Dark Water Read Online Free Page B

generous.
    A few minutes later she pulled up in front of the Sheriff’s Department. For three long minutes she sat without moving, her fingers gripping the steering wheel like a lifeline. A police car pulled up and parked beside her. She watched the officer get out and wondered if he was someone she’d known before. Twenty years was a long time. People changed, but did they ever forget?
    A few moments later the officer came back out, giving her a curious stare as he moved toward his car. Sarah looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze, and began gathering up her purse and keys. She got out as he drove away. When she walked into the station, the dispatcher behind the glass looked up.
    â€œCan I help you, miss?” he asked.
    â€œI need to talk to Sheriff Gallagher. He’s expecting me.”
    â€œHe’s not in.”
    Sarah frowned. This wasn’t going exactly as planned.
    â€œWhen will he be back?”
    â€œI can’t say for sure. Leave your name and a number where you can be reached, and he can call you.”
    â€œI don’t have a place to stay yet. Is there a hotel here?”
    â€œNo, miss, just a bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of town, but Miss Hattie, who runs it, is in the hospital having her appendix out.”
    â€œOh great,” Sarah muttered, and looked around for a chair. “Maybe I’ll just wait here until the sheriff comes back.”
    The dispatcher frowned. “No telling when that will be. He’s still out at the lake.”
    Sarah turned abruptly. “Flagstaff Lake?”
    The dispatcher nodded.
    â€œWhere they found Franklin Whitman’s body?”
    Suddenly the dispatcher realized he might be saying too much.
    â€œWho are you? Are you with the press? If you are, you’re wasting your time.”
    â€œMy name is Sarah Whitman. Franklin Whitman was my father.”
    The frown deepened on the dispatcher’s face. “I can’t help you.”
    Sarah accepted the rejection. It was nothing she hadn’t prepared herself for.
    â€œI didn’t expect help from anyone in this town,” she said shortly, and headed for the door.
    â€œWhere are you going?” the dispatcher asked.
    â€œNone of your business,” she muttered, letting the door slam behind her as she went.
    By the time she got to the car, she was shaking with anger. She had vague memories of the lake but no idea how to get there. However, she hadn’t come this far to be put off by a recalcitrant dispatcher. Making herself calm down, she unfolded the map of the state of Maine, then found the lake and the nearest highway. She was going to assume that once she was on the right road, there would be signs telling her where to go next.
    Â 
    Sheriff Ron Gallagher was just getting out of the motorboat when he saw an unfamiliar car drive up. He glanced at the bank of film crews a short distance away and figured one of the reporters had gotten impatient.
    â€œIf that’s another journalist, get rid of him,” he snapped.
    â€œIt’s a woman,” his deputy said.
    â€œI don’t care who it is, Red. If she’s a reporter, I want her on the other side of the yellow tape with the rest of them.”
    â€œYes, sir,” the deputy said, and headed for the woman who was approaching with purpose in her step.
    â€œI’m sorry, miss, but this is a crime scene. You’re going to have to leave.”
    Sarah stood her ground. “I need to talk to Sheriff Gallagher.”
    â€œThe sheriff has already given a statement regarding the case. He has nothing more to say to the media.”
    â€œI’m not with the media,” Sarah said. “I’m Sarah Whitman.”
    Red Miller knew he was gawking, but he couldn’t stop. “I remember you,” he said softly.
    â€œI don’t remember you,” Sarah said, and lifted her chin, as if bracing herself for a verbal blow.
    â€œMy name is Steven Miller, but everyone