Against The Tide. Melody Carlson

used to give him a bad time about wasting trees,” she said sadly. “And he would just remind me that they were a renewable resource.”

      “What do you think the perpetrator was looking for?” Lieutenant Conrad asked her.

      “I have no idea.” Megan slowly shook her head. She didn’t like to be such a weakling, but this whole thing was making her feel sick to her stomach. “I—I think I need some air,” she said quietly. “Please excuse me.”

      She rushed out of the office, trying to compose herself. If losing Dad wasn’t hard enough, why did someone have to do this—to break in and make such a big mess? And to threaten her life? It all felt like such a cruel violation...nothing made sense.

      “Are you okay?” Garret joined her out by the staff writers’ desks.

      “Not really.” She scowled. “I’m scared and I’m angry...and I’m exhausted.” She sat down on one of the desks and folded her arms in front of her in exasperation. “I hardly slept after the call about Dad late last night. Then I went into work early this morning. Just to manage some things so I could get out of there. And then I drove nearly nine hours to get here.” She pursed her lips, willing herself not to cry again. “I—I just want to go home.”

      “To your dad’s place?” he asked gently.

      “Yeah.” She sniffed, desperately trying not to fall apart again.

      “Do you think you’ll be safe out there?” Garret made a concerned frown. “I mean, considering what just happened here. Aren’t you worried?”

      Lieutenant Conrad was coming out of the office with his cell phone in hand again. “I’ve got a couple more officers on their way,” he told them. “We’ll go over everything in here and then secure the place before we leave.” He peered at Megan. “Feel free to go. You look pretty worn out.”

      “I’ll get you a key, Lieutenant Conrad,” she said. “Thanks.”

      “You’re old enough to call me by my first name, Megan.” His smile looked sad.

      “Okay. Thanks... Michael.”

      She sighed as they walked to the front of the building, still trying to wrap her head around all that had happened, realizing once again how she might’ve been dead right now. They could’ve held a double funeral—her and Dad. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine as she picked up her purse from Barb’s desk. Then, remembering Michael would need to lock up, she opened the top drawer of Barb’s desk and, just like always, the spare key was in the far right-hand corner, right beneath the paper clips.

      “Please keep me in the loop about this.” She removed one of her business cards from a side pocket of her purse, handing it over with the key. “This has my cell number on it.”

      “Thanks.” Michael slipped them into his pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”

      As they stood at the door, Megan noticed what appeared to be a recently installed security system panel. “This is new to me.” She pointed to the sleek stainless keypad.

      “Was it activated when you arrived?” Michael asked her. “Did you have to put in a passcode?”

      “No. I don’t even know the passcode.” She frowned. “Dad always made fun of these devices. He used to brag about how safe this town was. Sometimes he didn’t even lock the door.”

      “Well, times have changed,” Michael told her. “I’ll call the security service and see if I can get them to activate it again when I leave. That might help ward off any more break-ins.”

      “Yeah.”

      “And I’ll send the passcode to your phone in case you need to get back in here tomorrow.”

      “Thanks, that’ll be helpful.”

      “I wonder why it wasn’t set,” Garret said as he and Megan stepped outside. “Of course, the staff was probably upset and distracted by the news of Rory’s death. Maybe they forgot.”

      “That makes sense.” Megan nodded numbly. She felt she was walking through a weird dream. Like none of this was real. But outside, as the cool sea air washed over her face, smelling like a familiar mixture of rotten eggs and dead fish, signaling that the tide was low, she suddenly knew that this was all real. Painfully real. She was home in Cape Perpetua, and Dad was dead.

      “I’m parked over there.” She pointed to the side street. “But you don’t have to walk me—”

      “I want to,” he insisted.

      As she turned the corner, she noticed that the traffic in town had thinned considerably. Hers was the only car parked on the side street now.

      “That’s not your car, is it?” Garret pointed at the white Prius parked beneath a streetlamp.

      “Yeah, that’s it.” As she walked, she dug in the bottom of her purse, trying to feel her car keys.

      “Check out your tires,” he said in an odd tone.

      She paused from her key search, peering down at her tires. “What?” She moved closer to see what was wrong. “They’re flat!”

      Garret knelt down, using his own car key to poke into a gash on the side of her car’s front tire. “Slashed.”

      “What is wrong with people?” she demanded hotly. “Why would someone do this? What has happened to this town?” Hot, angry tears were filling her eyes.

      “I don’t know.” Garret just shook his head. “Either it was just a random act of meanness—or someone really doesn’t like you.”

      Despite her resolve not to shed more tears, it was too late, they were coming—fast and furious. As she dug through her purse for a tissue, she wanted to scream and shout—and punch something. This was all just too much. First her dad died. Then she was nearly murdered. And the newspaper office was broken into and Dad’s office trashed. And now her tires were slashed. What had she done to deserve this? More disturbing, what was next?

FOUR

      Still wearing Garret’s fleece jacket, Megan attempted to calm herself as she sat in his SUV in front of the newspaper office. Garret had gone back inside to tell Michael about the slashed tires. But suddenly she felt uneasy about sitting out here alone—where a killer could be lurking around the next corner. She slumped down in the seat, hitting the auto-lock button on the door. And, with her phone in hand, she kept a wary eye on the people moving along Main Street.

      At close to eleven o’clock, the town had quieted down some, leaving only the boisterous bar-hoppers still out and about—the usual mix of out-of-towners, fishermen and young, antsy locals. The late-night activity was somewhat reassuring. She felt a little less alone.

      Just the same, Megan was relieved to see Garret emerge from the newspaper office. She watched him with stealthy admiration as he strode over to the driver’s side of his SUV. But when he couldn’t open his door, she felt embarrassed. Releasing the auto-lock, she apologized as he climbed inside.

      “I’m glad you did that,” he told her. “After I went inside, I felt uneasy about leaving you out here by yourself. Michael suspects your attacker is probably long gone by now, but you never know. Can’t be too safe.” He started the ignition.

      As Garret drove them through town, Megan continued trying to compose herself. She hated feeling like such a basket case. She normally considered herself to be a pragmatic person, not overly emotional. Journalists couldn’t afford to be. Yet the slashed tires had pushed her over the edge. Her heart was still pounding in fury, and it was hard to calm down.

      Still, she reminded herself, tires could be replaced. Her insurance might even cover the cost. And her dad’s office could be cleaned up and put back together again. Her dad...well, there was nothing to be done about that, except