Page 9 of Deep Tide

“I’ll handle it,” Emmet said, as Nicole had expected.

He walked off to talk to the pretty manager, leaving Nicole to deal with the much thornier issue of Leyla Breda.

Nicole wiped the sweat from her brow and crossed the parking lot. Leyla spotted her coming and squared her shoulders.

“Thanks for your patience,” Nicole said because she’d been out here more than an hour already, and the day’s heat was already setting in. “Can I get you some water?”

“No, thanks.”

“We’d like you to come to the police station to give an official statement,” Nicole said.

“All right. But I need to get inside first.”

“Why?”

“I need my purse.” She cast a look at the door, which was blocked by yellow crime scene tape. “It has my car keys in it. And also, I need that employment application you wanted. It has contact numbers and some of the biographical information you were asking about for Amelia. It should be in the file cabinet in the office.”

“Let me go check with the crime scene techs, and I should be able to escort you in there.”

Nicole walked over and ducked under the yellow tape. The café’s interior was dim and cool compared to outside. The CSIs had put a piece of butcher paper on the floor by the door, and Nicole stopped to pull on disposable shoe covers before walking through the dining room and kitchen. In the hallway, she found a CSI crouched near the back exit, dusting the doorframe for prints. His name was Justin, and they’d borrowed him from the county crime lab on the mainland. Lost Beach PD had a full-time CSI/forensic photographer on staff, but as of this morning, she was on her honeymoon.

“How’s it going, Justin?”

He glanced up. “Fine.”

“Has the photographer finished the office yet?” Nicole nodded toward the windowless room that was about the size of a broom closet.

“She hasn’t even started. She’s still photographing the victim’s car in the back parking lot.”

“Any idea how long that might take?”

Justin looked annoyed. “We just got here ten minutes ago.”

“Not trying to rush you. I just need an ETA on when the owner can get into the office and grab something from the file cabinet.”

“Talk to Katie. But go around back, okay? I can’t let you through here yet.”

Nicole walked out the way she’d come. As she removed her paper shoe covers, she spied a familiar pickup truck in the parking lot.

“Crap,” she murmured.

Owen Breda stood beside his sister, leaning close and talking to her in what looked to be a tense exchange. He set his hand on Leyla’s shoulder, and she shrugged it off.

People had different reactions to violent crime scenes. Some wailed and became hysterical. Some threw up. Leyla Breda got prickly, apparently.

Nicole crossed the parking lot.

“Owen?”

He glanced up.

“Can I talk to you a sec?”

He gave his sister a long look and then walked over.

“Yeah?” he asked, not bothering to take off his sunglasses.

“What are you doing?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

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