It had seemed, for a while, that it was going to be far simpler to carry out my plans than I’d expected.
Until Micah had gotten in the way,
I gulped down the dregs of my second scotch, the mild, malty sweetness tempering the sour taste in my mouth.
Now, to make matters worse, the sheriff was questioning his death.
Why?
What had happened to instill doubt in his mind about what should have been a logical conclusion—that it was an accident?
Would he dig deeper for answers or eventually let the case go for lack of evidence? After all, doubts didn’t lead to proof—or convictions. And a rural sheriff had limited staff and time to devote to investigations if he had nothing more to go on than suspicion.
Unless hedidhave more to go on.
Was it possible he’d found proof of a crime?
Maybe.
Mistakes could happen if you were forced to fix a problem with limited opportunity to prepare.
But proof a crime had been committed didn’t always lead to the perpetrator.
The ice in my glass began to rattle, and I set it on the counter. Examined my quivering hand.
It was shaking just like it had the first morning Micah had materialized out of the woods while I was heading toward my destination. Watching me as he cradled some small critter in his arms. Creeping me out with those penetrating eyes of his.
A scenario that had been repeated on several occasions.
In all the years I’d known him, he’d avoided eye contactlike the plague and skulked about in the shadows. His sudden inclination to not only make his presence known but stare at me had been more than intimidating.
It had felt almost like a warning.
But how much could he know? My clandestine activities took place out of sight.
Nevertheless, confining my subsequent forays to after dark had seemed prudent.
Still, if he suspected I was involved in shady activity and had shared that with Natalie, my plans could have been ruined.
So what choice had there been except to eliminate him as a threat?
Bile rose in my throat, and I closed my eyes. Swallowed.
Considering my fast track to get the job done, everything had gone as well as could be expected. But the task had been distasteful, and the blood...
My stomach began to roil, as it had that morning.
The ski cap that kept the blood contained during the maneuver to get him into the boat had been a smart idea. But it was unfortunate that dumping him in the middle of the lake had proven impossible. Who knew that trying to jockey a limp body over the edge without capsizing the boat would be so tricky?
Moving to the reeds hadn’t been ideal, although the boat had rocked less. And situating it there had made it possible to escape to shore without getting too wet.
After I’d smeared blood on the side of the boat.
That’s when I’d lost my breakfast in the lake.
I poured another scotch.
Drinking wasn’t smart. I knew that. And I wouldn’t do it again. I had more work to do at Natalie’s, and I needed a clear head to finish my mission.
