Page 15 of Whispers of the Lake

“She’s not answering her calls or texts. Me and Zoey have been trying to get in touch with her for a few days.”

“You sure she’s okay?” he asked, true concern lacing his voice. Daddy always had a soft spot for Eve. He saw her as one of his own. A daughter—a troubled one who needed love and guidance.

He was there for her a lot. He even bought her and Zoey clothes, shoes—whatever they needed when they couldn’t afford it. Even though they had their abuela for a few years, they may as well have lived with us. They spent the night almost every other day, ate dinner with us, watched movies. They especially enjoyed watching Daddy grill steaks when his tax refund money came in. He only ever bought steak around that time.

“I think she’s fine. Just wanting attention like always.”

“Oh, come on, Rosette. She’s your friend. Don’t be like that.”

“We’re not friends anymore,” I reminded him.

“You can’t erase sixteen years of friendship that easily, sweetheart. She may have done some wild things; I get that, but writing her off would be like doing the same to Diana. That’s hard to do. And I know you. You’re not the kind of person to stay angry, Rose. You’ll find it in your heart to forgive her for whatever she did. But you can’t do that if she ain’t okay.”

“I know,” I murmured. “I’ll let you know when I talk to her.”

A siren blared and my eyes shifted to the rearview mirror again. Blue and red lights sparked behind me and my heart dropped a notch.

“Seriously?” I muttered.

“What happened?” Daddy inquired.

“It’s nothing. I’ll call you guys later, okay?”

“Okay. Drive safe,” he said.

“I will. I love you.”

I pulled the car to the side of the road. The cop parked behind me, and I sighed, shutting off my engine. I wasn’t speeding and I’d just had my car inspected a month ago, so it couldn’t have been a taillight or anything like that. What the hell did they want?

After about a minute, the officer stepped out of his vehicle. I kept my face forward and my hands on the wheel, but my eyes wandered to the side mirror. He walked slowly, hands on his waist, close to his belt. Well, more like on his gun. He stopped at my window and gave it a knock. I rolled it down, making sure to keep my movements slow and steady.

I looked up at him—a white man with aviator sunglasses on and a brown cowboy hat. His mustache was thick and seemed to cover his whole upper lip. His uniform was tan. He had to be in his mid-fifties and appeared to be in decent shape for his age. I studied his sheriff’s badge, surprised by the name.

“How’s it going?” he asked.

“I’m great,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“In fact, there is.” He slid his eyes to my back seat.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“Your third brake light,” he said. “The strip on the trunk. I think the bulb is out.”

“Is it?”

“Indeed. Wanted to let you know, in case that was important to you. Also, may help someone traveling behind you at night and all.”

“Oh.” I relaxed a bit, loosening my grip on the steering wheel. “Well, thanks for that. I’ll have it looked at.”

He said nothing in response. Instead, he looked through the window of my back seat again. This time I frowned. What was he looking for?

“Is that all?” I asked.

He turned his attention to me. I couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

“Where are you headed?” he asked.

“Sage Hill,” I answered, though I didn’t understand how that was any of his business.

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