Death of a Hot Chick Read Free

thought I’d seen a flicker of light but there was no one in
sight.
    “ Where? Where are you?” I stopped,
looked behind me, then out into the dark The voice was Nicole’s,
but nothing made sense.
    The voice spoke again. “Find my killer and it’s yours.”
    No one. No one in sight, but I felt an
urgency I couldn’t understand. I stepped off the boat. “Nicole, I
can’t see you.”
    There was no answer.
    I was dreaming. Had to be. Sleep walking,
out of the boat and onto the dock. Only a dream intruding on my
waking thoughts. I expected Nicole, so.... but to dream of her
death? Why? Only in a nightmare.
    The cooling breeze had blown the
mosquitos away. I walked down the dock, away from Snapdragon . I rolled my shoulders,
trying to work the stiffness out. Water lapped against the boats I
passed, seeming to repeat, “Now, now,
now.” I heard a car somewhere in the distance. I saw
only the dim light from the electric connection console on the
dock. But the voice? Nicole’s voice—was she in trouble?
    Again I called. “Anyone here?”
    Still no answer.
    It had been years since I’d heard imaginary
voices. Was this a voice from the past? But those were silly
voices—a turtle on its back needing help sort of thing. I did what
I used to do as a child. I closed my eyes, held my hands to my face
with the fingers spread, pulsing into my hair. I made my mind a
blank. Nothing, at first. Then I saw water, water overhead,
blotting out the dark sky. Heard whispers.
    No, I saw nothing, but I definitely heard
something.
    I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Voices,
real voices drifted on the still air as a boat neared the dock. A
late return from the Wednesday night races? No, much too late. It
had to be midnight—or later. I left the finger pier and strolled
along the dock.
    “ Need help?” I called to the incoming
Catalina.
    “ Sure,” someone hollered. He cut the
engine, and the boat drifted nearer. “Could you grab my
line?”
    I’d seen the people before—a young
family with their first sailboat. The tethered,
life-vested girl whimpered. A boy of three or four rubbed his eyes
and yawned. The mother had her hands full, but she said, “How late
is it?”
    The father didn’t answer. He threw the line
to me. I looped it around a cleat. He hopped off the boat. “I’ll
get a boat cart to unload all our stuff.”
    “ Let me.” I grabbed my flashlight.
They definitely needed help, but had one of them called? Was that what I’d heard? One of the children? I passed a cart
nearby, stenciled in fading letters, “Property of Smith Harbor
Marina,” and loaded with greasy engine parts. Just beyond, the
marina’s cart corral was empty.
    Had a child called out and I’d sensed it
somehow? The killing part, that was pure nightmare. But the call
for help? Or was that only one of those imaginary voices I once
listened to?
    Further down the dock I saw a splintered
piling among the solid ones, one out of every three electrical
hook-ups lit, and more loops of raveling line than I cared to
count. No carts. I kept looking and found one with its single wheel
broken. Then I spied one at the far end of the marina, the end that
never seemed to have working light bulbs. It was one of the largest
carts, abandoned just off the property.
    “ The killer. Find
him. ” The voice was dim, perhaps not even there.
Nicole’s voice. No, only a senseless voice in my head, a
continuation of a dream not quite finished.
    I lifted the handles and yanked them. The
cart was too heavy. “Another one full of something.” In the dark
all I saw was a mound. A workman hadn’t removed his tools. I
flicked on my flashlight.
    There were no tools, no heaps of parts, or
coils of line. In the circle of light a slim white hand lay atop
the fabric pile.
    My heart pounded, but I whispered, “Hey, are
you sleeping in there?” I shook the wheelbarrow handle. The hand
slid down beside the designer jeans. The head, with its fine,
straight blonde hair, tipped