Boston Scream Murder (A Deputy Donut Mystery Book 4) by Ginger Bolton

Author:Ginger Bolton [Bolton, Ginger]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2020-08-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Staring at Rich’s mansion, I drove slowly down the hill. If I saw any sign of investigators or murderers, I would turn around and go home.

The moon would be full on Halloween, which would be perfect for my party that night. This was only the twenty-ninth, but the moon was high, almost round, and very bright. Rich’s mansion was dark. No vehicles were in his driveway, the tent was still on the lower part of his side yard, and his gates were closed. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the property. Watching his house for signs of life, I followed the road as it curved right and passed Hank’s house.

I couldn’t see anyone in or around Hank’s house, either, but lights in back illuminated trees near the shore. As usual, no vehicles were in his driveway. A man fastidious enough to blow leaves off his dock probably kept his cars or trucks tidily in the two-car garage attached to his house.

At the unpaved part of the road, I slowed down. I couldn’t see crime scene tape near the pathway leading into the woods where I’d found the canoe. I guessed that the canoe and paddle had been taken to the forensics lab and a mold of the tire prints had been made so they could be compared to the tires of suspects’ vehicles.

No one was at the public beach.

I tucked my car close to trees on one side of the parking area, shut off the engine, made certain that the dome light wouldn’t come on, opened the door, and listened. All I heard were wavelets washing onto the beach and a late-falling leaf floating down, touching branches, and settling almost soundlessly on the ground.

I slipped out of the car. Leaving the door ajar and navigating by the light of the moon, I walked quietly to the water’s edge.

I couldn’t see Rich’s and Hank’s houses from this secluded beach, and I couldn’t see Rich’s cottage. I could barely make out the cottage’s dock. I stood listening and watching.

I could get back into the car, drive to Rich’s cottage, check it visually as I drove past, and take another look at his and Hank’s houses on the way home.

If I drove past Rich’s cottage and Rich’s and Hank’s houses, my car’s engine and headlights would be noticeable.

Kayaking near the backs of the buildings would be nearly inaudible and wouldn’t involve bright lights. From my kayak, I would be able to check the lake sides of all three buildings. I would be able to kayak quite safely on that lonely, moonlit lake. Hank had told me that he had never been married. I had the impression that he lived alone. Unless Terri or someone else was in Hank’s or Rich’s house, or some of the cottages were occupied this late in the season, Hank might be the only person who could look out and see a kayak on the lake.

Maybe he wouldn’t think it was unusual for people to kayak at night.

No other

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