Chapter One
Saturday morning, early. The only sounds in Moss’s trailer, waves collapsing against the shore below the bluff and the occasional screech of a gull. He opened an eye and smiled at the thought of the day ahead; a day of sun and fishing, an easy weekend away from an easy job.
He lay several minutes more until he finally pulled himself upright and swung his feet to the gritty floor. Moss swiped each foot once across a towel before stepping into his weekend uniform: shorts, flip-flops, a cutoff sweatshirt. He measured coffee into the pot’s steel basket, then added a scoop for luck. He set the pot on a burner and lit the propane flame, sat at the table and opened a book.
When the coffee smelled about right, he marked his page, poured a cup, added a drop of cream from the ice chest, and slipped on a nylon windbreaker. He started for the picnic table beside the trailer but the night had been foggy and there was a sheen of moisture on the bench. Cup still in hand, he headed back inside to fetch a towel. By the time he returned to the table Gil Martin was running up the path.
“Jesus, I’m glad you’re here,” Martin said, out of breath.
He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, pale blue with white stripes. Loafers without socks. Martin was a short man with a willowy build, though Moss figured the mustache added about a pound.
Moss saluted with the cup. “And good morning to you, too.”
“Not for me it isn’t. Not for you either. You aren’t going to like this one bit.”
Already Moss didn’t like it. The tide was coming in, best time to cast into the waves. Two weeks ago he’d landed a dorado, not that that species had any business this far north. But that was the ocean for you. You never knew what you were going to get.
“This can’t wait until I get a first sip? What happened? A toilet overflow? Some kids set off fireworks?”
But Martin had gone pale under his tan, and Moss got the feeling this problem wasn’t going to be solved with a plunger.
In answer, Martin poked a thumb over his shoulder. “Bottom of the cliff,” he said, still breathing hard. “Campers found her.”
Moss cocked his head.
“Dead girl,” Martin continued. “Deader ‘n hell.”