Hidden Vices by C.J. Carpenter Page A

soon return and so popped a few aspirin. When she noticed the morning paper she’d tossed on the counter earlier, she promptly folded it and threw it in the bin. “Enough, no more.”
    For the next hour she sat, drank a glass of wine that quickly turned into a half bottle with lunch, fed Clyde, then stared outside as light flurries began to cover the deck. It’s not as if she could
cauterize her detective instinct out of her mind, but she was pretty certain she could numb most of it.
    So little changes in my life , she thought.
    Her cell rang. It was Nappa. Megan kicked it to voicemail, not wanting conversation with anyone but Clyde. It was a sure bet he wouldn’t speak back, and that was more than fine with her.
    The snow was falling with more consistency by late afternoon. Megan looked out the window to see the bubbler system was on in the boathouse, but the red and green lights signaling to snowmobile riders that there was open water were not on. “Lovely.” She grabbed her coat. “Clyde, want to go outside?”
    He turned and promptly settled into his nook in front of the fireplace. Clyde was no fool.
    â€œWimp. I’ll be right back.”
    Megan carefully made her way down to the lake and entered the boathouse, avoiding patches of ice as if they were mines as she made her way over to the power box. The wires leading to the outdoor lights had been cut.
    â€œWhat the hell?” She walked to the front of the dock and looked around but saw nothing except two stomped-out cigarette butts. She knelt down for a closer look. Nothing distinctive about them, just plain old cigarettes. When she stood up, a burlap bag came over her head. The sack immediately tightened around her neck. She pawed at the hands behind her, failing to loosen their grip. She could feel her breath becoming more and more shallow.
    Air, need more air, was all she could think, but she couldn’t get herself to stop hyperventilating.
    Her attacker was strong, strong enough to lift Megan off her feet. He swung her back and forth. Then she felt the hands release her, and her body hit icy water a second later. She tore at the sack, ripping it off her head. The temperature shocked her, and she was unable to tell which direction was up. She gasped, taking in only frigid water. Her boots began to feel like anchors pulling her deeper into the water.
    Megan forced her eyes open. The rising bubbles indicated the direction she needed to get to, and fast. Desperation mixed with adrenaline forced her to kick and flail toward the surface. Air exploded into her lungs as she hurled herself through the surface. She stroked clumsily to the dock and grabbed at it, unable to gain a firm hold. She attempted time after time to pull herself up. It was a fruitless effort. The ice on the dock was too slippery, her hands too numb. She continually fell back into the frigid lake.
    A figure slowly walked into the boathouse. Too slowly. When the person reached her, he grabbed her jacket with only one fist, easily pulling her up and over to a dry section of the dock.
    â€œYou can’t be so clumsy, city girl.”
    Megan rolled over to see the marina owner, Jake Norden. She was shivering violently and thought hypothermia would soon begin, but she was too angry to allow it.
    â€œWhat the fuck!”
    â€œWhat is it with you that that is always the first sentence out of your mouth when you see me?”
    â€œCould you have fucking walked any slower to help me!” The words set off a barrage of coughs.
    â€œThought you were a fish.” He grinned.
    â€œThat’s not funny; I could have died!” Megan tried to stand but found it difficult.
    â€œHere, let me help.” Jake grabbed her from behind and lifted her by her waist. “You shouldn’t be out here if you don’t know how to swim, you know.”
    She snapped out of his grip. “I know how to swim, you motherfucker!” Megan began to punch at him. The