Page 12 of One Night Years Ago

He didn’t need to look up to recognize Sheriff Bowmann’s voice. Hunter took a careful step backwards as the sheriff approached, carrying a large bag in her arms.

Hunter hunched his shoulders and kept his hands low, palms inwards, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“Is this man bothering you, Barbara?”

“I was just leaving—” he said, his voice very low. He didn’t understand why he felt the need to explain himself to the sheriff. “It’s my mother. Dr. Leroy’s coming to the farm to see my mother.”

“I’ll come with you, Hunter,” Dr. Leroy said. “Let me just grab my bag.”

The sheriff’s beautiful blue eyes softened for a moment then went icy again.

He didn’t answer. He wanted to shout at her, tell her that it was her fault his mother needed a doctor, but stopped himself just in time. He didn’t believe that anyway. If his mother was sick, it was all his fault.

“Call me when you get there, Barbara. So I know you’re okay,” the sheriff said meaningfully.

A grim smile crossed Hunter’s features at the implication. He forced a neutral expression, his hands held loosely by his side. He’d grovel if he had to, to get Dr. Leroy to come with him.

#

Natalie

Natalie had stopped by the hospital on the way home to give the kids staying there a bag of gifts that had been left at the station for them. She usually enjoyed spending time with the children, but seeing Hunter at the hospital had thrown her off her game, and she was having trouble concentrating.

She stepped out into the warm evening air, walking briskly to her car. She was having dinner with Emma that evening, so when her phone rang she was sure it was her friend calling to ask her where the hell she was.

It wasn’t Emma. It was Rob, and his terse voice on the phone put her on alert.

“Where are you, Sheriff?”

“On my way home. What’s up, Rob?”

“You need to come to the harbor right now, Sheriff. We have a dead woman.”

Natalie focused on her breathing. Sometimes, people died. Last summer, a tourist had died of a heart attack during a fishing trip. Two years ago, a troubled city teen had jumped to his death on the cliffs that gave Sharp’s Cove their name.

“Dead how?” she asked.

“Get over here, Natalie. She’s been murdered.”

Natalie felt herself pale at his words. People simply didn’t die violent deaths in Sharp’s Cove. This wasn’t a violent community. It hadn’t been since … thirteen years earlier.

On her way to the car she called Emma.

“I’m sorry, Em, we’re going to have to postpone.”

“That’s alright, Nat. But if I’m staying home, know that I’m planning to skip dinner and have some ice cream instead, so you’ll have to come to the gym with me tomorrow to make it up to me.”

Natalie hummed her agreement, but she was only half-listening.

“Are you okay, Nat?”

“I don’t know, Em. I don’t know. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Of course. Take care, Nat.”

By the time she hung up the phone, she could already see the harbor. It wasn't much, but it was one of the economic engines of Sharp's Cove. Fishing wasn't where the real money was coming from, not anymore. People came to Sharp’s Cove to know what life in a small fishing town was like. And those people had to be fed and entertained. It was good business for the town, better than fishing had ever been. So they took good care of the harbor, made sure the docks were always clean and presentable.

Natalie headed straight for the lights of Rob’s patrol car and parked her SUV beside him. She steeled herself for a moment before getting out of the car.