Dare to Die by Carolyn Hart

a pond.
    â€œLet’s go home, Annie. Maybe Billy got it right. Maybe being back on the island was too much stress and she started drinking.”
    Annie remembered Iris’s thin face and burdened eyes. “She was making it. One day at a time.” But what if she hadn’t made it? What if she had wandered into the woods, collapsed in a stupor? Annie thought about snakes and alligators and bobcats. She would never be able to sleep, imagining Iris passed out in the woods, vulnerable to attack. “Let’s take the path through the woods to the pier.” Billy had alluded to the pier; something there had been bad for Iris. If she had too much to drink, maybe she had been drawn to the pier.
    When they reached the pines, the sounds of the night enveloped them, courting frogs, wind-stirred palmetto fronds, cooing chuck-will’s-widows. Max’s flashlight poked a beam into a tunnel of darkness created by the forest canopy above and the heavy undergrowth bordering the path. They moved slowly, swerving here to avoid a fallen limb, there to jump a dank puddle. Anearby thrashing signaled a creature alarmed by their presence, a deer or raccoon or possibly a cougar.
    With every step, Annie looked for any evidence of a plunge into the forest, smashed ferns or broken saw-palmetto fronds. Nothing appeared disturbed. They were nearing the end of the path and the opening on the other side of the woods near the harbor. Tension eased out of her neck and shoulders. If Iris wasn’t in the forest, they would have done all they could to search for her.
    Suddenly Max’s hand closed hard on her wrist. His light swept up toward the canopy, leaving the trail in darkness, but she’d already seen Iris, lying facedown, unmoving, hands splayed on either side of her head.
    Annie made a small whimpering sound and found herself in Max’s tight embrace. “Don’t look.”
    But she had looked.
    Iris wasn’t facedown dead drunk. Iris was facedown dead, her dark hair ruffled, a shiny black cord tight around her neck.

Chapter 6
    T he police car shot past them, stopped near the path into the woods. Billy slammed out of the cruiser, leaving on the headlights to illuminate the entrance. He strode toward Annie and Max. They waited midway between the woods and the boardwalk. Water slapped against the pilings of Fish Haul pier, the sound loud in the stillness of the night.
    When Billy reached them, Max gestured at the woods. “She’s on the main path. Strangled.”
    Billy’s face was grim. “Did you touch anything?” He reached back to tuck his uniform shirt into his trousers.
    â€œI checked for a pulse.” Max glanced down at one hand, smudged with dirt. “I got some mud on my pants when I knelt beside her. You’ll find a depression there. I tried not to make any other tracks.”
    â€œID certain?” Billy looked at Annie.
    Iris had worn her best outfit to the party, green-and-white-striped blouse, white slacks, red sandals. The dangling ends of the black cord had looked harsh against the green-and-white stripes.
    â€œYes.” Annie rubbed red-rimmed eyes.
    Another cruiser and the crime van slid to a stop, training more lights on the trees. Car doors slammed. Stocky Lou Pirelli’s cheeks were dark with stubble. His red Braves sweatshirt hung halfway down cutoff jeans. Sgt. Harrison’s hair was neatly braided, her uniform fresh and crisp. Both carried Maglites.
    The brightness at the edge of the woods emphasized the dark mass of the pier, its sole illumination a single light at the far end.
    Lou Pirelli gave Annie and Max a quick nod, turned toward Billy. Sgt. Harrison ignored them, her pale eyes intent on Billy.
    Billy gestured toward the path. “Victim in the woods on the main path. Strangled. We can’t touch anything until the M.E. certifies death. Lou, go to the west entrance to the woods, come this way until you see her. Go slow, look for