In Seconds

“According to Lawrence Goebel.”

Goebel was the county coroner. He was also Vera’s ballroom dance partner. They went down to the veterans’ hall once a month and took a few turns around the dance floor, but a decade earlier, they’d entered numerous competitions. Vivian thought they owned every ribbon that could be won in this region. She’d once asked Vera why she’d never gotten romantically involved with Goebel—they made such a handsome couple—and Vera had whispered that she and Goebel were both interested in the same man. To their mutual disappointment, that man had recently married a third party. “What does he have to say about the murder?” Vivian asked.

“Pat was killed by blunt-force trauma.”

Vivian raised a finger to indicate silence. Jake was bringing Mia down to see his prized fish. Although the children would hear about the murder eventually, Vivian didn’t want them to be frightened by the more gruesome details—probably because of the images that still haunted her.

Only after they’d brushed past and run outside did she resume the conversation. “What kind of blunt-force trauma?”

“Who knows? But the killer used something to bash in his head.”

“A rock? A lamp?”

“Could’ve been either, I suppose. It was a furnished rental. But…”

“What?”

She looked around as if double-checking that they were alone. “Gertie had to go through the place this morning and take inventory, poor thing.”

“Was she able to do it?”

“With her sister’s help.”

“Was anything missing?”

“Just an electric can opener.”

Vivian backed up a step. “That’s the murder weapon?”

“Used with enough force, an electric can opener can crush a skull as easily as a bat or a rock, I suppose.”

Sickened by the thought, Vivian bit her lip. Poor Pat. Had The Crew done this to him? If so, would she be able to find out before it was too late?

“Did Larry say if the sheriff has his eye on any particular person?” She needed a hint of reassurance, something to tell her she was overreacting.

But she didn’t get it.

“They have no motive and no witnesses,” Vera said, “which means they have no suspects and very little chance of tracking down the culprit.”

9

The motorcycle vibrated beneath Vivian as she clung to the man driving it. Sheriff King seemed to be taking the winding road too fast. But maybe it only felt that way because she hadn’t been on a bike in years. She wasn’t used to the exhilaration, the sense of freedom and power, or the other feelings that arose as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself against him…?.

He’d given her a leather jacket and a helmet to wear. She hadn’t asked where he’d gotten them but they were obviously closer to her size than his. She assumed they’d belonged to his late wife. It was too sad to imagine what Amber Rose must’ve gone through before she died, and what Myles and Marley must’ve suffered. So Vivian chose not to think about it. She told herself she was simply grateful that he’d been practical enough to bring them. Warm as the day had been, the temperature was dropping rapidly as they barreled through the mountains.

“You okay?” he yelled when she kept shifting.

Her gun, which she’d shoved into her waistband, was cutting into the small of her back. She’d been trying to ease the discomfort and put some space between them at the same time. The gun she could move. But with the bike leaning this way, then that, it required constant effort not to plaster herself against him.

Should she ask him to slow down? No. She’d come out with Myles tonight to convince him that she was tough enough to take care of herself. Learning that she was frightened of riding on a motorcycle would hardly boost his confidence, especially when he seemed so comfortable on the bike, as if it was merely an extension of his muscular body.

“Fine!” she assured him.

Apparently taking her at her word, he opened the throttle, and she squeezed her eyes shut as they flew around the next turn and the next.

After that, Myles didn’t attempt to communicate with her. It was too difficult to hear above the engine. Vivian didn’t want to talk, anyway. The noise created a buffer that distanced her from everything, even her cares and worries. For tonight, her children were safe and so was she. Not only that, she had the whole evening, and the longer they traveled, the easier it became to relax. Soon nothing mattered except the speed and roar of the bike and the man driving it.

After an hour or so, Myles turned off the highway and down a dirt path that led into the woods. She got the impression that he was taking her to a cabin—and he was—but there was also a small clearing that became a beach. It sloped down to a lake about the same size as the one they lived by.

“This is beautiful,” she said when he cut the engine.

He barely grunted. He didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood. But she didn’t care that he wasn’t Mr. Congeniality tonight. With the sun beginning to set and the weather so mild, she was content to revel in the moment.

After lowering the kickstand, he waited for her to get off before swinging his own leg over the seat. She hesitated a few steps away, tempted to ask how he’d found this place. But she didn’t. They’d reached a tentative peace, and she didn’t want that to change. Besides, she liked being here without feeling any pressure to entertain him.

He set his helmet on the seat and she handed him hers, which he put beside it. Then he got a sack out of his saddlebags and strode to the cabin as if he assumed she’d follow. He didn’t beckon her or even turn around to see if she was coming.

Something had changed since he’d been at her house earlier. He’d made a decision. She could sense it. He’d been matter-of-fact, purposeful. For her part, she’d been so grateful he wasn’t pressing her for information about her ex-husband or why she had a gun in the house that she’d been willing to discount his aloofness as preoccupation with the murder.

Maybe he wasn’t pleased with the results of the autopsy or he was concerned about some aspect of the case, but so far he hadn’t even checked to be sure she’d brought her gun.

When they got to the door, he pulled out a key with a tag that indicated this was a rental. That was when Vivian realized he’d come here with a very specific agenda, one that had nothing to do with the murder—or the target practice she’d been expecting.

“What’s…” She swallowed hard. “What’s this all about?”

His eyes riveted on hers, but he didn’t answer. He just waved her into the cabin ahead of him.

With walls of half-sawn logs, antler light fixtures and animal-skin rugs, the inside looked like a clean but rustic hunting lodge. They passed through a small mudroom with pegs for coats and a metal trough for snowy boots, which sat empty. After that, they encountered a small kitchen and dining area with a view of the lake. A family room—furnished with a gas stove, U-shaped leather couch and bookshelves crammed with books, magazines and games—took up most of the ground floor, along with a master suite at the back, a half bath and a ladder leading to a loft where, Vivian guessed, she’d find more beds, probably bunk beds for renters who had children.

So…why were they here?

Her palms began to sweat as she became more and more certain of his intentions.

Folding her arms, she backed up against the closest wall. “I don’t understand.” That was a lie; she understood very well. Too well. She just didn’t know why he’d changed his mind.

He threw the keys on the kitchen table and tossed her the bag he’d carried in.