Chapter 19

RILEY

I sat on a log at the edge of the lake, feeling the stillness of the evening. It was so quiet, it felt like the whole world was holding its breath. I was waiting for sunset, that magical moment when the sun dipped below the towering ranges, painting shadows across the rocks and trees.

I lifted my camera and snapped a picture of swallows racing across the water. My grandma gave me this camera before I flew to Paris. It was a going-away gift. A reminder to take plenty of photos so my grandparents could share in my adventures in Europe.

For the first two years, I sent lots of photos to Sunrise Bay. Then gradually, I stopped using the camera and started relying on my cell phone. Quick emails replaced my long letters, and phone calls home became less frequent.

What must my grandma and granddad have thought? They would have been heartbreakingly disappointed. As their only grandchild, I knew I held a special place in their hearts. But that didn't stop me from focusing on my own life and ignoring them.

A noise farther down the shore caught my attention. I smiled when I saw Eric, then grinned when I realized he hadn't noticed me. He walked closer to the edge of the lake, picked up a stone, and skimmed it across the water. Sherlock leaped after it, bounding through the water like an Olympic swimmer. His shaggy black coat stuck to his body like asphalt as he raced back to shore, ready for another round.

I focused my camera on Eric as he launched another rock into the air. The smile on his face made my breath catch. I'd never seen him so happy, so carefree. He was living in the moment, enjoying the time with Sherlock before the night sky sent them home.

Moving to the right, I took another photo. Sherlock's head swiveled toward me. Before I could lower my camera, he ran across the stones, thumping through the lake and sending water everywhere.

I froze. Sherlock used to be a police dog. If he thought I was a stranger, I could lose an arm or a leg, or even my camera. Eric's shrill whistle made Sherlock spin around and head back to shore. With trembling hands, I placed the camera in its bag and walked toward Eric. By the time I reached them, Sherlock's tail was wagging. He barked at me like I was his long-lost friend.

I patted his wet head. "Hi, boy. Thanks for calling him back, Eric."

"He's a big dog. It can be frightening when he's running toward you. Are you taking more photos for your painting?"

"I am. I need a few more of the mountains at sunset. How's your book coming along?"

"My hero will die if the medical examiner doesn't find him."

"How far away is he?"

Eric sighed. "Too far. He overlooked the clue the killer left in the body he examined."

"You could change the story. Maybe he reviews the file and sees what he missed the first time?"

"That would be too easy."

I shrugged. "Sometimes the easiest options are the best. Life doesn't need to be complicated."

"Maybe you're right. Do you want some company while you wait for sunset?"

"That'd be great. Apart from Mom and Jenny, I haven't spoken to anyone all day." Most people would find that odd, but Eric knew how much I appreciated having time to concentrate on my paintings.

"Did you get plenty of work done?"

I sat on the log, leaving lots of space for Eric. "I did. The paintings should be ready in time for my exhibition."

"What will you do when they're finished?"

"I'm not sure. Lorenzo wants me to return to Italy, but I don't know if that's the best place for me."

Eric frowned. "Who's Lorenzo?"

"The owner of an art gallery in Venice. He's organizing my next exhibition."

There was a moment of silence before Eric asked, "I could be reading this completely wrong. If I am, ignore me, but is he your boyfriend?"

I smiled. "Lorenzo would have a heart attack if anyone thought that. He's sixty-eight years old, has a wonderful wife and five children. But to answer your question, you haven't read anything wrong. I'm gay, too."

Eric wiped his hands on his jeans. "I just wondered…you know…if you're seeing anyone."

It wasn't easy for me to talk about my limited dating experience. Most people assumed I'd slept my way around Europe in some bohemian, artistic kind of way. But the truth was far from what anyone imagined. Having any type of relationship with someone who understood me and my career had been impossible.

"I haven't dated many people," I told Eric. "My last boyfriend was annoyed that I spent more time painting than I did with him."

"Did he see what you were creating?"

I nodded. "We met at one of my exhibitions."

"He must have known how hard you work before you started dating?"

"He did, but he liked the idea of going out with an artist better than the reality. I have a job that doesn't always work in with other people's schedules."

Eric looked across the lake. "It sounds as though you're better off without him."

As I lifted my camera out of the bag, I shrugged. "He had a point, but at the time I was more annoyed than hurt. I painted one of my best landscapes after he left."

Eric smiled. "Silver linings."

"Exactly." I checked my watch. "Sunset is about ten minutes away."

Stretching out his leg, Eric rubbed his thigh. The day after I first met him, I noticed he was limping. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"It's an old injury from when I was working in the NYPD. I've been writing all day and sitting in one position for too long makes the muscle cramp."

"Were you shot?"

Eric nodded. "My partner and I were running after a drug dealer. He took exception to being arrested." He looked at my camera. "I didn't think anyone used manual cameras anymore."

I smiled. He was changing the subject, but that was okay. "It's a 1969 Honeywell Pentax Spotmatic. It was my grandmother's."

Eric studied the buttons and levers.

"It takes wonderful photos," I told him in case he thought it was archaic. "A digital camera could probably do the same thing, but I feel close to my grandma when I'm using it. She was a great photographer."

After waiting for so long, the sun was rapidly falling toward the mountains. I held the camera to my eye, focused the lens on a crop of spruce trees, and waited. Within seconds, the last rays of sun splintered across the top of the range, cascading through the trees and onto the lake as softly as the wings of an angel. I clicked the shutter, waited for a second, then did the same thing again. By the time the sun disappeared, I knew I had some great shots.

I grinned at Eric. "That's a wrap."

"Will you develop them yourself?"

"Not this time. Jenny gave me the name of someone in the local photographic club. She'll develop them for me tomorrow."

Eric patted Sherlock. "You have everything worked out."

"Don't be fooled," I said softly. "I might not have a dying hero to worry about, but plenty of other things stop me from sleeping."

"It might be easier now that you've installed a state-of-the-art security system."

I nodded, but it wasn't the people who were alive that kept me awake. It was the ones who had died.