Page 9 of Her Wild Coast Promise

SETH

By the timeI get to the docks, the forensics team is finishing up. Tiny waves slap the pilings and the breeze off the ocean carries the heavy scent of creosote and brine.

Hunter meets me outside the yellow tape, his face grim. “It’s another girl.”

I put my hands on my hips and huff a hard sigh. “Cause?”

“Looks like drowning.”

Behind him, the photographer’s camera flashes, lighting up the grim setup.

“Sometime last night, according to the coroner. The cold water makes it too hard to narrow it down on scene. He’ll know more when he does the autopsy.”

“Any ID?”

Hunter shakes his head.

A couple of gulls cry from somewhere out of sight, making my skin prickle in the chill.

“Who found her?” I ask.

Hunter nods at a tall man wearing a watch cap, thick coat, and rubber boots. He’s smoking a cigarette, his face gaunt, while Deputy Rachel Pennbrook takes his statement.

“Stevedore working the night shift. The victim’s hair was caught in one of the ropes.”

Even after years of law enforcement, finding a dead body hasn’t gotten any easier. Maybe that’s a good thing—it means I haven’t become too jaded. But this is the second young woman to die in my county in the last two months, and I have a feeling the cause isn’t accidental, which would make it our third murder.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Chief Kauffman wants to meet.”

“I thought he was taking leave?”

“He is. We’re meeting at his home.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Hunter grimaces. “Yep.”

Storm Harbor is a sleepy fishing hub with a bustling downtown popular with tourists in the summer. Five years ago, the shipping company InXPress Global put pressure on the local government to build a bigger pier with the goal to increase tourism and commerce in the region. That project failed thanks to an embezzlement scam, but since then, crime has steadily increased. I’m convinced there’s a link between these seemingly unrelated offenses, but I have yet to nail it down.

And now we have another murder to solve.

Chief Kauffmanand his wife Kayla live not far from downtown, in a two-story home with a fenced yard edged by giant trees. From the many barbeque gatherings over the years, I know there’s still a soccer net in the back despite his youngest son now being in college, and the playhouse and swingset his daughters loved even though they’re grown and gone. Kayla keeps them for the grandkids she’s not-so-secretly pining for.

Hunter drives, and we debrief the day’s events on the way.

“I feel like we’re one step behind these bastards,” I say, thumping my fist on the armrest.

“We gotta find the connection,” Hunter says with a grimace. “Hayden Cole’s murder and Terrilynn’s are definitely linked, but what about this new victim? And what about the fires?”

“Brian says he’ll likely have an update today or tomorrow.”

“Good,” Hunter replies, nodding. “I hope he’s got something we can run with.”

“Me too.”

“Your interview with Vander turn up anything?”

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