Silver Lake Secrets. Alison Stone

Nicole peeked around the corner and saw Brett standing in Derreck’s office doorway. So much for talking to Mr. Peters in private. She flattened against the wall so she could listen without detection.

      “Do you know much about Melissa Flowers?” Brett asked.

      “Sure, Missy’s been here a long time. My uncle hired her right out of high school. She always did a good job. Maybe a little too chatty when she should have been doing her job.”

      Nicole envisioned Derreck, elbows propped on his desk, tapping the pads of his fingers together in an oh-so-thoughtful gesture. “But she got the cleaning done. Missy was a good employee.”

      Derreck’s choice of words pinged around her brain. Missy was...

      Missy is, is, is, she wanted to scream.

      “We’re terribly worried about her. We’re like family at Peters Funeral Home.” Derreck’s tone oozed just the right amount of concern. The same tone he used on the deceased’s relatives, a mix of sympathy and smooth salesmanship. He seemed to be able to turn it on and off at will. “Still no sign of our Missy?”

      “I’m afraid not.” Brett’s voice grew louder, as if he had turned to check the hallway. “Did Missy have any problems? Perhaps here at work?”

      Nicole’s heartbeat drummed loudly in her ears. She took another step back and bumped into the hall table. The antique vase wobbled. She grabbed the vase to steady it.

      Pushing her shoulders back, she strode down the hall, acting as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping. She smiled tightly at Brett and nodded toward Derreck, seated behind his large mahogany desk, fingers steepled, matching her mental image.

      “Missy seemed happy. No problems,” Derreck said. “Wouldn’t you agree, Nicole?”

      Nicole slowed her pace and turned toward the office, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. No one knew about the incriminating papers she had stashed in her purse, so she didn’t need to act guilty.

      “Yes.” She cleared her throat and crossed her arms, uncrossed them and crossed them again. She adjusted her stance. “Missy is a happy person. She never complains about work. She’s happy to be employed. Not only does she clean for the funeral home, but several residents in Silver Lake, including your aunt and uncle. It’s tough in this economy.”

      Derreck laughed, an awkward sound considering the circumstances. “How true. Small towns were especially hard hit. But, people are always dying.” Derreck’s gaze swept across Nicole’s face. Something dark lurked in his eyes, sending a chill coursing down to her toes. Or maybe she was being overly sensitive.

      “I won’t keep you any longer, Mr. Denner.” Brett rapped his fist against the door frame. “One last question. Do you know anyone who has a red car?”

      Something flickered at the corners of Derreck’s eyes, but he seemed to catch himself. Or maybe she had imagined it.

      “No. Why?” Derreck asked.

      “They found red paint on the side of the vehicle Missy was driving. The witness claimed there were two cars on the road right before Missy drove into the lake. Perhaps this red car hit hers before she lost control.” Brett directed his next question to Nicole. “Unless you can tell me your car had previous damage.”

      Nicole made an audible gasp. “No. My car didn’t have any damage. So, are you saying a car did run Missy off the road?”

      “Too early to say for sure. Someone may have collided with her and then left the scene of the accident. It happens. Sometimes if someone’s drunk or on drugs, they make bad decisions.” Brett’s accusing gaze bore down on her.

      “I’m sorry.” The conversation flooded Nicole with horrible memories from her youth. A pool of sweat formed between her shoulder blades.

      She took a step back. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I should go.” Emotions—too many to articulate—crowded in on her. She needed to leave before she said or did something she’d regret.

      “Wait, I’d like to talk to you.” Brett caught her arm. “Can we talk over lunch?”

      Derreck shuffled papers on his desk, pretending to be busy.

      “I’m going to grab a bite in the break room. I have a lot of work to do.”

      “Come on.” Brett tipped his head toward the door. “It’ll be good to get away from work for a short break. That’s okay with you, right, Derreck?”

      Derreck peered over his glasses, seemingly uninterested. “Of course. Have a good lunch.”

      “Okay.” Nicole hesitated, running her palm over her purse, wondering what she should do about the discrepancies in the documents. Her gut told her not to trust Derreck.

      Her gut had been wrong before.

      * * *

      Brett held the door of the funeral home open for Nicole and watched as she wrapped her purple scarf around her neck and let the ends dangle down the front of her coat. The snow blew sideways on a stiff wind. She tugged on a matching knit cap that gave her a very youthful appearance. It reminded Brett of the waif of a girl who used to pull into his parents’ driveway in some beat-up jalopy and beep, waiting for his younger brother, Max. Brett could never recall a time when she actually got out of the car and came to the front door.

      Come to think of it, none of Max’s friends came to the door.

      Nicole stuck out her lower lip. “I’ll never get used to this weather.” She reached into her pocket and tugged on her mittens.

      “They say cold weather builds character,” Brett said. “I’m not sure who they are.” The coffeehouse was only two blocks away from the funeral home. “You okay to walk? Or we could take my cruiser.”

      “Walking is fine.” She eyed the police cruiser parked in front of the funeral home. “I don’t want tongues wagging when they see me in that. It’s taken me eight years to straighten out my life and it would only take one spin in the police car to ruin it.”

      “Let’s walk, then.”

      They bowed their heads against the wind and plodded down the street. When they reached the bookstore, Nicole slowed, then gestured toward the door. “Let’s go in here, instead.” She grabbed the door handle with her bright pink mittens.

      Brett followed. The bookstore owner, a balding gentleman with half-glasses perched on his nose, nodded to Brett and Nicole and went back to his coffee and reading material.

      “Did you need a book?” Brett asked, uncertainty edging his tone. “I thought we’d get a sandwich at the coffeehouse.”

      “This is more private. I’ve maintained a low profile since I’ve been home. I don’t want people to start talking about me now.”

      “Just because you’re with me?”

      “Precisely because I’m with you.” She threw up her hands and turned on her heel toward the door. “Oh, this is crazy. I’m going back to work.”

      Brett grabbed her wrist and led her down an aisle of books, one side romance and the other suspense. The irony was not lost on him.

      She spun around and held up a hand. The form of her mitten suggested she was pointing at him. He suppressed the urge to smile. The pointy mitten got very close to his face. She glared at him. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

      He held up his hands in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Brett gestured to the plush chairs in the back corner of the bookstore, completely private barring any back-of-the-store browsers. “Have a seat.”

      She arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him.

      “Please?”

      Nicole’s features softened and warmth radiated through Brett’s body. She eyed him and sat with a whoosh