Page 8 of Finding Forever
“I’m not going into the water. I thought I’d take a few photos of the lake and go for a long walk. It wasn’t comfortable sitting on the plane for so long.”
“Why did you come all the way from Italy to Sunrise Bay?”
“I’m a full-time painter,” I told him. “I need to finish two canvases for an exhibition.”
“You couldn’t do that in Venice?”
I pushed aside the memory of what my studio looked like after the burglary. “I didn’t feel safe.”
Eric snapped Sherlock’s leash onto his collar. “And staying here makes you feel safe?”
“It used to,” I said softly. My words hung in the air, met with silence.
“I’d better head back to the cottage.” Eric took a whistle out of his pocket. “Take this. If you need help and you can’t get a cell phone signal, blow it. It’s designed for dogs, so you won’t hear anything. But as long as you’re no more than 400 yards away, Sherlock will let me know you need us.”
I held the small wooden whistle in my hand, feeling its smooth surface. “Did you make it?”
“My dad did. You can give it back to me when you get back to your cottage.”
“Thanks for being worried, but I’ll be okay. I spent most of my childhood in the forest. I won’t get lost.” I held out the whistle, but Eric didn’t take it.
“There are a lot of people in town for tonight’s concert. You can’t be too careful when you’re on your own.”
Before I could disagree, Eric was walking along the trail with Sherlock trotting beside him. I watched them for a few minutes before turning toward the lake. I had no idea why Eric was living in Sunrise Bay. For someone who’d been a detective, life on the edge of Willow Lake wouldn’t be all that interesting.
I slipped the whistle into my pocket and kept moving. As soon as I finished my walk, I’d clean my studio and start planning my first canvas. And maybe, if Eric forgot about being grumpy, he might tell me why he was here, too.
seven
ERIC
I closed my laptop. After three hours of non-stop writing, I’d finally reached the point where Aaron found the dead body in his orchard. Now, I just had to introduce Aaron to the medical examiner and watch the sparks fly.
Sherlock whined and scratched at the back door, pulling me out of my thoughts. I let him outside and then walked across to the kitchen. When he still hadn’t returned fifteen minutes later, worry started to creep in, and I went looking for him.
He was probably rolling around in something he’d found under the trees or digging another enormous hole in the backyard. I whistled, hoping the short, sharp burst would distract him from whatever he was doing.
Sherlock woofed and ran around the corner of the cottage. Relief washed over me. “Where have you been?” I asked, sniffing him. At least he didn’t smell bad. That was one bonus for the day.
Riley stepped around the edge of the building. With a baseball cap perched on his head and a backpack slung over his shoulder, he looked like he was heading out for the day. He smiled, and an odd feeling of protectiveness sneaked up on me.
I needed to snap out of whatever delusional thoughts were filling my head. For all I knew, Riley wasn’t gay. And even if he was, no one in their right mind would want a relationship with a former detective who had a crazy fan stalking him.
Riley nodded toward Sherlock. “Your buddy wants to stay with me, but I’m going into town. Is there anything you need?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine, but thanks for asking.”
Riley’s eyebrows rose. “You seem a lot happier than you were this morning.”
Telling Riley about a person with serious mental health issues recreating the scenes in my books wouldn’t make him feel safe. So I settled on something resembling the truth. Hopefully, I never had to tell him what was really happening. “I’m a writer. When you saw me, I was trying to figure out how my hero would find a dead body in his orchard.”
Riley grinned. “I take it you don’t write romance novels.”
It was my turn to smile. “Thrillers.”
“Has your hero found the dead body?”
“His dog found it.”