Scene of the Crime: Mystic Lake. Carla Cassidy

come to town for a visit, and I insisted we go to the bar because you’re kind of a fuddy-duddy and I’m a party girl.”

       “I’m not a fuddy-duddy,” he said irritably.

       “It’s just a cover story,” she replied with a small laugh. “I’m not actually accusing you of being a fuddy-duddy.”

       Still, there was something in her tone of voice, a wicked gleam in her dark eyes that made him suspect she might see him as a rigid, humorless man. That wasn’t who he was…although perhaps that was the man he’d become over the past eight years. He shoved this troubling thought aside.

       “Okay, so we have your cover. You’re an old friend from St. Louis who has come to visit and insisted we hit the town’s hot spot for the night.” He shoved himself off the refrigerator as she got up from the table.

       As she stood, he once again recognized how gorgeous she looked. She’d be eaten alive by the bozos in the bar, but maybe in that process, she’d be able to gain information that would lead to them catching a killer.

       That’s all he wanted from her, that’s all he wanted at all. To get this killer off the streets before he struck again, and there was no question that he would strike again—it was just a matter of time.

       Within minutes, they were in his car and headed to Bledsoe’s. Cole believed the bar was a blight on the community, and more than once he’d been called there to break up a fight, to get a belligerent drunk home safely or disarm a drunk who had suddenly become a tough guy.

       There was no question that it was a place where gossip was rife, where small stories grew to mammoth proportions, but there was also no question in his mind that Amberly might be able to learn more about the crimes than he had.

       Nobody wanted to talk to a sheriff, but every man in the place, married or not, would want to find a way to talk to her, and hopefully one of them would be a little drunk and tell her a little too much.

       “I feel like I’m putting you out there as bait,” he said to break the awkward silence that had grown in the car as they drove.

       She flashed him a quick smile. “Let’s just hope I have more success at fishing than you usually do.”

       “Ah, low blow,” he exclaimed.

       “Granny Nightsong used to say that any fish could be caught if you just used the right bait. Of course, she also had a fish-catching dance that was an awesome thing to see.”

       Cole felt himself relaxing slightly. “She must have been a character.”

       “Oh, she was. I always like to describe her as full Cherokee and part crazy. She was the most important person in my life.”

       “What about your parents?”

       “My father disappeared after impregnating my mother, and my mother was a crack addict who dropped me off at my granny’s place when I was three. I never saw her again. I figure she’s either dead or in prison.” She said the words as if she’d long ago made peace with the facts of her life.