Julie Lindsey - Shadow Point Deputy

Rita raked her cell phone from a coat pocket with trembling fingers. There was far too much blood to have come from a cat.

A sudden splash sent ice fingers down her spine, and the low murmur of voices pushed her back to the building’s edge. She closed her eyes to summon a thread of bravery, then peeked toward the sounds with caution.

The angle of the sunset reduced both figures to faceless silhouettes. They were clearly male with broad shoulders and strong gaits, but they were of strikingly different heights. Together, they strode beneath a cone of security light, revealing one man’s dress shirt and the other’s official-looking jacket, complete with patches she couldn’t read from that distance. Rita’s heart took off at a sprint as a dark stain down the front of the dress shirt began to look a lot like the puddle she’d just seen. The man with the stained shirt wiped his hands on a rag. A gun holster nestled safely against his side.

A black sedan seemed to manifest from the shadows, parked silently beside a line of blue barrels. The trunk popped open as the men approached, revealing what appeared to be more blood and a number of firearms. The man tossed the rag into the trunk, then dragged a suit jacket out. He threaded his arms through the sleeves and fastened two buttons over the broad crimson stain.

Rita swiped her phone screen to life. The little device rocked unsteadily in her sweat-slicked palm. Her breaths shortened and her heart rate spiked uncomfortably. There wasn’t enough air, and she couldn’t swallow. Rita gripped her phone tighter and fought the wave of panic quickly taking control. Not since she lost her mother had anxiety come on so quickly.

She pressed her back to the wall and returned the phone to her pocket. She needed to sit down before she fell over. Her eyelids slid shut for an internal pep talk, and she reopened them with purpose. She’d make the call from someplace safe. Someplace she could breathe. She forced the last ounce of bravery from her bones and tiptoed back through the shadows, along the building’s edge, careful not to let her heels smack against the ground.

The snick of a closing trunk and soft purr of an engine were behind her. A set of low growls rose before her near the food bowls. Rita’s muscles tensed. No fighting , she prayed. Not now.

The sound grew steadily into the familiar squawks of a feline brawl. A beam of light flashed over the ground before her, sweeping and narrowing as it drew nearer.

“Who’s there?” The man in the official-looking jacket moved in her direction. The familiar Cade County Sheriff’s Department logo was on his chest.

That could not be good.

Rita burst into motion, running as quickly as her trembling legs would carry her toward her truck, through the chained gate and across the gravel lot.

“Stop!” the man’s voice boomed behind her, punctuated by the echoes of heavy footfalls.

Not today, officer , she thought as she dived behind the wheel. Something bad had definitely happened at the docks tonight. She didn’t know what, and she wasn’t about to become another puddle on the concrete.

Rain poured over Deputy Cole Garrett’s hat and slicker. Heavy storm clouds had masked the sunrise, but Shadow Point was still in motion. The blue-collar town had risen with the sun for a hundred years. Farmers. Bus drivers. Factory workers. Somehow the body pulled from the river wore a watch worth more than Cole’s first truck.

He peered through the downpour at his older brother and current Cade County sheriff, West Garrett. “Recognize him?”

West’s frown deepened. “Nope.”

Dressed like he was, no one probably would. Folks with that kind of money drove right on through Shadow Point. “Maybe he was visiting family,” Cole suggested, “or was here on business.”

West shot Cole a look. “By the looks of the bullet hole in his forehead, business wasn’t good.”

Members of the local coroner’s office loaded the waterlogged body onto a gurney and covered it with a white sheet. The medical examiner presented West with a clipboard. “We’ll do our preliminaries and get back with you.”

West followed the coroner back to the van.

Cole flashed his light over the scene, seeking anything that might explain how a stranger wound up murdered and floating in the water before dawn. The river had surely stripped the body of any clues, but maybe the killer had left footprints or the shell casing on land.

He moved methodically upriver, toward a set of abandoned factories by the docks. The shielded space seemed a more likely location for an execution than the sodden, unobstructed field where the body had been pushed ashore.

He returned the flashlight to his belt as the storm peeled back its efforts. A swarm of cats came into view near the largest building, gathered beneath a broad metal awning. They cried at the sight of him, and Cole changed trajectories, drawn to the mass of complaining felines.

The coroner’s van motored away in the distance, rounding a bend and drifting out of sight. West’s cruiser rolled quietly into a muddy gravel lot near the factory.

The world grew brighter by the second, finally relieved of the relentless storm.

“A bit off the path, aren’t you?” West called, slamming the door behind him.

Cole stared at a line of cement bowls and a shredded cat food bag. “I don’t think so.” He nudged the soggy paper with his toe. “Someone fed the cats. Wasn’t the first time, either. They didn’t scatter when they saw me.”

West cast a glance at the crowd of furry spectators, then turned his attention to the cruiser. “There were some tire tracks where I parked. They’re washed out. Tread marks are gone.”

“Let’s measure them,” Cole suggested. “Could be something. Might be how they brought the body here.” Cole moved toward the cats, shooing them and scrutinizing the only patch of dry ground for miles.

“West.” A set of bloody paw prints and the pointy outline of one shoe appeared beneath a broad awning. A white slip of paper clung to the sheet-metal door. A receipt dated the night before. The rest of the print was blurred away but he was certain it said cat food. “We’ve got a witness out there somewhere.”

RITA STARED AT the clock above her fireplace and debated leaving for work an hour early. She’d been dressed since dawn, having given up on sleep hours before. The raging storm had rattled her windows and her mind. Each time her lids had grown heavy, she imagined the man from the docks trying to break down the door, only to wake again with the realization it was just the wind.

The same carousel of questions ran endlessly around her mind. What had she really seen? What sort of thing would involve so much blood, the docks and the local sheriff’s department? Did the man giving chase recognize her? If so, what would happen next?

She’d watched the news on the edge of her seat, waiting for reports of whatever had happened at the docks, but there were none. Nothing in the morning paper, either.

A sharp pounding on the front door nearly sent her out the back. She inched across the living room and peeked through the curtains. Her little brother, Ryan, stood on the porch rubbing his palms together and puffing into his hands. The temperature must’ve dropped after she’d left the docks.

She opened the door with a forced smile, then jerked him inside. “Hey, what are you doing here?” She secured the door behind him and flipped the lock, hoping to look more normal than she felt.

He dragged his gaze from the locked door to her. “You said I could borrow your truck. My new roommate is moving in.” He tented his dark brows, green eyes flashing in suspicion. “Are you okay?”