is the sports section?” he muttered. “If that goddamned Fellows took it—oh! Hello. Here we go.” Snapping open the pages, he glanced up at Rand. “If you ask me, it looks like the Dodgers are gonna sweep the series. Got a good shot at it. The A’s? Not so much. And don’t talk to me about Canseco and McGwire.” He shook his head. “Bash Brothers, my ass.” He looked over the tops of his reading glasses. “Wait a sec. Don’t tell me you’re an Oakland fan.”

Rand lifted a shoulder. “They’ve got a shot.”

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